Evil Like Me Page 18

*

  Memphis, Tennessee

  *

  Wilcox joined Petty in the hallway. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just landed. I had a message from Detective Baily.” Petty adjusted her arm strap and pulled her leather satchel close.

  “I got the call too. Baily was brought out of his coma last night. He can talk. He wants to talk.”

  “I met with Alfred Baldwin yesterday,” Petty said without slowing her pace to ICU.

  Wilcox chuckled. “So, you actually got to spend some time with that liberal prick.” They rounded the corner to the bank of elevators and a small crowd. They stood quietly. Nothing was safe anymore.

  The doors closed. “I didn’t know you were a staunch conservative,” Petty said from the side of her mouth with a half-smile.” The doors opened. People scattered.

  “I’m not staunch anything. I’m pissed-off at all of ’em. None do what the people send ’em there to do. The whole damn system’s broke.” They rounded the corner to a nurse behind the glass at the ICU gateway. She ignored Wilcox’s taps. She shuffled papers with her head down. He rapped harder.

  The glass window slid open. “Visiting hours are over.”

  “MPD. We’re here to see Cameron Baily. Room number please?” he asked scrolling text messages and ignoring the sizzling eyes and pursed lips in scrubs.

  “I said visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow morning at nine.” She began to close the window. Wilcox stopped her progress with his shoulder now leaning into her space and his eyes on her nametag.

  “Miss Greedy. We’re not visitors. I’m a homicide detective and this is the ME. I will appreciate Baily’s room number and the glass door open, please ma’am.”

  “I don’t care who you are. You’re not getting into my ICU tonight.”

  Wilcox turned to Petty—smiled—and turned back to Greedy with burning eyes. “Here’s how this is going to go. You will give me a room number and open the glass door to ICU in five seconds. If you fail to do this, Greedy, I will break down the glass doors and arrest you for interfering with an active homicide investigation. You will be charged as an accomplice in any and all homicides that occur due to your behavior—willing obstruction of justice. I will cuff and drag you out of here to my car. You will spend the night in jail with tonight’s crop of prostitutes. I will make sure it takes 24 hours to fix this small misunderstanding. Clock starts now.”

  The door swished open. “Room 302.”

  “You’re such a bully,” Petty muttered.

  “Right. And Greedy’s a bundle of joy.”

  The hall was empty, the smell aseptic. When they reached 302 they saw Detective Baily lying in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors. His head was bandaged covering one eye. His jaw was swollen and bruised, and his arms were tied to the sidebars.

  “They like to tie people up in this place,” Wilcox said as they entered and he closed the door behind them.

  Baily’s one eye popped open. He looked at Wilcox, and then found Dr. Petty’s blond hair and red lipstick smile. “It’s about time they sent a pretty lady,” he said. Petty winked.

  “Hey. What about me?” Wilcox teased, as he perused Baily’s puffy face and bruises.

  “You’re ugly,” Baily said as Wilcox gripped his tied hand.

  “I assume you know you are flirting with our new medical examiner.”

  “Nice to meet you Detective Baily,” Petty said. “I wish it was under less traumatic circumstances.” Baily nodded. He had something on his mind.

  “Thought we lost you,” Wilcox said looking at the monitors.

  “The docs say I’m gonna be fine.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been layin’ here goin’ over stuff. We don’t have a lot of time. You guys need to pull up chairs. I gotta tell you.”

  “You sure about this?” Wilcox asked. “You look like shit.”

  Petty pushed Wilcox. Baily chuckled. “It’s okay. I’m used to this insensitive old coot. Anyway, my mama always said I only used ten percent of my brain. I figure now I got eighty percent I won’t be using. I’ll bet Dr. Petty can keep an eye on all these monitors.”

  “I can,” she said as she scanned them. “Your heart rate and blood pressure are good.”

  “Nobody’s talking to me. Did Bone Jackson make it off that river?” Baily asked.

  “No,” Wilcox said. “Bullet in the chest—heart shot.”

  “And Keller?”

  “Keller got away, Baily.” I’ll let you choose the time to tell me he shot you.

  Baily closed his eye. “I met with the Atoka County Sheriff, Carl Bennet.”

