Scalpers dgmm-2 Page 19

  "Don't go falling apart on me, Sid, damn it,” Dean said. “I need you. We've got to stop these crazy bastards before they strike again, before anyone else is mutilated. They butchered that woman, and they damn sure would've done the same to the girl if she hadn't escaped."

  "God ... I can't see mild-mannered, mousy Tom Warner as ... as capable of that kind of ghastly behavior."

  "How well do you know Tom?"

  Sid considered this. “Not too well. Went to medical school in your neck of the woods, University of Illinois."

  "Childhood?"

  "Never talks much about it, but I recall something about Saginaw—"

  "Michigan?"

  "Illinois."

  "Ever see his records?"

  "Not recently, but they're down in Personnel."

  "Did you fire him?"

  "Damned straight I did."

  "They know that in Personnel?"

  "Not yet."

  "Come on, let's have a check."

  They had arrived back at the municipal building on foot, the walk a calming one on the mild Florida winter day, refreshing, clearing Dean's mind. As they climbed the steps, Sid said, “Oh, by the way, Sybil Shanley called. Said it was urgent. Wouldn't say what about. She was kinda cool to me, actually."

  "I'll call her later. Let's look Warner over."

  "I'll just let the switchboard know where we are,” said Sid, going to the lobby's information desk and speaking briefly with the young woman there. He seemed to take more time than necessary, leaving Dean waiting. When Sid rejoined Dean, he had calmed considerably, and he said, “You know, Tom's too damned young-looking to have been the boy in Montana in ‘58 who may have axed his parents at the age of, what—fifteen?"

  "True, but what happened in Montana may not have a damned thing to do with what's going on here, anyway. According to Neubauer, the fifteen-year-old had nothing to do with the deaths of his parents, right?"

  Still, what Sid said made Dean wonder. He calculated the age of the young man who'd lost his parents in the brutal double murder back in Montana. The man would today be forty-five, Dean's and Sid's age. Every shred of information dishearteningly led back to Sid Gorman like a boomerang. Was all of it coincidence?

  Dean tried to imagine a secret Sid Corman, a man who, after so many years of dealing with the dead, cutting into corpses to find solutions, had gone off the deep end to begin to use his scalpel on the living. He tried to imagine Sid with an accomplice who was a dwarf. He tried to imagine Sid cutting on a living person, leading a double life as a scalper. Impossible, even in his wildest thoughts. It was just too farfetched, too at odds with the Sidney Corman Dean had known since Korea.

  Sid seemed to sense Dean's thoughts, staring across at him on the elevator ride down to Personnel.

  Thomas Lloyd Warner, aged twenty-eight, born in Saginaw, Illinois, attended Saginaw High School and graduated from Northern Illinois University, and went on to the University of Illinois Medical Center in Chicago to become a doctor. Failing this, he became a laboratory technician and assistant with a police crime lab in Nebraska, and from Nebraska he went to Florida. There was nothing in his well-documented history to link him with Montana or any lies other than those he'd recently perpetrated against Sid Corman.

  "I suppose you'd like to look over my file now,” said Sid, handing it to Dean.

  "No, no way, Sid. I believe you're innocent. Warner may have believed differently, who knows, and then tried to help things along for Hodges, at the Chiefs urging. Being a weak man, Warner was only too willing to go behind your back."

  "But to plant evidence against me?"

  "Tom Warner was nowhere near the murder site that morning in the park. Do you recall who was?"

  "Dyer found the bloody scissors, but you don't think...?"

  "I had thought it was Park, but not anymore. And that first day I entered your lab and was faced by the welcoming committee—"

  "Dr. Grant, there is a call for you, long distance,” said the well-dressed personnel manager who had allowed the doctors access to the records they sought without argument.

  "Sybil,” said Sid.

  But it was Ken Kelso, with an edge to his voice. “Dean, I got you, finally. For awhile I thought you were on a slab somewhere down there. Christ, I got news for you."

  "What is it?"

  "All circumstantial, but a bit too coincidental for my liking. One of the names on the list you sent up for checks—"

  "Yes?"

  "I think we struck pay dirt."

  "Hold on, I want Sid Corman in on this ... Sid, pick up on line 3."

