Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (29 page)

Gordon hoped Metcalf didn
’t know as much about hospital procedures as he seemed to know about legal ones. Not as many doctor shows on television these days to mislead the public.

“
I’m not trying to protect him,” Metcalf said. “I owed him. But after tonight, our debts are paid in full.”

“
And since you don’t owe him anything, you can help me. You do know that being cooperative will get you a lot closer to your shotgun and the great outdoors, right?”

Gordon took his recorder from his pocket.
“To make sure I don’t misconstrue anything you say, I’m going to record this.” He scooted his stool closer to Metcalf and set the recorder on the edge of the counter beside the examining table. He dictated the date, time, and their names.

“
Where is Orrin Wardell, Mr. Metcalf?”

Metcalf gazed at the ceiling.
“I told you. Probably in Castle Rock.”

“
Probably. What makes you say that? You said you picked him up. Did you drive him to Castle Rock?”

“
No. I gave him some cash, dropped him off on the outskirts of Highlands Ranch. He said he knew people there, but I have a feeling he was on his way home to Mommy.”

“
And speaking of Mommy. You said she’d have him locked up again. What did you mean by that?”

“
He goes crazy in the head every now and then. You know, a little too much
character
, not enough Orrin. He goes to some treatment center, they straighten him out, and then he gets on with his life.”

“
He didn’t mind?” Maybe he wasn’t going to Castle Rock at all. He could just as easily have hitched his way back to Mapleton. A frisson ran down Gordon’s spine. Could he have come back to Mapleton, grabbed Angie? Still delusional, thinking she was Roni?

Metcalf eyed the cell phone.
“Mind? Nah. He calls it his regrouping time. And he says he picks up a lot more character bits for his bank. It’s kind of like he’s ninety percent on the planet most of the time. Needs a little looking after.”

“
Do you know a Jase Blackhawk?”

Metcalf
’s expression of puzzlement at the question was genuine. “No. Should I?”

“
You never heard Orrin Wardell mention the name?”

Metcalf shook his head.
“Not that I can recall. He might have mentioned it if it was a character he was going to play. Can’t say I paid a lot of attention.”

“
Wait here, Mr. Metcalf.” Gordon shut off the recorder and stepped into the hallway. He called the station, updated Connie on Wardell’s possible whereabouts, stressed that it was possible he had Angie with him. “I don’t think he’d be hitchhiking if he has her. He might be driving hers.” Or anything else, which would make him next to impossible to locate. He forced his mind away from the myriad possibilities and went back to a task where he was in control. Questioning Metcalf.

He set up the recorder again.
“Next question, Mr. Metcalf. What did Orrin Wardell mention about the family he was visiting in Telluride?” As if he’d have said, “Oh, I’m going to kill my uncle.”

Metcalf glared at the recorder. Gordon waited. Metcalf sighed.

“Not much. He didn’t say anything about who or why. Said he’d be in Telluride, visiting family, doing research for his next play, did I want to connect. I already told you that.”

“
Confirming for the record,” Gordon said. “This connecting. When did it go from a
maybe if it works out
to a done deal?”

Metcalf squinted.
“Two weeks ago, ten days maybe. I like Curecanti, it was nothing out of my way to schedule a visit to match his timing.”

“
How did you find Orrin at the Yardumians’? You said you had a reservation, but they had no record of one.”

He shrugged, pulled one hand from behind his head, studied his fingernails.
“I didn’t know if they’d be full. Figured if I claimed to have a reservation, they’d find a place for me.”

“
And how did you know to go there?”

“
Orrin called me.” Metcalf eyed his phone again. “Said he’d been in an accident, gave me the name of the place. The weather sucked, so I figured some walls and a roof over my head beat camping for a night or two.”

“
And the story about his missing wife? Do you know her?” Gordon watched Metcalf for a reaction. He got nothing other than an eye roll.

“
Roni? Never met her, but Orrin yammers about her enough. Roni this, Roni that. Always Roni, Roni, Roni. She was supposed to be on this trip. I wanted to meet her—you know, to see if she was the little miss perfect Orrin was always bragging about.”

Wardell had certainly foiled Gordon
’s cop bullshit meter, and nothing in Metcalf’s demeanor said he hadn’t bought Wardell’s story, too. Gordon shifted topics. “In the garage, you said you needed a little more time, and that’s why you knocked me into the tree well. Time for what?”

Metcalf pulled his other arm out. Fixed his gaze on his hands.
“Orrin said he’d lost a backpack. Said it had some personal, confidential stuff in it. I told him I’d look for it. He’d said he left a purple scarf to mark the place, but damn, the weather was horrendous, and I thought I’d hit the B and B first. Touch base. See if maybe he’d already found the pack.”