  “Bennet worked the Keller family homicides in Stringtown, 2009,” Wilcox told Petty.

  Baily’s eye popped open and locked on Wilcox. “Like you said, when he heard we had unsolved homicides in Memphis that might be connected, he showed me everything.”

  “We already know Dr. Benjamin Proust, the Okmulgee County Medical Examiner, did the Keller family autopsies,” Wilcox told Baily.

  “Did you think it was unusual the Atoka County ME. let that happen?

  “Sometimes we invite other medical examiners in on cases if they have more expertise in certain areas,” Petty said. “Small towns do not see many multiple homicides.”

  “Yeah, well Dr. Landry didn’t invite Proust. And Landry didn’t participate in the autopsies. I thought that was strange.”

  “He must have been out of town or otherwise involved,” Dr. Petty said.

  “That was my first thought, too. Sheriff Bennet told me Proust called him twenty minutes after he found the bodies. Proust was on vacation down the road. He offered to help. Bennet was staring at the worst kills of his entire career. He said he thought Dr. Proust was a gift from heaven.”

  “There you have it,” Wilcox sighed. “Let’s move on. We’re wasting time.”

  Baily smiled. The puffy, bruised side of his face didn’t move. “Just slow down old man and listen. Proust told Bennet the only way he’d help was if he worked the cases alone. He didn’t have time for collaborations or news media. He also recommended Stringtown cremate the bodies to stop the circus that surrounds these kinds of messes.”

  “Those are strange demands,” Petty mumbled.

  “Where’s this going Baily,” Wilcox pushed.

  “I looked at the autopsy paperwork. I didn’t see anything about bulging eyes, screwed-up faces, or lesions.”

  “So, there you have it. They’re not connected to Memphis,” Wilcox said. “That’s what we needed to know.”

  Petty held up a hand to stop the bull in the china shop. “Did you get a look at Dr. Proust’s ‘external inspection’ narrative? Except for the lesions, the information on the eyes and facials would have been reported there.”

  “I read the narrative. It was not there.”

  “Let’s move on,” Wilcox pushed. “We have a lot to talk about and little time. I want to know what you learned about Hunter Keller. And what were you doing at Broken Bow Lake with a guy named Bone Jackson.”

  Baily ignored Wilcox. “Somethin’s not right about the way these homicides got handled by some guy callin’ that fast, with demands, and outside his jurisdiction. Proust had no business bein’ there. How did he know twenty minutes after Bennet saw the Kellers? And who takes a damn vacation in east Oklahoma?

  “I asked Sheriff Bennet what he saw when he looked at those bodies five years ago. Well, turns out he kept his notes. He read it to me verbatim. Both Alma and Arnold Keller’s eyes were bulging out their sockets like fried eggs sunny side up. Both had twisted-up faces and their lips pulled back to their ears and faces white as snow. Bennet said he wet his pants.” Baily chuckled. “He said that’s when his phone rang. It was like he had a camera on him or something. Proust was a gift from heaven. Bennet agreed to everything on the spot.”

  “Didn’t Bennet see all that missing from Proust’s autopsy report?” Wilcox scoffed.

  “He sure did. Bennet said he read the report and asked Proust about it miss
ing. Proust told him it was not unusual when someone’s strangled or stabbed in the back. Bennet bought it.”

  “Tony, this information is disturbing,” Petty said.

  “That’s not all,” Baily said. “Before they cremated Alma and Arnold Keller, Proust took the brains. Said he had to run more tests in Henryetta. Later told Bennet everything was negative and he destroyed the brains.”

  Petty’s brow dipped. “We need to know more about Dr. Benjamin Proust.”

  Wilcox nodded. “Five people were killed in Henryetta the night you were shot, Baily.”

  “Five?” Baily sighed. “What’s the connection?”

  “Henryetta’s in Okmulgee County, Proust’s jurisdiction. I think I need to go up there and meet this guy. I need to take a closer look at Dewar Avenue. The newspaper reported Hunter Keller had been staying there, a tenant where three of the five died. The Henryetta police are looking for Hunter Keller, too.”