  Sid did so as Kelso held off his information. “Seems, Dino, that there was a guy by the name of Ian Benjamin, a shrink. Anyway, this Dr. Benjamin was practicing psychiatry in Saugatuk, Michigan during the years when a number of scalping deaths occurred up that way, in and around Park's town of Seneca."

  Dean swallowed hard, “Benjamin? You're sure?"

  "You think it could be our Montana boy?” Sid asked Dean.

  "What's that?” asked Ken.

  "Go on, Ken,” said Dean. “What about this guy Benjamin?"

  "Well, Seneca's a little town, so they called in Benjamin, and he worked on the cases on an ad hoc basis. And I was looking at this list you sent Carl Prather through Sybil, and it hits me that the name Benjamin Hamel and Benjamin, well, they're not so far apart, you know. And then I see he's not just another doctor, but a shrink, and I figure if Park is chasing somebody as far across the country as he has, then maybe he's onto someone in particular, someone like this guy Benjamin."

  "If that were the case, why didn't he tell someone? What was he waiting for?"

  "Who knows, blackmail, maybe. Didn't have the goods quite together yet? Building a solid case?"

  "Or maybe he wanted both the killers, since we proved there were two men working in tandem."

  "Christ,” moaned Sid, “you don't suppose Park was trying his level best to finger me as the second killer, do you?” asked Sid.

  "Could be ... a lot of red herrings leading to your doorstep, Sid, some planted in the minds of quite a few people hereabouts by Hamel."

  "Hamel ... Jesus ... I can't believe it ... he acts so, so queasy about the stiffs, and coming in here."

  "Guilty conscience, maybe."

  "Any way to identify this guy Benjamin so we know we're accurate—that it is Hamel, Ken?"

  "Damned force in Seneca's kinda short on protocol."

  "Meaning?"

  "Usually you call in someone to help out on a case, like a shrink, or even a psychic. Well, you get their prints on record, at least. Seneca doesn't have an ink pad, it appears, much less a photo of the guy, and even if they did, they'd have to take the U.S. mail route to get the picture to us—no FAX machines or anything."

  "Then all we've got is the similarity between the two names,” said Sid.

  "We're in personnel records now,” explained Dean, “and we'll see what we can find out about Dr. Hamel."

  "Good procedure, happy hunting.” Kelso said his goodbyes and rang off.

  "I don't get it, Dean, about Park and Benjamin. I mean, he must've known the shrink had changed his name and that it couldn't have been just coincidence that where he goes the Scalpers follow, right? What was Park's game?"

  "Ken may've been right, since Park had to carefully build his case against his killer. He had to because he himself had served time for just such a killing."

  "Right."

  "And the second killer entering the picture, Seneca authorities never knew it! It came as a total surprise to Park, and he may've thought he couldn't fully avenge himself on Hamel until he got the other man, too, the guy we know only as a dwarf."

  "It's all too bizarre, Dean...."

  "Truth is stranger than fiction."

  "But if Park, I mean ... wouldn't Park have confided in Dyer, at least?

  "My guess is that Park tried to convince Hamel that he was no threat to him, that he was called in by Hodges as a result of a c
hance remark made by Hamel himself, perhaps."

  "As a matter of fact, that's how the Chief put it to me once,” said Sid, trying to follow Dean's meanderings.

  "Hamel tells the Chief that he worked with police in Michigan on a similar case, which boosts Hamel into high-profile status with Hodges. Hamel draws up his profile of the killers, refuting your original findings in the process—or rather, drawing attention to the oversights which he knew to be there in the first place. Meanwhile, Hodges makes contact with Michigan and enters Park. Hamel gives Park a phony reason for the name change, creditors, or an old girl friend he's trying to lose, something.... Meanwhile, Park sees evidence pointing in other directions, and for the first time he learns there are, indeed, two killers instead of one. He then reassesses his original theory and it's all the time Hamel needs to get to him and frame Park himself as the Scalper."

  "It almost makes sense ... Park done in by Hamel, if—and it's a big if—Ben Hamel and Benjamin are one and the same man."

  "Take it a step further, Sid."

  "What?"

