Chapter 30
It took nearly an hour for Ashe to get his colleague Sally up to speed on his urgent cases, while also choosing which cases could wait for his return. He felt confident and content in leaving her his load. After jotting his cell phone number down on a sticky note and shaking her hand goodbye, Ashe rushed away from Sally and quickly sprinted to his car. He finally found himself on the road making his way toward the police station.
He swore under his breath.
“Oscar better damn well keep his ass in his office,” Ashe told no one. “He should know that I would see the press conference. He should already figure that I would be coming. Asshole.”
The city went by in a blur of lights and motion. It was like his mind skipped the journey, only coming to at the destination, the front door of the police station.
A line of people waited to get through the single metal detector and into the police station. The line gave Ashe a shiver, because he knew why the line existed and it made him even angrier.
Waiting impatiently, Ashe arrived at the front of the line to find Oswald to be one of the three officers. Three officers at the front desk? He thought about what was happening and remembered some other occasions when Oscar, or other detectives or officers, had given news conferences about suspects on the run. Immediately after the conference, a flock of concerned and paranoid citizens would storm the station and busy the phone lines with tips and sightings, most if not all turning out to be figments of their overactive imaginations.
Ashe groaned.
Clearly Oswald could tell when he saw Ashe that the psychologist was pissed and ready to make someone bleed. Oswald nodded to Ashe and let him rush through.
When the elevator door opened onto the second floor, Ashe was assaulted by noise and bodies. The homicide department was always semi-active while remaining semi-asleep due to long hours and hard burdens of the job. A lot of homicide cases, concerning the normal types of murders, contained a lot of talk and a lot of waiting. But types of cases occasionally arose that caused the second floor to become a circus, and Ashe realized that Scott’s case had become one of those types.
He weaved through the crowded floor the best that he could. While his eyes were focused on Oscar’s closed door another man stepped in front of him, halting him.
“Detective Harrison is busy,” Detective Geiring said. “He is trying to clean up after your son.”
“It looks like your superior just made a bigger mess,” Ashe grunted.
“And I bet you’re here to make it even bigger?” Geiring asked. “We don’t need your help or your insight on this one, doc. We can handle it. Unless you want to tell us where your son is? Or, better yet, bring him to us?”
Looking into the detectives eyes, Ashe said, “I stopped doing your job a long time ago, detective. Maybe it is time for you to do it yourself. I’d hate to show you up again. How is Ron Davis doing? Still on death row? Your welcome.”
The face of Detective Geiring hardened but Ashe simple pushed his way around the angry police officer and continued on his way.
He was sick and tired of knocking on doors, so instead he simply pushed on the door and entered. Oscar was immediately on his feet, his face appeared as emotionless as it ever. Ashe didn’t stop at the visiting side of the desk. He made his way around the polished piece of wood and shoved the large detective backward, nearly putting his head through the office’s only window.
“What the fuck?!” Oscar cried out.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Ashe growled. Oscar was a great deal larger than the psychologist, but frankly Ashe didn’t give a shit.
Oscar raised his hands in surrender and replied, voice calm, “I didn’t do this, Ashe. I am not the one that made this happen. I swear.”
Ashe breathed heavily. “You told me that you would keep my son’s name out of the news. Now, if he is still somewhere nearby, hiding out, he may run further away. You just made him a target for the entire Northeast Ohio area. Why would he not run, now? Would you stay in the crosshairs? I…we will never be able to find him, Oscar. He is long gone…and you did it. Now we will never figure out what the hell is going on.”
Oscar still held up his hands. “Ashe?”
“What?”
“Put your ass in a chair and let me talk to you?”
Reluctantly, Ashe backed away and agreed. Once in the soft chair, his breathing eased and his pulse calm. He didn’t understand how Oscar could claim that the press conference was not his doing. It was Oscar’s face that was in front of the cameras. It was Oscar’s mouth that had been making the statement, answering the questions.
“What did you do, Oscar?”
