Chapter 11
Ashe used the block of two hours that he had cleared up to head back over to the police station. He had a few things on his mind and a few agendas to bring to fruition. But his thought process scattered in response to the commotion he found when he came into the homicide division. There was a lot of movement among the desks, much more than the night before. And Oscar's door was open, which was never the case. The detective was speaking rapidly into his cell phone. Something was obviously going on and Ashe had a feeling that Scott was involved.
“What is with all the sound and fury?” Ashe asked Oscar from the office doorway. “Even though your skin is naturally darker than mine, I can still tell when you are flustered.” He was trying to mask his tension with humor.
“It’s nothing that concerns you at the moment,” Oscar replied, putting his hand over the mouth of the phone. He spoke to Ashe without looking in his direction. Which was never a good sign, the psychologist knew. Ashe’s old friend could pull off any bluff, no matter how untrue, while staring down a suspect, but the detective could never pull off a lie if he had to look Ashe in the eyes.
Oscar finished his cellular conversation with a “Be right there, Paul.” Turning completely away from Ashe, Oscar grabbed his suit jacket from a hanger and slid it on. Oscar was one of those types of detectives, suit and tie and shiny shoes. “What can I do for you, Ashe? I have to run.”
“Talk to me,” Ashe insisted. “What is going on?”
“Nothing that I know for sure,” Oscar groaned, choosing to meet Ashe’s gaze. “But I will call you later when I know more.”
“Is it about Scott?”
“Not sure,” he said, his sight darting away from the psychologist.
Ashe slammed his fist down hard on the desk. “Damn it, Oscar! Tell me!”
Oscar paused. He took in a deep breath and looked back to Ashe. “Two dead bodies in Lincoln Park,” he said matter-of-fact.
“And?”
He took another deep breath. “Shooting,” he simply added.
“And?”
“I was going to call you when I knew more,” Oscar grunted. “Two dead bodies were reported in Lincoln Park this morning. Shooting victims. In the homeless cluster that has set up there over the past year. Someone made an anonymous call this morning. Probably one of the vagrants getting sick of the smell. I'm surprised they didn't let the bodies sit and rot instead of calling it in. We both know how much the homeless like the police coming into their little towns.”
“How is Scott involved?”
“We believe that Scott...caused the death of the two men,” Oscar answered.
Ashe began to shake his head back and forth.
“A leather YSU basketball jacket was found on one of the bodies, identified by the name on it as belonging to Scott Walters,” Oscar continued. “A handgun was found as well. Ruger. It’s being sent to the lab for testing but I was told it is the same caliber as the one that killed Owen Roberts.”
“His jacket was on one of them?” Ashe asked. “Why? Why would one of the dead men be wearing Scott's school jacket?”
“I don't know.”
“That has to mean something.”
“I don't want to speculate at this point.”
“Well. What do you know?”
“Not much,” Oscar replied. “I'm heading over there now.”
“You have to know something, Oscar,” Ashe spoke, his voice rising again. “I need something!”
“All I know is that your son is leaving bodies across town,” Oscar answered, becoming irritated. “That is all I know. That is all I need to know right now. All you need to know is that your son's face is not plastered all over the television, right now, even though it damned well should be.” He pointed to the flat screen mounted on the wall. “We have kept this close to the vest as a courtesy to you. We should have his face on the news, on the front page of the papers, using the public to find him before he runs too far for us to follow, if that hasn’t already happened by now. But we don't. If the bodies keep piling up, though, that will no longer be the case.”
Ashe didn't know how to respond. What Oscar said was true.
“Why are you here, Ashe?” Oscar asked. “I have to go.”
Ashe tried to calm himself. “You're going to call me when you know more?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Ashe said before continuing. “I wanted to see if I could get your documents on the Barrett case. I have another interview this afternoon and I need something to get him to open up to me. He is putting up a wall.”
“Not surprised. He wouldn't talk to us either, except to confess.”
“In order for me to make a proper assessment, I need to get something from him,” Ashe replied. “I need to start honestly thinking about a diagnosis before I am forced to move on. The powers-that-be are really touchy about this one. I might not be given a lot of time before they take Mr. Barrett away from me.”
“You don't know enough from the media?”
“I can’t go by what the media says, because I don’t know what is fact and what is heresy,” he replied.
“He's crazy. That is my diagnosis.”
“I'm not so sure, at this time,” Ashe replied.
“Why don't you get the court documents?”
“I requested them the other day, but it will take another week or so,” Ashe answered. “You were lead detective and your notes and documents will be detailed and thorough. Your nothing if not detailed and thorough, Oscar. It should give me what I need, right now. And you always keep back up physical copies, instead of relying completely on your computer. I can just grab those.”
“A week or so, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ashe replied. “That is fast for them. It usually takes longer.”
“Really?”
“It's just a piece of shit prisoner,” he began. “What else do they have but time.”
“True.”
“I usually don't get into the second interview so soon, either,” Ashe replied. “But I have a feeling that if I don’t crack the man’s shell in hurry…I will never get the chance again.”
“Sounds likes there is a little more to it.”
“Franklin Barrett has me curious,” Ashe answered. “My curiosity is my biggest sin. Next to lust and greed.” He gave a hollow laugh.
“Mine is pride,” Oscar added.
“So...can I get...?”
Before Ashe was done speaking, Oscar was already reaching into a tall file cabinet. Pulling out a thick set of folders, he handed them over. “This is all you need to know. Do not lose anything. Do not get coffee stains on anything, either.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Call me.”
“I will.”
Oscar scooted out of the office and Ashe watched him. The little black and gold container was in his pants pocket. He traced the outline with his fingertips. Gripping tight the files on Barrett, he went back to the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor.
On to the next agenda.