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  “Chief, what the hell is going on?”

  “Doc’s been shot.” I responded, out of breath and still incredulous at the whole occurrence. “I came in to meet with him about some autopsy reports and found him on the floor bleeding out behind his desk.”

  “Who the hell would want to shoot Doc?” she asked. We were all wondering the same.

  “I want you to call the Milford PD and get them over here right away. Then, I want every video tape taken within the last three hours ready to replay by the time they arrive. Chances are our attacker was picked up on one of those cameras entering and/or leaving the hospital. I am going to stay here and wander around just in case this person likes to hang around and revel in his or her work. Who knows, I might just get lucky.”

  “Okay, Chief. I’ll have one of my officers go with you. Let me know if there is anything else you need from us,” Janey said as she turned and left the morgue.

  “Let’s go up to the ER first.” I said to the security officer. “I want to check on Doc.”

  Running up the hallway toward the elevator my stomach felt nausous. I knew Doc’s life hung by a very fine thread and that thread was as taut as a thread could get without breaking. The only thing that seemed to make sense was that someone wanted us to know he or she is not afraid to come after us in order to prevent being exposed. Coming after Doc, right here in the hospital, is as bold a move as I’ve ever seen in all of my years as a police officer. Hastening my pace to get to Doc, I honestly worried where this event would take us, and who might be next on the hit list.

  36

  Entering the hospital was easy. Just walk right in! A baseball cap, sunglasses and a shoulder sling purchased at a local pharmacy in Milford solved the security camera problem. Being the beginning of winter, the scarf around his neck hid the rest of his facial features.

  Doc Cavanaugh was as surprised as Jerry Bickford had been when the bullets tore into his chest sending him sprawling onto the floor. Cavanaugh’s fall was a little more dramatic when his large torso bounced off of the desk moving it about a foot as he crashed to the floor. Christopher, watching Doc collapse, thought to himself, “He was, after all, a very large man. The law of physics would dictate that the bigger you are, the harder you fall.”

  After killing Jerry Bickford, Christopher knew that Cavanaugh also had to die. Jerry would have talked to the good doctor about him over lunch after their surprise meeting at the diner and may have even mentioned Christopher’s weapon’s permit. There was the possibility the doctor might play criminal-psychologist at some point in the investigation and therefore he was a liability. Christopher needed to avoid being discovered at any cost. The costs, in this instance, were the deaths of Jerry Bickford and Doc Cavanaugh. He laughed and gloated driving back to the Baker Building satisfied that his tracks were covered and he was safe from detection. The only person Christopher felt needed pay back now for having taken away his children was Chief Ronald Kosciak.

  Once the van was parked in the garage and the doors were locked, Christopher went up to his apartment to watch Marty on the monitor. She was not in her room, and he immediately went over to the door leading down the stairs to the cellar. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, he looked to see if the door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. Seeing that it was, he thought, “She must be in the bathroom.” He walked back to the monitor waiting for her return to her room.

  Christopher could see the CD player he set up for Marty sitting on the table next to her bed. He chose the CD player instead of a radio so Marty would have no information from the outside world, especially news about his adopted children. She would meet her sisters soon enough.

  Marty appeared on the screen and Christopher breathed a sigh of relief. There was a small part of him that was beginning to worry Marty might have found a way to escape. If she did escape, he would have to leave town immediately and not have time to properly prepare his departure over the next few days. When he did leave, it wouldn’t take long for people to notice that Christopher Bradford was missing and perhaps connect him to the murdered girls found at the pond and the abduction of Marty McMaster. So, when he did leave, he wanted to go out with a big bang and leave on his own terms. He did not want to run away with his tail between his legs.

  Christopher watched Marty for the next hour, enjoying her every move and gesture on the monitor. Earlier in the day, Marty ate the fish and chips Christopher brought back from Joe’s Diner. She seemed very content and at ease in her new home. Christopher wanted to believe that Marty really was thankful for her adoption, but the sly, untrusting, cunning part of him still doubted and therefore was always prepared for alternative situations. As he watched the screen, Marty walked over to the camera, looked up, smiled, and waved at Christopher.

