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  “This question is sort of sensitive, and, again, please do not take this question out of context. Have either or you, or both of you, had any disagreements, verbal arguments or physical confrontations with Marty within the last month or so that might have caused her to run away?” Kim asked, again watching both of the McMasters very closely as Mike answered her question.

  He did not look at Kim as he responded; he looked straight into my eyes without any hesitation and said, “Chief, we are a good family. Yes, we have our disagreements. Yes, we have our arguments. But, we do not have knockdown, drag out, confrontations with physical violence, breaking of furniture or injury to anyone. You can question our neighbors. They will tell you we are a good family and live peaceful lives.”

  Kim shifted in her chair and asked, “Has Marty been acting differently in any way over the last few weeks? Has she had any uncharacteristic mood changes?”

  “No.” Karen answered. “She has been her normal, joyful self, who, right now, I miss with all of my heart.”

  The rest of the interview lasted about a half hour. Kim continued to ask questions about strangers who might have been seen in the neighborhood, workmen who may have been hired to do yard work or projects around the house, neighbors who were having any remodeling done to their homes, sales people who might have stopped by the house within the last few months, new neighbors who might have moved into the neighborhood within the last year, any male relatives who had been stopping to visit more frequently than before, anyone calling Marty who never called her before, or any off-color or obscene phone calls being received?

  Before we stood up to leave, I leaned forward in my chair, looking at Mike and Karen, knowing I had to tell them my suspicions regarding Marty’s abduction and the probable connection her disappearance had to the five girls who were discovered at Meadow Pond a few days earlier. As I shared information regarding the case and the victims, without using names or physical conditions, Mike and Karen were both visibly shaken. Karen, who had been sitting without moving during the interview, lowered her head and began to sob openly. She did not raise her hands to hide her tears which fell freely onto the legs of her slacks. Mike put his arm around her and gave her a hug as he, Kim and I stood to leave. I assured him that we would do everything we could to locate Marty. Before leaving the back room, I asked the McMasters to tell us which route Marty took when she walked to class each morning. As we left the room, Karen was sitting in the same position on the couch by the fire once again captured by the flame’s movement.

  “Chief, thank you for coming over. We appreciate anything you can do to help us – to help Marty. But what can I do to help? I feel totally disabled by this. I want to run out and start searching for her, but I don’t know where to look.! I have driven over every road in this town two or three times hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking or riding in someone’s car. All I know is that Marty left this house on her way to school and never got there. How can that happen? How the hell can a young girl just vanish without a trace or without anyone seeing anything?

  “Mike,” I said standing on the front steps of his home, “We will do everything we can as quickly as possible to find out what has happened to your daughter. I already have officers canvassing the town door to door asking if anyone has seen anything or anyone out of the ordinary over the last few days. I will be speaking to Captain Garber over in Auburn at the State Police to share all of the information you and Karen have given us so that he and his people can use it within their investigation. Mike, we will do everything humanly possible to find Marty and bring her home safely to you and Karen. You have my word on that.”

  Mike put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing as he said, “Ron, father to father, I believe you.”

  Mike was still standing in the open doorway as Kim and I drove away. He looked out at the same neighborhood I had looked at an hour before – a neighborhood he would never look at the same way again for the rest of his life.

  33

  Derek Larson stopped at “Arts and Things” on his way home from the police station to pick up craft supplies for his wife, Cheryl. Molly called to let Cheryl know that her order was delivered so that she would have it in time for her class the next evening. Cheryl taught classes in a large room attached to the garage, and like Molly, sold many of her craft items at local town fairs and on the Internet. Derek, driving by the store on his way home, volunteered to stop for Cheryl so that she would not have to drive into town herself.

  As Derek reached out to grab the front door knob to the store, the door suddenly opened as Molly was leaving for a short break. Both jumped back in surprise, startling one another.

  “Oh! My God.” Molly said putting her hand over her mouth, reacting to almost running into Derek on the sidewalk.

  “Hey, Molly, nice running into you – literally.” He responded. Both laughed together, then stepped into the store.

  “You must be here to pick up Cheryl’s order.” Molly said.

  “Yeah, I told her I’d stop by so she wouldn’t have to come into town. Just let me know what she owes you.”

  “Don’t worry about that Derek. Cheryl always pays me at the end of the month. All you have to do is load it up and take it away.”

  “Will it fit into the bed of the pick-up, or do I need to rent a tractor-trailer to get it all home in one load?” Derek asked with a smart tone to his voice.

  “Funny man. Funny man.” Molly replied. Changing the subject, she asked, “I’ve been hearing about those girls they found out at Meadow Pond. Is it true that one of them is Christine Sawyer?”

  “Unfortunately, it is true. We’re still verifying the identities of the others. That process could take a few more days. But since you have brought the subject up, have you seen or heard anything unusual over the past week or so that might be worth our looking into? Any instance, no matter how trivial it might seem?”

  Molly, standing by Cheryl’s order at the end of the counter replied, “To tell you the truth Derek, yesterday a man came into the store looking to buy a replica of the three monkeys sitting together, you know the, ah, hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil? I know I have those mixed up,” she said chuckling.