“A source inside the media…”
“You have a source inside the media?” Ashe interrupted. “Since when?”
“A couple years,” Oscar answered. “That doesn’t matter…”
“Who?”
Oscar groaned. “It doesn’t matter. Listen. I’m explaining myself. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Our source inside the media called up the station first thing this morning,” Oscar began, meeting Ashe gaze for gaze, glare for glare. “Before the sun was even up. I was already here, of course, and the call was transferred to this office. I was told that someone working for a local newspaper called in a story, a big, breaking story about the connection of two sets of homicides and one college student at large.”
Ashe sighed.
“Someone had leaked,” Oscar told him. “And the story was heading for the newsstands first thing. Thankfully one of our sources had ears on the call and gave us a heads up. We had no choice but to call a conference and head the story off. We couldn’t let the public find out about this shit from a reporter. They would call shenanigans on the whole damn department. No one trusts use these days, so we need to save face whenever we can.”
Ashe shook his head.
“Who leaked? Any ideas?”
“None,” Oscar replied. “We’ve tried to keep this close to the vest, like I told you. Everyone in the station loves you, Ashe, and would never jeopardize your son for a news story. Or so I thought. Someone talked, though. When I find out who…I am going choke the shit of him…or her.” The detective’s face was growing redder, redder than usual. Ashe knew that when Oscar’s usual calm face grew darkened, Oscar believed in what he was saying, completely. “Well, the bag is open. What are we going to do about it?”
“We?” Ashe confused by the use of the word.
“I can’t let you in on the investigation,” Oscar said. “Too much bullshit involved and the investigation will be taken from us completely if someone catches whiff of it. Besides, can you tell me that you are not emotionally compromised by this?”
Ashe was silent for a second.
“Agreed.”
“I had a feeling that you would,” Oscar admitted. “Can I ask you something, friend to friend?”
“Please,” Ashe said.
“You said that,” Oscar began, “we will never figure out what is going on, now, because of the conference. Right?”
He nodded.
“But you also want to find Scott,” Oscar continued. “You want to help your son, obviously. Is that right, too?”
Ashe nodded again and smirked.
“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, sir?” he asked the detective.
Oscar laughed.
“That is my job, sir,” Ashe told him and laughed too.
“I am just trying to understand your intentions, Ashe,” Oscar said. “What is more important, find your son or figuring out what is going on? You might not get both. And you know that. Right?”
Ashe suddenly felt old and tired.
“I’m not sure,” Ashe responded. “I can’t lose my son, Oscar. I lost my wife because I dealt with a man that I underestimated. I am trained to understand p
sychopaths and sociopaths, but Steven Reynolds surprised me. He showed me not only how little I actually understood about the human mind and how little I could help a truly mad, demented person. There was a time that I believed that every single mental illness, mild to severe, could be comprehended and treated, but that was arrogance. It was also arrogant to believe that I was above those with mental disturbance, but when my wife died, I realized that I stood above no one.”
“You are above them, my friend,” Oscar insisted. “You don’t rape and mutilate other human beings. You are closer to God than Steven Reynolds.”
“I don’t feel close to anything but the ground right now,” Ashe admitted. “Maybe, because I still don’t fully understand why Susanne…is gone, it makes me want to understand what is going on with Scott. My son is not a killer. But he killed. And I don’t know why.”
“Drugs?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think about drugs being a factor?” Oscar asked.
Ashe cocked his head. “Are you asking me questions about the case?”
“Bouncing around ideas,” Oscar said. “Nothing more.” With those words, he rose from his desk and closed the office door, which Ashe had left open during his rampage. “Drugs,” he said again, before sliding back into his chair.
“Where does the drug angle come from?” Ashe asked, keeping his own knowledge to himself.
“We’ve spoken to friends and relatives of Owen,” Oscar said, “and they all have stated things about Owen’s drug use. They say it began when he was a teenager. Apparently there was kind of incident during those years, but I am having a bitch of a time getting to those juvenile files.”