  "If Hamel and Benjamin and Benjamin—the boy—are one and the same...."

  Sid's eyes widened at the prospect. “It's just too pat, Dean. Can't be that lucky, can we?"

  "Let's find out."

  Sid asked the personnel manager for the file on Ben Hamel. Dean half-expected the file to have been lifted, but in a moment it was delivered to them, no questions asked, the lady merely saying, “All information is to be held in strictest confidence, Sid, do you understand?"

  "Terry, we're after a murderer here, we're not concerned about credit references or wife beatings."

  The woman turned a bit crimson as Dean rifled through the papers. They looked very official and were quite clean of any connection with either Michigan or Montana. Dean cursed under his breath. It seemed that everywhere they turned there was a dead end, another useless waste of time.

  Sid took the file from Dean, repeating the gesture of going through the transcript which told him Hamel was a graduate of the University of California at Los Angeles, that he practiced for a time in that city, and that he relocated to Florida, where he began a practice in connection with Mercy Hospital. His work there brought him to the attention of Chief Hodges, who was in the market for a man of his expertise. Sid, too, thought it a dead-end nothing.

  "Sid, is it at all possible that Tom Warner could have snatched your keys at any time, made duplicates, and returned them?"

  "I think not, but I couldn't swear to it."

  "The other night he let Peggy Carson into the slab room to view the Jane Doe. I didn't tell you at the time because—

  "Christ, Dean, he did have a duplicate set of keys made. He had no clearance from me to come and go at will. He punches a clock, for Chrissake!"

  "I think we need to find and corner Mr. Warner. If he was working for Hamel..."

  "Creeps ... we're surrounded by creeps."

  "But first, I have a call to make. Can I use your phone to call L.A.?” Dean asked the personnel lady.

  Sid flashed his eyes at her, and pleaded, “Terry? We're talking important, here, we're talking police business."

  "Guess we're all on the same team, but when time comes for me to send in my phone requisition, you, Dr. Corman, are going to be billed."

  Dean allowed the sparring to go on around him until he got through to his connection with the University of California at Los Angeles. He then asked for the Registrar's Office. “Going to verify or deny the transcript of one Dr. Benjamin Hamel,” he told Sid.

  Dean got through to a parrot-voiced woman in charge of transcripts. If she looked as she sounded, Dean was sure he was in for an argument. He identified himself and said his interest was in hiring a man named Benjamin Hamel for the Chicago Police Crime Division as a psychiatrist. He wished to verify his having graduated at the university. “Benjamin I. Hamel,” Dean finished.

  "But sir, I can't give you information over the phone anyway, and since there is no—"

  "I simply wish to verify if he did or did not graduate. You can tell me that. He may be a fraud, and I do not wish to hire a fraud."

  Annoyed, the woman said, “Please hold.” And Dean did hold until he became annoyed.

  When she finally came on again, she said flatly, “No, no Benjamin, but I do have a Catherine, Dave, Earl, Mark, Mike, Trisha, but no Ben—"

  "You're absolutely sure?"

  "There's no question of it."

  "Would you please try under I. Hamel?"

  "Dear man, I have looked at all the Hamels we have and there's no I."

  "Ian,” said Sid into Dean's ear. “It's Ian."

  "Ian,” Dean repeated it to the woman long-distance.

  She tsked into the phone, “Sir, there's no Ian."

  "Please, one more check."

  The exasperated woman gasped. “All right, what is it?"

  "Benjamin, last name, please look for an Ian Benjamin."

  "Do you have any idea how many records we have?"

  "I might venture a guess, but time's important here, madame, very important."

  "I'll have to go back to the microfiche again. Hold on."

  Dean waited while Sid looked up Tom Warner's address and jotted it down. The waiting became intolerable. Dean knew the clerk was intentionally prolonging the moment so she might come back on and say no and then hang up. He wondered if she'd gone to lunch after four more minutes of agonizing.

  "Dr. Grant?” she came on.

  "Yes?"

  "Yes..."

  "Yes, meaning what?"

  "Yes, that's all I can tell you, Dr. Grant. This information is privileged by law, and I cannot indiscriminately—"

  "Please, answer yes or no to this: have you in front of you a copy of a transcript for an Ian Benjamin?"