“
Why didn’t you take him instead of me?”

“
Are you kidding? I already told you, the guy’s an accident magnet. He needs too much babysitting.”

“
You couldn’t have asked me to help you find it? Instead, you had to nearly kill me?”

“
Look who’s talking about nearly killing someone.”

Gordon held up his hands.
“Fine. That subject is dropped. But why the extreme measures?”

“
I told you, Orrin said it was personal and confidential. He trusted me, but he didn’t know you. He’d told me where to find it, more or less.” Metcalf snorted. “Mostly less. I thought I could get there and back while you were in the tree well, but when it wasn’t where Orrin described, I was afraid to leave you there.”

“
So, what was in it?”

Metcalf looked at Gordon, an exasperated expression on his face.
“You know for a top cop, you’re awfully dense. I said it was personal and confidential. I didn’t look. I brought it back. Like your phone.”

“
Which you … stretched the truth … about.”

Metcalf toyed with his fingers again.
“Okay, so I had a momentary lapse and thought I might like a new phone. Could use a free upgrade. But I thought better of it and said I’d found it in my truck so you wouldn’t wonder why I’d said I hadn’t found it when we were looking.”

Metcalf definitely had a strange sense of ethics.

“But Orrin said the pack wasn’t his,” Gordon said.

“
Well, if it had
personal and confidential
stuff in it, he wasn’t going to grab it and admit it was his, was he? Have to explain how it got where it did? Or maybe, in whatever role he was playing, he’d decided his character didn’t have a backpack, and that’s why he denied it was his. Typical of Orrin. Total immersion, he called it, and he’d told me to play along with whatever he did. I left him to his fantasy. I reckon he fetched the pack later.”

Gordon wasn
’t sure where to go next. He had as much of a lead on Wardell’s whereabouts as he could count on. Which put Wardell anywhere between here and Castle Rock, or maybe he was going someplace entirely different.

“
How much cash did you give him, Mr. Metcalf?”

He lifted a shoulder.
“Five hundred, give or take.”

Which would give Wardell enough of a cushion to hide out in a motel for a few days, or hop on a bus or a train. Rent a car. But, if his normal pattern was to go to the facility, maybe they
’d get lucky.

“
That’s a lot of money,” Gordon said.

“
I owed him, like I said. Had some trouble making ends meet for a while, and Orrin came through for me. I’ve loaned him money before. He was always good for it.” Metcalf rubbed his bandages. Winced. “Right now, five hundred is a small price to pay to get rid of him. He’s been way too wonky this time. Hey, you think you can pull cop rank and get someone in here to get off their ass and run the damn tests. My head is killing me.”

“
I’ll see what I can do.” Gordon switched off the recorder and slid it into his pocket. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Metcalf. When the doctor gives you the all clear, we’ll deal with the not-so-small matter of you breaking into my house and pointing a weapon at a police officer.” And the inevitable paperwork that accompanied an officer discharging his own weapon. His gut said Metcalf was a man for whom the lines between civilization and his preferred natural environment blurred. Maybe Metcalf could use a little time in a mental health facility. Pointing a gun at Gordon might not seem any different from pointing one at a deer. But then again, Metcalf would have killed the deer. This one would be up to the legal folks.

Gordon had a thought.
“You said Orrin was researching his next play. Do you know what it is? Where it’s going to be?” If the man was as consummate an actor as he seemed, it was highly unlikely he’d skip out on a chance to perform.

“
Not sure,” Metcalf said. “I think he said it was an original play, or a remake of something. Some kind of mystery adventure. Midnight Rover, maybe. Midnight something. Said it was the life of some guy called Silver. Or maybe  Salvador. That’s all I remember.” He glared at Gordon. “Must be getting shot in the head messed up my memory.”

The cubicle curtain parted. A middle-aged man with hair that was probably once carrot-red curling over his ears shuffled into the room. His rumpled lab coat
’s buttons strained to meet at his ample middle. Reading a chart, nodding his head, he nudged a pair of tortoise-shell framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He set the chart aside. “I’m Doctor McGregor, Mr. Metcalf.” The doctor’s words were delivered with a hint of a Scottish burr.

“
You here to run the damn X-rays, or whatever you have to do so I can get out?” Metcalf said.

“
That’s right.” He pulled a penlight from his lab coat pocket and moved toward the exam table. “If you’ll wait outside, please?” the doctor said to Gordon.

“
I’ll be in the waiting room,” Gordon said.