  Derek nodded his head yes.

  “Well, he was really creepy and stared at me with coal, black eyes. They were the blackest eyes I have ever seen in my life! I told him I did not sell them but that I would do a quick search on the ‘Net for him to see if I could locate a seller in the area. He continued to stare at me while I was on the computer and never moved a muscle…just stared. Then, when I handed him the paper with the address on it, he made sure to purposely brush my fingers a smirk. I felt a chill run up my spine and I swear he left a bad aura in here for an hour after he was gone.”

  “I’d say that qualifies as very unusual to say the least.” Derek responded. “Have you ever seen this guy before yesterday?”

  “No. Not that I can remember. He’s never been in the store while I was here. If he had, I would have recognized him.”

  “Molly, I’m going to have a State Police sketch artist come over to the store later today so that we can get a composite of this guy. It may be he’s just an odd ball who enjoys making people feel uneasy, but I don’t want to overlook the possibility that he is more than that. What would be a good time for you?”

  “Any time, Derek. Just have someone give me a call so that I can have one of my part-timers in here to run the store.”

  “Not a problem. Thanks for your help with Cheryl’s order. Oh, and with this information. If this guy should come back to the store just wait until he leaves and give us a call right away. We’d like to know if he’s still in the area. Also, try to get a description of his vehicle and the license plate without putting yourself in jeopardy.”

  After loading Cheryl’s order, Derek drove the six miles home thinking about the man Molly had described. Something in his gut told him he needed
to follow up on this information right away. He called Kim from the truck and filled her in on his conversation with Molly. She said she would let the chief know and call the state police to set up the sketch artist right away. Pulling into his driveway, Derek could not get the three monkeys out of his head. Something, something about those monkeys bothered him and would continue to bother him the rest of the day.

  34

  Jerry Bickford and Doc Cavanaugh completed the last autopsy late in the evening. The greasy spoon lunch was still swimming around in Jerry’s stomach causing some discomfort as he left the hospital parking lot and headed home for a well-deserved shower. He was thinking about the last forty-eight hours and was not paying a great deal of attention to the drive with the exception of the road ahead. He did not notice the white van following him at a discrete distance a few car lengths behind. Turn for turn, stop light for stop light, the van kept the appropriate distance and followed Jerry until he arrived at his condo.

  Christopher was thinking about his and Jerry’s surprise meeting at the restaurant earlier in the day. At first he dismissed it. But as the afternoon progressed, Christopher realized Jerry was one of the only people involved with the case who knew anything about him. More importantly, Jerry knew Christopher carried a concealed weapon. If the police ever caught up with him, he wanted that fact to be a surprise. If Jerry had even the tiniest question in his mind about Christopher, it could be the beginning of the end. Jerry had to die. It was a plain and simple fact. It was that easy a decision to make. Jerry Bickford had to die today. Despite planning to leave town in a couple of days, he did not want to leave anything to chance. “Control, control, control,” he thought to himself as he parked his van a couple of blocks away and began the walk back to Jerry’s condo.

  Upon arriving at home, Jerry went straight to the refrigerator and took out a cold beer, kicking off his shoes as he walked into the bathroom to start the water for his shower. Walking into the bedroom, he left a trail of socks, shirt and jeans and under-shorts on the floor along the way. “Oh! Christ! Does this ever taste good,” he thought taking another swallow of his favorite brew. Walking back into the bathroom he saw the steam rising out of the shower and could not wait to feel the hot, jetted water rolling down his body, relaxing his muscles and wash away forty-eight hours of morgue. Stepping into the shower, he took the soap and began lathering up while letting out a loud and long “Ahhhhhh.” “I want to shake the person’s hand who invented the shower.” Jerry thought continuing to lather his face rubbing the soap into his pores. After the last couple of days, this was one of the best showers he had ever taken. He lingered in the shower longer than usual allowing himself to enjoy these cleansing moments of self-indulgence. He put both hands against the shower wall, leaning his face directly into the water to feel its full impact.

  When Jerry turned the water off, he opened the shower door and reached for his terry-cloth towel hanging on the rack. Grabbing the towel, something did not feel right. It seemed much closer than it should have been. Wiping the water out of his eyes, Jerry stepped out of the shower and turned to his right. There, sitting on the toilet seat, was Christopher Bradford… pointing a gun at Jerry’s face.

  “What the fuck! Christopher! What the fuck are you doing here? Why the gun: for Christ’s sake?” Jerry yelled, dropping the towel onto the bathroom floor while backing up against the wall.

  “Hi. Jerry.” Christopher replied, very quietly, continuing to sit on the toilet seat pointing a Glock at Jerry’s head. “Let me just say I don’t have any other choice but to kill you. Our meeting earlier today has put me in an awkward position. But, look at it this way, when they find your body at least you’ll be clean.”

  A smirk opened to a wide smile as Christopher squeezed the trigger. Shot point blank in the forehead, the impact of the bullet pushed Jerry upward against the wall, splattering blood and tissue onto the tile around his head as his body slid down to a sitting position on the tiled floor.