Ashe already knew what the detective was describing…and more. He wanted to tell his friend what he knew about Owen’s violent episode but then he would have to provide to him exactly how he knew the details within what had to be sealed juvenile files. And proving that Owen had that kind of aggressive past wouldn’t give them any motive to why Scott had killed him in his sleep, unless he could prove that Owen had continuously threatened Scott. But then why didn’t Scott bring it up…ever…to the police. He was far from a Tela, from a battered wife.
“Drugs at the scene?”
“A shit ton,” Oscar said. “Pot. Pills. Coke.”
Ashe thought about the little container that he had found in Scott’s bedroom and wondered if the sprinkling of powder was cocaine. Could it have caused a psychotic break? Maybe if it had been laced with something stronger. But the break seemed to be lasting longer than it should, which could be possible, if Scott was still taking whatever drugs caused the break.
Is he hiding out with his dealer? Ashe wondered. Is that where he is?
“No drugs were found in Scott’s room,” Oscar said. “But that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have been taking them with Owen. What do you think?”
“A lot of college students, once away from the eyes of their parent, will indulge in substance experimentation,” Ashe said. “Some consider it a rite of passage.”
“But what about Scott? Could drugs be behind the first killing? Owen?”
“It is possible,” Ashe admitted. “But I don’t know how likely. Last I knew, Scott didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He is an athlete, focused on being healthy and in shape. Drug use is possible, but it might be a reach.”
“A reach we might have to take,” Oscar said.
“Maybe he was forced to kill,” Ashe said, as the thought came to forefront of his brain. He had never considered the possibility, but it made sense. “Someone wanted Owen dead and, by threat of violence, forced Scott into doing it? Maybe Owen was in deep with some hardcore dealers…maybe Scott was as well. What better way to get rid of Owen than to have Scott do it for them?”
“Possible,” Oscar admitted. “I’m gonna need more evidence.”
The Psychologist nodded.
“Self-defense…” Ashe then offered.
“The two thugs in the park,” Oscar began, “maybe.”
“I am convinced that that was self-defense,” Ashe stated. “Scott left his jacket on the one man and his gun at the scene. He was shouting to us that he had killed these men and left his jacket to show us why.”
“The handgun was a Ruger. Same caliber as the one used against Owen. Ballistics matched the slugs,” Oscar said. “Prints were on the pistol and we matched them to items confiscated from his room.”
“Clues,” Ashe mumbled.
“Kinda crude,” Oscar said.
“All Scott has right now is crude,” Ashe replied.
“True. But that does not explain Owen. Don’t tell me that you think it was self-defense too,” Oscar said. “That would be more than just a reach. That would be like trying to snatch the moon from the sky.”
Ashe shrugged.
“We know that Scott had a girlfriend,” Oscar added. “All we have is a nickname. Bam. No one can tell me her real name. But we are still looking. What did you always say, Ashe?”
“If you ever want to know the true soul of a man, whether it be good or evil, ask the woman that he loves,” Ashe replied.
“I’ve always found that to be too simple,” Oscar said. “But it’s worked in the past.”
Ashe shrugged again.
“You think that he might be shacked up with this chick?” Oscar questioned. “I mean…if she is his active girlfriend, then she must live in the area.”
“Yes,” Ashe agreed. “She may even go to school with Scott. Have you looked into his classes? Her name might be in the class rosters. Hopefully her nickname is derived from her real name. Like how a Dianna maybe nicknamed Anna or Dye.”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said. “Once upon a time that was true. These days, though, not so much. I come across nicknames almost daily and…they are always some off the wall shit. G-money. Or something like that. We are looking for this one guy for questioning and he goes by the name Slut Thumper. Really. No joke.”
“It’s a start, though,” Ashe said.
“I agree,” Oscar said. “Geiring is looking into Scott’s classes.”
“What about at Scott’s job?” Ashe brought up the question, realizing that he never looked into Scott’s place of work. Did Scott have a place of work? He knew that Scott’s basketball scholarship paid for most of what his son needed but he had a feeling that Scott worked somewhere to pay for the extras he may have needed. But where?