  “How the hell does she know I am here? What kind of game is she playing?” he thought standing to walk out of the room toward the cellar door. After unlocking and opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, Christopher walked down the hall toward Marty’s room. Half way down the hall Marty came out of her room and stood looking at Christopher.

  “Hi.” She said smiling at him.

  “I saw you look up into the camera and wave at me.” I knew it was only a matter of time before you located the lens, but how did you know I was upstairs?” He asked not trying to hide his curiosity.

  “Oh. That’s not a secret, Every time you drive in or out of the garage, I can hear the motor faintly through the wall. I just wanted to say hi and welcome you home. After all, you have been treating me very well since my adoption. I have my own private room and a private bath. You give me plenty to eat and I have my own music. You haven’t harmed me since you rescued me. Who knows what my father and mother would have done to me!”

  Marty turned and walked back into her room. Christopher stood alone in the hall assessing what Marty just said to him. Again, there was part of him that wanted to believe she was sincere and grateful. However, he would not allow himself to trust her. He must maintain control. Control, control, control!

  Marty sat quietly in her room waiting for Christopher to enter wondering if she overplayed her move in the game. Sitting for what seemed an eternity, she finally heard the hall door close and lock as Christopher went upstairs.

  “Maybe I over did it,” she thought, sitting alone once again.

  37

  I was running down the corridor to the emergency room the split second the elevator door opened on the first floor. The security guard with me was barely able to keep up. I expected to lose him at any moment as his breathing became very labored and loud. Rounding the last corner into the ER, I looked back to see the guard stop and sit in a chair by the nurse’s station in Pediatrics. Not missing a step, I sprinted until I reached the triage desk in the middle of the ER. I began looking from cubicle to cubicle hoping to find Doc and his team. When I could not find Doc, I nearly lost it. Thinking Doc was dead from his wounds and that he was somewhere on a gurney with a sheet pulled over his face, I closed my eyes and bowed my head about to pound my fist on the counter top of the nurse’s station, when I felt a tapping on my shoulder.

  Emily, one of the ER nurses, looked into my eyes and said, “Chief, try to relax. They took Doc Cavanaugh directly to surgery on the third floor. It’s his best chance of survival. We have the best ER teams in the state and he is in the very best of hands right now. You need to hold it together for Doc’s sake. He would want your strength working for him right now along with your prayers.”

  I knew Emily was right and was relieved to know that Doc was still alive. While Emily was talking me down from my emotional episode, Andy Stephens, the police chief from Milford walked into the ER with a few of his officers. Andy and I had worked a few felony cases together over the years, but neither thought we would ever be working a case with Doc upstairs fighting for his life.

  “Ron. What the heck happened here?” Andy asked as we walked ou
t of the ER to the parking lot.

  “All I know right now, Andy, is that someone shot Doc downstairs in his office -- got him right in the center of his chest. I don’t know how many rounds he took, but when I arrived he didn’t have a pulse and he was not breathing. I called for help, gave him CPR and the rest was up to the guy upstairs. I asked Janey to get the surveillance tapes ready for us to review. Maybe we’ll be able to pick out our perp entering or leaving the hospital.”

  “Well, I’ll have two of my officer’s talk to everyone at the main entrance and the ER entrance. We’ll talk to everyone in the whole damned hospital if we have to! I think our shooter is long gone though.” Andy said, as we walked to the video surveillance room to review the tapes.