He pushed through the doors and settled into one of the plastic chairs, trying to avoid the sneezers and the coughers. He attempted to block out the drone of the television set, which seemed to be nothing but commercials. A quick check with Connie told him they
’d made no progress finding Orrin Wardell. He tried Angie’s number again. Still voicemail. He kept an eye on the door, tapping a foot, waiting for Metcalf to appear so Gordon could get rid of him and back to work.

He occupied himself by listening to a playback of Metcalf
’s interview. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He stood and raced toward Metcalf’s cubicle.

Shoving his way past the man trying to keep him out of the treatment area, Gordon had his Glock drawn as he rushed down the hallway.
“Police business. Stay back,” he shouted. He jerked the curtain to Metcalf’s cubicle aside.

Doctor McGregor stood beside Metcalf
’s exam table holding a pillow over the face of the struggling man. Gordon grabbed the phony doctor, yanked him around, and shoved him to the ground. “Don’t move, Wardell.” He pressed his Glock to the back of Wardell-the-doctor’s head.

Wardell went limp.
“Okay, okay.”

“
You all right?” Gordon asked Metcalf.

Metcalf gasped for breath.

“Can I get a doctor in here?” Gordon shouted. The place wasn’t that big. You’d think someone would have heard something. “Stat,” Gordon added. Maybe that would help. Meanwhile, he grabbed his last plastic zip cuff and secured Wardell’s wrists behind his back.

“
Need some help, Chief?”

Gordon spun at Solomon
’s voice. “Not anymore. Get this guy processed for a nice visit to County lockup. I’ll be there shortly with his … friend.”

Solomon tugged Wardell to his feet.
“Orrin Wardell, I presume?”

Wardell shook his head and stiffened in indignation.
“This is an outrage. I’m Doctor McGregor. Here on a medical exchange program. From Glasgow.” His Scottish burr grew more pronounced with every word the man uttered.

“
And is suffocation part of the Scottish medical procedure for treating a concussion?” Gordon asked. “I’ve had it up to here with you and your friend. Metcalf, you’re coming with me. Solomon, I need a pair of cuffs.”

Solomon provided them, then
escorted
Wardell, still protesting a case of mistaken identity.

“
Total immersion,” Gordon muttered.

A genuine doctor showed up, apologizing for the delay, blaming it on a three-car pileup. He proclaimed Metcalf fit to travel.

“You’re coming to the station with me, Metcalf,” Gordon said. He cuffed him and walked him out to the parking lot.

“
You’re not going to leave me with Orrin, are you?” Metcalf asked. “He’s been a bit of a flake before, but I think he’s lost it this time. He
really
tried to kill me.”