  “Dead mans’ halo.” Christopher said, pleased with himself, blood beginning to pool on the bathroom floor.

  35

  Kim called me right after talking with Derek regarding Molly’s encounter with the stranger at her store. I told her to have Todd Mercer take a cruiser up to Worcester to check out the store that actually sold the statue of the three monkeys. I also instructed Kim to make sure Todd asked the owner of the store how the statue was paid for by our person of interest. If he used a credit card, we would have his name and address and could follow up on it right away. If he paid in cash, we would not be able to do anything, but would send the state police artist to the store to produce a second composite of our stranger.

  “At least something is finally starting to happen,” I thought, sitting at my kitchen counter finishing off a large, grilled chicken salad with extra cheese. This would be my only real meal of the day, and I stopped at home to thoroughly enjoy every bite along with one of my usual diet sodas.

  Cleaning up the kitchen after dripping salad dressing on the counter-top, kitchen stools and floor, I left the house and drove back to Milford Hospital 30 minutes away. Drive time is good thinking time, and I reviewed everything we knew from the investigation thus far to be sure I wasn’t missing something.

  Four officers were knocking on doors asking questions regarding peculiar people or odd occurrences with people in town over the last week or two. Todd was on his way to Worcester by now. The State Police artist would have arrived at “Arts and Things” for the composite sketch. Kim was walking the same route Marty probably took the morning of her abduction and we should receive the psychological profile of our killer from Ken Garber’s people this afternoon. My next stop was a visit with Doc Cavanaugh to follow up on the autopsies of our five victims. I would get copies of the reports over to Ken Garber as soon as possible as well as to my staff at the station in Sutton. Everything seemed to be in place.

  One of the perks of being a police officer is you usually have special areas to park your vehicle in hospital, town or state facilities. We don’t have to ride in circles for fifteen minutes like everyone else looking for back up lights signaling a soon-to-be empty parking space. When I arrived at the hospital, I headed toward the cellar door of the hospital for the second time in two days. Walking down the corridor, I expected to see someone moving from one room to another or waiting at an elevator door, but the hall was empty. Even though I was the Chief of Police, I still looked into each darkened doorway or hideaway for the “Boogie Man”. “What a wimp,” I said to myself.

  As I reached the doors to the morgue, I realized that I will never get used to how unsettling and quiet morgues always seem to be. Opening the door, I walked into the examination room and found it empty. The autopsies having been completed, the bodies of the five girls were now hidden behind the doors of the stainless steel refrigeration units at the far end of the morgue. Other than the low humming sound of the fridge’s compressors, there was no sound what-so-ever. Turning to Doc’s office, I thought maybe I had missed him. Perhaps he was already at home getting some real sleep after putting in over forty-eight hours performing the post mortems.

  Poking my head around the corner of Doc’s office door, I spotted his feet sticking out from behind his desk - his body hidden, lying on the floor. I ran over, pushing his chair out of my way and it was then that I could see pooling on the floor. Doc had been shot in the chest. Bending over him, I did not see any signs of life and could feel no pulse in his neck. I immediately pulled his phone over to the edge of the desk and dialed “O”. Being in the hospital already, the quickest response for emergency assistance would be thru the operator at the front desk.

  “This is Chief Kosciak from Sutton. I am down in the morgue with Doctor Cavanaugh. He has been shot in the chest! Get a doctor and crash team down here ASAP!”

  “Okay, Chief. I’m calling the ER right now. We’ll have someone down there right away.”

  I began
CPR not knowing how long ago Doc had been shot. My own heart was pounding wildly as I compressed his chest over and over again. Occasionally, I stopped the chest compressions to breathe new air into his lungs. Compression, compression, compression. “Come on Doc!” I heard myself saying. “Come on man, BREATHE, damn you! Come on! Breathe!”

  I heard frantic footsteps pounding down the hallway long before the doors to the morgue burst open and a gurney accompanied by a doctor and two nurses rushed into the morgue.

  “Over here! In the office!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “We’re in here, Hurry!”

  The ER doctor physically pushed me out of the way as he knelt down next to Doc assessing the damage and Doc’s condition. “Help me put him up on the gurney! Quickly God-dammit! Come on! Move. Move, people! Let’s go!” he shouted, not worrying about hurting anyone’s feelings.

  I helped lift Doc up onto the gurney – not an easy task considering his size and weight. Once on the gurney, the ER doctor cut away Doc’s blood stained shirt and pulled the two electrode paddles off of the defibrillator. Within seconds the defibrillator snapped out its electrical current and Doc’s entire body stiffened, arched and raised off of the gurney.

  I stood behind the crash team wanting to reach over and start pounding on Doc’s chest myself, as if I could do better than the team urgently and efficiently working on him trying to save his life. Again the snapping sound. Again Doc’s body arched and stiffened as the electricity tried to restart his heart. Doc’s heart still refused to respond. Finally, on the fourth snap the doctor said, “We have a heart beat! We have a friggin’ heart beat folks! Yeah! Doc, you old son-of a-bitch, you might just make it!”

  The medical team rolled Doc out of the morgue as Janey Blair, the hospital’s chief of security, entered the room with two of his officers.