  Janey was waiting for us when we got there. I asked her if there was a surveillance camera at the entrance to the morgue. She said there was, and I asked her to pull that tape up for us to watch first. I told her I wanted to start playing the tape about one half hour before I arrived. An officer sitting at the console had already reversed the tape to one hour before the shooting. Fast-forwarding the tape to a time about five minutes before my arrival, we saw a single figure walk down the hallway and stop in front of the morgue doors. I had the officer slow the tape down to normal speed. The person in the video turned, looked up into the camera, and nodded. Wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a winter scarf to cover the face and neck, there was no way we were going to be able to identify our shooter. We were able to estimate the height, and weight of the individual, but could not determine the person’s race or gender due to the disguise being worn.

  Everyone in the room watched the video again as it played a second time. The results were the same. It took three minutes for the shooter to enter and exit the morgue, vanishing only minutes before my arrival. One minute and forty-four seconds elapsed from the time the shooter left until I stood in front of the camera entering the morgue: meaning Doc was probably dead for no more than two minutes before I started CPR. Using this time frame, we immediately called to the surgical team on the third floor thinking this might be vital information in determining Doc’s condition and probable recovery problems. Even if it did not help Doc, it made us feel like we were contributing something to the “Ole War Horse’s” situation.

  “I was THAT FREAKIN CLOSE to being there! SON-of-a-bitch! That pisses me off. Just a minute and a half earlier and I could have nailed the bastard!” I said leaning against a file cabinet next to the console.

  “Ron. If you had surprised the shooter in the morgue, you might have been our next victim.” Andy remarked. “At least, right now, Doc is still alive and I fear we will be hearing a lot more of his sarcasms over the years to come. He’s a tough old bird. We all know that.”

  “You’re right, Andy. It’s just that Doc and I go back a lot of years. I feel like my dad is up there lying on that table.”

  While Andy and I were talking, Janey switched the video to the camera covering the main entrance to the hospital. Once again, as our shooter entered and exited the hospital, he took the time to stop and nod at the camera. This person was one ballsy bastard.

  We were leaving the video room when the telephone rang. The officer at the console picked up the receiver and listened intently. “Yes.” he said, still listening. “Yes.” He replied a second time. While he was still listening, I motioned to him asking if the call pertained to Doc Cavanaugh. Shaking his head yes, I immediately reached over grabbing the phone out of his hand and started speaking.

  “This is Chief Kosciak. What’s Doc’s status up there?”

  “Chief,” The surgical nurse responded, “Doc is still in surgery, but he is holding his own. His vitals are good and getting stronger as the surgery progresses. He took two bullets to the chest. It is a miracle of miracles that he survived these wounds. If you hadn’t come along when you did Doc would by lying in his own morgue right now instead of on this surgical table. Everyone up here says thanks for saving his life. He’s a friend of ours too.”

  Turning to the people in the room, I said, “The ER nurse says Doc is doing better. He is far from being stable, but they think his chances of surviving are getting better by the minute. They’ll keep us updated as they learn more.”

  I felt a deep, deep relief knowing Doc was okay for now. His being alive was the first step. His surviving the night would be his second and more questionable challenge.

  There was not much Andy or I could do at this point and we decided to head back to our respective police stations. We briefly spoke about the Meadow Pond crime scene and the murdered girls. As we separated in the parking lot and began walking to our cruisers, my cell phone rang.

  “Chief, Kim here, we have another homicide.”

  “What? Did they find another body at the pond?” I asked turning to catch Andy Stephen’s attention.

  “No, Chief. It’s Jerry Bickford. His partner found him dead in their bathroom a few minutes ago.”

  “What!” I yelled, feeling my body shudder from the news. “What’s the address? I’m going over there right now.” As I spoke to Kim, I stopped and shouted over to Andy who was just getting into his cruiser. I motioned for him to come back over as I watched him reaching for his cell phone. When Andy was a few feet away, he asked, “Jerry Bickford?”

  “Yeah, I just got the call too. Found him in his bathroom. This has to be connected to Doc’s shooting. They were working together on these autopsies. Why don’t the two of us go over to Jerry’s condo since both of our jurisdictions will be involved in the investigations?”