  “I should go with you,” Petty said. “I know how to vet Dr. Proust. I’m sure he can lose you in the medical jargon. We need to know how he fits in all this.”

  Wilcox didn’t respond. A road trip with Petty was a bad idea on many levels. First, she would slow him down because he breaks the rules and she is a rule person. Second, he did not want to spend two days with her nagging at him about his smoking and cussing and drinking. And third, there was a physical attraction that could get out of control.

  “I poked around Stringtown like you told me,” Baily said. “Learned Hunter Keller had four close friends. I ran checks on ’em. I think I told you all four died traumatic deaths over the last six months—one suicide, one accident, and one under undetermined still under investigation.”

  “And Jackson, a homicide. Did you leave Stringtown with Bone Jackson?” Wilcox asked.

  “No. I found him in the woods fifty miles east of Stringtown. He was hunting Bigfoot. I think him being in the woods was the only thing keeping him alive.”

  “Then someone found you two. You went to Broken Bow,” Wilcox said.

  “Bone Jackson knew a place to hide, a cabin on Broken Bow. Less than an hour after getting to that cabin, there was a knock at the door. It was Hunter Keller.”

  “Did he shoot you in the boat?” Wilcox asked straight out.

  “Did Keller shoot me? Hell no! Is that what you think?”

  “Ballistics were inconclusive. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

  Half of Baily’s face smiled. “I guess I can see how you got there. Keller’s the guy in the pictures at all our homicides. No, Keller did not shoot me. He came to Broken Bow to help Bone Jackson and me. He wanted to save us.”

  “Save you from what?” Wilcox pushed.

  “From the people hunting us all damn night. I don’t know who they were, but I do know they were hell-bent on killing Bone and me and taking Keller.”

  “How do you know that for sure?” Wilcox asked. “Maybe Keller was playing you. Think about your training. If there were a bunch of people hunting a couple guys, why didn’t they storm the cabin? They could have overpowered you easily.”

  “I think they would have, but Hunter Keller got there first. They fear that guy.”

  “What are they afraid of,” Wilcox asked.

  “He is a powerful psychic,” Petty said under her breath.

  “I have trouble believing that kind of stuff,” Wilcox said. “I know about the government research and people dying with lesions, but that program was shut down decades ago.”

  Baily rubbed his good eye waiting for Wilcox to stop talking. “You’re way off base, boss. Keller is different. He has powers. I saw him in action. And Bone Jackson is not your typical friend. The guy’s a PhD in psychology and recognized expert in the field of parapsychology. He dedicated his life to helping his friend understand and control his psychic abilities.”

  Wilcox pushed fingers through his hair and fell back in his chair as Petty rounded Baily’s bed. “What powers does he have,” she asked. “Tell me some of what you witnessed?”

  “We’re in the cabin. He tells Bone to shoot a guy thirty-five yards out. He says the guys at one o’clock. It is pitch black.”

  “Are you serious,” Wilcox chided.

  “Keller tells Bone the guy’s sliding a night vision scope onto his rifle. Keller says if you do not shoot now, the guy will kill him. Bone blindly aims his rifle. Keller lifts the barrel and moves it with his finger. Then Keller tells me to move my head away from the front door window or in two seconds get shot in the head. Shit, I backed away in one second. A damn bullet exploded through the glass inches from my nose. Then Bone pulls his trigger.

  “Keller says we gotta go. We climb out the window. Thirty yards out we step over a dead guy with a rifle in one hand and night vision scope in the other. Bone nailed him between the eyes.”

  “I don’t know about any of that,” Wilcox muttered. Is it possible?

  “That government research you mentioned, Bone told me the CIA didn’t end it. He said they just took it deeper underground. Bone has proof. He said a lot of governments are working on psychic-weapons. He said it is the next weapon of mass destruction.”

  “I met with the Attorney General,” Petty said to Baily. “He did admit the government had an interest in psychic-weaponry, but he did confirm the existence of remote viewers. He was unwilling to go deeper. He claimed there were national security matters in play.”

  “Although psychic-weaponry is likely fiction, I do have a private investigator sending me the names of the government contracted remote viewers from the ’70s and early ’80s. Granted, most are dead or missing today. For some reason they are targets and Hunter Keller is involved.”