“
For once, I think you’re right,” Gordon said.

~~~

At the station, Metcalf protested being put in their one holding cell with Wardell. “He’ll have his cuffs on, and there will be an officer in plain sight. It’s only until transport from County can get here.” And get the both of them out of his hair.

Angie had called, saying she
’d left her original message telling him she was going to Megan’s on his personal phone. “I’m sorry. I assumed you knew. Traffic was a bitch, and I wanted to hit the mall for some real shopping before I got to Megan’s. Hope you didn’t worry about me.”

If you only knew.

“Nah. I was tied up with the case—I think we caught your burglar, by the way—and wanted you to know how to get in touch with me.”

“
That’s great. Who did it?”

“
Orrin Wardell.”

“
From the B and B? Really?”

“
A few Is to dot, Ts to cross, but I’m pretty sure it’s him. I’ll explain it all over dinner when you get home.” By then, he should be able to come up with a way to explain—and downplay—all the other events without being accused of being too manly-macho.

He disconnected, feeling more in control than he had since he
’d arrived at the Yardumians’. Solomon knocked on his door and, as usual, walked in and took a seat. “I think we might have another puzzle piece.”

“
I hope it’s the last one,” Gordon said. “I’d love to be able to close the file on this one.”

“
You know how Wardell was insisting he was Doctor McGregor? Well, I was doing his intake form and he came up with a new name.”

“
Let me guess,” Gordon said. “Albert DeSalvo.”

Solomon
’s mouth popped open. “How did you know?”

“
When I interviewed Metcalf, he said Wardell did this
total immersion
thing when he was preparing for a role. I asked him what play Wardell was studying for. He didn’t know the title, but he said Midnight Rover, or something with Midnight, and that the character’s name was something like Silver. It clicked while I was going over his interview. Should have put the pieces together sooner. I was almost too late.”

“
Midnight Rambler,” Solomon said. “Rolling Stones, 1969. About the Boston Strangler.”

“
Albert DeSalvo confessed to being the Strangler, but there are those who don’t think he did all of them.”

“
Right,” Solomon said. “Didn’t fit the serial killer profile. Too many different victim types, different MOs. Found a pair of pantyhose in Wardell’s pocket.”

“
Murder weapon in some of the strangulations,” Gordon said. “None with a purple scarf, as I recall. Or a pillow.”

“
I asked Wardell about that. Since his research showed DeSalvo had confessed, he didn’t seem to mind following suit. Said he was
improvising
, but he wanted to try again to get it right.”

“
Give any reason why he chose his uncle?” Gordon asked. “The Boston Strangler’s victims were all women.”

Solomon shook his head.
“None that he’s willing to divulge. It might be because he’s still inside out about Roni. Might think killing a woman would be like killing her. Or maybe he was practicing on his uncle—the man wouldn’t have suspected anything, would have let Wardell get close. But what I want to know is how did Wardell know he’d find Metcalf at the clinic?”

Gordon tossed Metcalf
’s cell phone on the table. “Looked at his call history. His last call was to a burn phone, which happens to have the same number as the one you took from Orrin Wardell. I pressed Metcalf, and he admitted he’d called Wardell to warn him to stay away from Mapleton, that I was a cop and I’d shot him. Said they were taking him to the clinic.”

“
But Wardell didn’t take that advice?” Solomon said.

“
No. But I’m sure when he’s questioned further, he’ll say he was trying to get rid of Metcalf as a loose end. Or another rehearsal for his damn play.” Gordon shoved Metcalf’s phone into an evidence envelope. Someone knocked on the door.

Solomon opened it to a deputy sheriff.
“Here for two prisoners,” the deputy said.

“
They’re all yours,” Gordon said.

Solomon rose.
“I can handle it.”

“
No, I want the pleasure of seeing them off.” Gordon led the deputy to the holding cell. Solomon followed.

After making sure the paperwork was in perfect order, Gordon watched the deputy put the men into his van, and didn
’t breathe until they were on their way. He turned to Solomon. “Just between you and me, I was ready to kick their balls into their throats.”

“
Don’t suppose you have an adult beverage in your office,” Solomon said. “I could use a drink.”

“
I might be able to find something,” Gordon said.

In his office, the men toasted the successful conclusion of the case with two fingers of a single malt Gordon had stashed in a file drawer.
“Got this for Christmas two years ago,” Gordon said. “Never got around to taking it home.”

“
For which I’m grateful,” Solomon said. “This has been one wonky case. You think we’ll pin the uncle’s murder on Wardell?”

“
Not our case,” Gordon said. “It’ll go to Telluride. Let them figure it out. Their murder trumps our attempted murder. And the burglary,” he added. “I’m pretty sure we’ll nail Wardell for that one, once he gets back to being Orrin Wardell again. I think we’ve got a good case already.”

“
How? We never got his prints upstairs at Angie’s.”

“
Maybe not, but there was one more thing that made me suspect the good Doctor McGregor was really Orrin Wardell.”

“
And that was?” Solomon asked.

“
He’s wearing my sneakers,” Gordon said.

Solomon laughed. He stood, strolled to the white board, where Gordon had added the new information.
Blackhawks’s name still had a question mark beside it. “Think they’ll get Wardell to explain what Blackhawk was doing in the Yardumian’s cabin?”

“
Your guess is as good as mine,” Gordon said.

“
Which is?”

Gordon took another sip of the single malt. Damn, if he
’d known how good it was, he’d never have stashed it away this long. “Wardell went to the extreme, trying to forgive Blackhawk for being the driver of the car when Roni was killed. Accepted that it wasn’t Jase’s fault, tried to assuage his friend’s guilt. Made friends at the facility, invited him to tag along on outings. Maybe this was the first. Maybe he thought he’d be able to use Blackhawk as an alibi for when Wardell killed his uncle. I’m sure the shrinks will have a field day with this one.”

“
Makes as much sense as anything.” Solomon tapped the part of the board displaying the unsolved pickup truck homicide. “This one’s not our case, either, Chief, but the Boston Strangler connection reminds me of our Deadbeat Dad serial killer. Different victim types, but they have their deadbeatedness in common. Different MOs. That’s the sticky part, but I’m going to look into it.”

“
Catching Orrin Wardell wasn’t enough for you?”

“
Hell, you caught him, Chief. I just did the paperwork. And, speaking of said paperwork, I have a lot more of it to deal with before I can go home tonight.”

Solomon went off to finish his paperwork, and Gordon opened a folder Laurie had left on his desk. A grant application for an in-vehicle computer system. Filled out in full. A sticky pointed him to where he was supposed to sign.

He scrawled his name, sat back, and grinned.