  Andy agreed and I told him I would follow him over. As we drove out of the hospital parking lot I could not help but think two of the world’s most generous people had been shot within the last couple of hours. One of them was already dead; the other fighting for his life and, could, at any minute, be the second one to die.

  38

  Following Andy over to Jerry Bickford’s condominium, I could not help but think about the events of the last three days propelling me faster and faster down this winding, tragic road of disaster. I felt our investigation was getting out of control as I reached into to my shirt pocket for a cigarette.

  “What: A freakin cigarette? I haven’t smoked in twenty-three years!” I thought. “This case is really starting to rattle my nerves.”

  The last time I had reached into my shirt pocket for a cigarette was ten years ago on Interstate 95 heading up to Massachusetts from Florida driving a “vintage” rental truck that didn’t go over fifty miles per hour. I used to smoke one package of cigarettes a day and did so for over twenty years. Finally, deciding it was time to quit, I attended a smoking cessation class for eight weeks, taught the class for two years and thought I had overcome my addiction to tar and nicotine. Honestly, I have done extremely well over the years, but, when I am under massive amounts of pressure, I get the urge to light up without even knowing where the urge is coming from.

  I was picturing the bodies of five, beautiful, young women filling the refrigeration compartments at the hospital. A sixth young woman was missing and a state medical examiner was dead on his bathroom floor from a gunshot wound to the head, while Doc Cavanaugh fought for his life with two bullet holes in his chest. In my mind I knew the same person was responsible for all of these events. I also theorized at this point that the killer was retaliating for the discovery of the bodies at Meadow Pond. But, why would the killer want to take the lives of Jerry Bickford and Doc Cavanaugh? What possible reason could the killer have? They were just performing their normal medical duties. They were not responsible for finding the girls. There had to be some other connection to this case, but right now, I did not have a clue what that connection could be. The real problem I was facing: if Doc Cavanaugh died from his wounds, I might never find out the answer to my question.

  My cell phone began to ring again, and I took a very deep breath anticipating additional fecal matter was about to hit the
fan.

  “Chief, it’s Kim, again. We have a run down on the guy who purchased the statue of the three monkeys up in Worcester.”

  “Go ahead, Kim. I’m all ears.” I responded.

  “The guy did’nt use a credit card to pay for the monkeys. He paid cash. But the store owner’s description of the man matches the one given to us earlier by Molly Harrington. The store owner said something else to Todd that mirrors what Molly said to Derek after this guy left her store. The owner said the man’s presence left an evil behind aura that lingered in the air after he had left the store. He watched the guy walk out of the store, across the street to a white van and drive away. Before you ask, no, he did’nt think to get the license plate number. We couldn’t be that lucky.”

  “Make sure you get the State Police sketch artist up there for that composite. We need to compare the one from Molly Harrington when we get it. I think we need to follow up on this guy. He may not have anything to do with this case, but I’m not willing to let any leads go unchecked. At the least, he is on our radar and worth some looking into. It’s not a crime to be creepy, but you sure do get people’s attention when you leave the black plague behind you wherever you go.” I said, already thinking about the white van.

  “O.k. Chief. I’ll make the call to the Staties.”

  I do not believe events happen randomly or by chance. There must be some sort of logical pattern of evolution and connection between people and their daily environments. Here I was, driving behind Andy on my way to a brutal crime scene, that was somehow connected to a serial killer running around our county abducting, torturing and killing young women, when I receive a phone call about a weird guy purchasing a statue of three monkeys. The phone call stirred my questioning mind, making me wonder just how all of these events tied together.

  “If the man with the white van is our killer, why would he purchase a freakin monkey statue?” “How would that…Holy Shit!” I yelled out loud. “Holy, friggin shit! That has to be it” I yelled out even louder, turning on my police lights to get Andy’s attention. I stepped on the gas to get closer to his cruiser signaling him to pull over.