  “You gotta ask why else would an attorney general be involved.” Baily said. “This is a much bigger deal than we have considered. We all need to open minds.”

  “These RV people are being killed. I suspect one of their lab rats got loose,” Wilcox said. “Maybe that lab rat is Hunter Keller. There are logical answers to all of this.”

  “Maybe government people are the ones who need to be put back in a cage,” Petty said. “Maybe Hunter Keller is the one trying to stop them.”

  “Why are you pro Hunter Keller?” Wilcox asked. “The evidence doesn’t support it.”

  “I met with Baldwin and the Bethesda three. They want us to believe Hunter Keller is a real monster. So far they’ve lied about everything. I think they have an agenda, Tony. Tell me why Keller called 911. Why help? Tell me why he came to the aide of Bone Jackson and Detective Baily? The evidence against him is not that compelling. You are suspicious of him because you don’t understand him. You cannot get your ‘detective head’ around psychic-weaponry.”

  “I agree with Dr. Petty,” Baily said. “Keller’s not a killing machine. I spent time with him. I know people. Keller’s a sickly person with incredible abilities. He wants to be left alone. He avoids conflict, but they keep coming for him. The government wants to control him.”

  Wilcox always looked for facts, but also trusted his gut. In the past neither let him down. The addition of psychic-weapons and a clandestine government operation threw him off his game, and he knew it. But Wilcox also knew he had to find his own way.

  “Although the evidence is confusing, we can’t dismiss certain facts,” Wilcox said. “Keller’s at every death scene—the four Memphis homicides, the I-55 truck driver, the Sterick Building where Deckle got a knife in the back, the Henryetta homicides, and now Broken Bow. And we don’t know ‘for sure’ about his whereabouts when his parents were killed in Stringtown. In every case Hunter Keller walked away.”

  “He does have a point,” Baily muttered. “The guy is at all the death scenes. Somehow he did get off that river and we got shot.”

  “Those facts exist,” Petty said. “But you cannot dismiss all the other facts just because we do not understand them. We can’t dismiss Keller’s psychic abilities, the Stargate Project, the targeting and killing of remote viewers, the veiled government inte
rests, and most importantly, the brain lesions. When we understand these, we will solve this mystery.”

  Wilcox returned from the window—Petty got it right. Until she listed them, he did not realize how much he had on the back burner because he couldn’t explain them.

  “Time for full disclosure,” Wilcox said. Heads turned. “I guess I’m gonna confuse things even more, now. I need to tell you something.” He swallowed hard. “A few days ago I got pulled out of a burning car.”

  “My God,” Petty gasped. “Why would you keep that information to yourself, Tony?”

  Baily sat up in bed. “I knew it. Someone is definitely after us. We are getting close.”

  “I didn’t say anything because you’ve been out of town and Baily’s been out cold. We just now got together, and what Baily had to say was more important.”

  “To use one of your favorite words—bullshit,” Petty scolded.

  Wilcox rubbed his face searching for the words to explain what he did not understand. “I’m not sure what happened that night.”

  “Just start talking,” Petty said. “Together we will figure it out.”

  He nodded. “I was unconscious in the hospital a while. When I woke up, they said they found me lying at the edge of a field by the Mississippi River. My car was on fire in the middle of the field. They said my car exploded. I guess I could have been killed that night.”

  Baily untied his hand and pulled off his head bandage. “This is not making a lot of sense to me. How’d you get out of your car and not know?”

  “Seven hours were plucked out of my head. Pieces are coming back. There are two things I want to tell you. First, I remember getting pulled out of the car.”

  “That’s not so hard,” Baily teased.

  “I was pulled out by Hunter Keller,” Wilcox said.

  “Holy shit!” Baily threw his bandage against the wall. “Keller saved your damn life just like he saved mine. Kinda screws up your ‘guilty as shit’ theory, boss man.”

  Petty touched his shoulder. Wilcox was trembling. “I saw him that night. I’m sure of it. I don’t remember much before or after.”

  “It’ll come back,” Baily said. He saw a look on Wilcox’s face for the first time—fear.