“We can’t find any records of a current employer for Scott,” Oscar said. “We know he has worked here and there around the city but nothing comes up for the past two months or so. If he worked, it was under the table.”
“We need to find out where,” Ashe said. We? It was weird hearing that word when associated with Oscar and himself. It had been a while.
“We asked one of Scott’s closest friends,” the detective began. ”The guy claims that Scott may have been in between jobs. We are going to go with it until something else comes up.”
Ashe became quiet.
“What are you thinking about?” Oscar asked.
“Something happened the past year,” Ashe stated. “I honestly can’t say that I know my son well as an adult. His mother’s death created a rift that is wide and long and lacking a bridge of any kind. But this whole thing doesn’t sound like any kind of person I would see my son becoming. Secretive. Drugs. Murder. I just don’t know.”
“What could have happened?”
“Steven Reynolds,” Ashe blurted.
“Ashe!” Oscar exclaimed.
“He could be involved,” Ashe said. “He could be messing with my son.”
“That is the emotional father speaking, my friend,” Oscar told him. “Not the rational psychologist.”
“Maybe.”
“Steven Reynolds is far from this area of the world,” Oscar replied. “And if he ever crawls back into our hemisph
ere, I will know about it. And then I will shoot him with every bullet that I own.”
“Ghosts are all around us,” Oscar told him.
Ashe sighed. “Can I ask you a question while I have you sitting here?” he asked.
“About what?”
“Franklin Barrett.”
“That guy,” Oscar groaned. “What about him?”
He immediately regretted bring up Barrett, because he didn’t know whether or not the connection of the bodies in beds would stand out to Oscar. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stand out to the detective. Should he point out the connections? He wondered. But he was not ready to fully trust his old friend, yet. There were still things that would seem crazy if said out loud. They sound crazy to even him. “You never found any evidence of a plot against his life?” Ashe asked.
“He is still holding on to that fantasy? We looked into it,” the homicide detective replied. “We talked to other members of the Barrett clan, like his brother, which we knew that he was close to. Still not sure why we even indulged that son of a bitch. I guess we had to follow all avenues. But we found nothing to support his claims. Even if they were true, he should have reported it instead of doing what he did.”
“Yea,” Ashe concurred. “I just need to get him to face his hallucinations and delusions. Until then…I don’t know what I can do. I was just wondering if there was any possible truth behind it.” The funny thing was that Ashe was genuinely curious to whether or not a plot against Barrett did exist. It would change the shape of the entire situation if a plot could be proven. It would take delusions out of the picture.
Why did that matter, though. Scott was his priority. Yet, somehow Ashe was sure that what Barrett did was connected to Scott. And since he didn’t have Scott to question, all he had was Franklin Barrett. To figure out that man could possibly provide him with what he needed to figure out what is happening to Scott, no matter how farfetched it seemed to be. Ashe wanted to trust his gut.
“You diagnose him yet?” Oscar asked.
“Getting close,” Ashe said. “I’m leaning toward whacko.”
“I concur.”
Oscar raised a sheet of paper that had been lying on his desk underneath his nose. Ashe hadn’t even noticed it.
“This is our official statement to the press,” Oscar told him. “Want to read it.”
Ashe waved it off.
“I wished that we didn’t have to do this but that bitch reporter gave me no choice,” Oscar said.
“Bitch?” Ashe asked. “It was a woman?”
“Yep,” Oscar replied. “A new reporter even. Hasn’t even had a story printed yet, from what my source tells me. This was going to be her big break.”
A new reporter?
Big break?
Shit!
“You have her name?” Ashe asked.
Oscar closed his eyes and thought hard. “Katherine…Katherine something. I can find it for you…if you want.”
“That is okay,” Ashe quickly replied, jumping from his chair. “You have my number. Call me if anything new comes up.”
“We are done here?”
“Yes,” Ashe told him. “I got to go.”