  "Yes."

  "Born in 1943?"

  "'44."

  "And hails from Montana?"

  "Yes, now I can say no more, except to point out there are two other Ian Benjamins who have also graduated from here."

  "Thank you ... thank you."

  She hung up. Dean immediately scanned Hamel's record again and saw the telltale signs now, signs of tampering with the name. Hamel must be Bennimin. He pointed this out to Sid.

  "That bastard ... it's been him all along."

  "Dont’ jump to conclusions before—"

  "Conclusions—hell, Dean!"

  "—before we have all the facts. All we know for certain is that Hamel, or Bennimin, lied about himself in order to secure a position on the police force here."

  "A careful check with the Michigan authorities and I bet they'd find other false recs on the prick ... oh, sorry, Terry."

  "Not on my account, please,” she said, “I think Hamel's a prick also."

  "You've had difficulties with him?” asked Dean.

  "Pushy ... after a girl says no, he doesn't know enough to let it go. Buys you a drink and thinks you owe him an all-nighter. Well, not in my book, and not the way I was raised."

  "Terry—Miss Cross,” said Dean, reading her nameplate, “please keep everything said here this afternoon between us."

  "I understand. Not to worry."

  "Thank you again. Come on, Sid."

  "Where to?"

  "Outside."

  "Where we going, Dean?"

  "I hope this judge friend of yours likes you an awful lot, Sid."

  "Come on, Dean, I can't hit her up for another—"

  "Just a warrant this time, Sid."

  "A search warrant for Hamel's place?"

  Dean had scribbled two addresses on a piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket. He now snatched it out and asked Sid if he knew where both were. One address was close by, an apartment complex, the one Hamel jogged from. The other puzzled Sid, It was a P.O. box number, not an address at all, in rural Wekiva, at least an hour away, longer if you ran into traffic.

  "Copy these down for yourself,” said Dean. “Dyer and me, we'll be going ahead with a move-in, so get
the warrant to cover all known addresses for the man, understood?"

  "It could take some time, Dean."

  "I thought this case had top priority around here. Get Hodges after the judge, if you have to. We've got to stop Hamel before nightfall."

  It's almost five now. We'll never make it."

  "Go!"

  "Maybe a stakeout at the hospital's in order."

  "Done. Now go!"

  Dean rushed next door to the police precinct, seeking out Frank Dyer for help. Peggy Carson shouted a hello, but he put her off, going for Hodges’ office, intending to get the Chief behind them, but learning that Hodges was in Tampa and wouldn't be back for hours. Dean put out a call for Frank Dyer. Peggy began to follow him around, sensing something was up, but he tried to avoid making eye contact with her.

  Who's the dwarf? Dean kept rummaging about in the back of his mind for an answer. Some poor slob Hamel had roped into his sickness, a former patient under his control? If it came time for a name to be forthcoming from Hamel's patient records at Mercy, a dwarf in therapy shouldn't be too hard to locate. But with time running out, they must concentrate on Hamel. Dean had the distinct impression the guy had a mysterious rural address for a damned good reason. He guessed the bulk, if not all, of the horrid evidence they might gather against the Scalpers could be found at the receiving end of P. O. Box 939 in Wekiva.

  "What's happened, Dr. Grant?” asked Peggy at his side. “Dean, I've got a right to know."

  "Not now, Peggy,” he put her off. “Dyer, Lt. Frank Dyer,” he told the woman at dispatch, “urgent from Dr. Dean Grant, Scalper case."

  THIRTEEN

  Dyer was rushing to the scene of a family disturbance, a code 12, when Dean's urgent plea for his return reached him. So far he had not been reassigned a partner. He had to complete the call before he could return. This took time, but not as much as it might have, had Dyer not invoked the new Florida law that allowed an arresting officer to file a complaint against someone causing a disturbance, in this case a man who was a repeat offender at wife molestation. Dyer, with no time to waste on counseling the couple to help settle their difficulties, simply cuffed the man, who started to struggle, but was quickly subdued. Dyer's nose was bloodied by the thrashing man before he finally got him onto the street, where a unit pulled up to help out. They took the man off his hands.