Garwood Village, Robert F. Clifton [small books to read txt] 📗

“Not really, nonetheless, out of his friendship and concern for you he did reveal to me the fact that you could still be pining for someone named Jane.” *gifts From The Kasbah

“Pining? Me? I don't think so. If Doc told you about Jane, then he told you that I asked her to marry me. So she turned me down. End of case. End of romance, but not necessarily the end of the relationship”, Wallace replied.

“Robert, I've only known you for a short while and I don't want to interfere in your life, but I think you should know something. I'll let Manfred tell you”, said Sharon.

“And what's that?”, asked Wallace, looking at Doc.

“Two days ago Sharon and I had lunch at the Country Club. While we were there I bumped into Mike Crane. You know Mike, he owns the Crane Plumbing Company. Anyway, it seems that his wife is good friends with Doris Kerr.” *Gifts From The Kasbah

His wife received a letter from Doris telling how she and her husband were enjoying France in general and Paris in particular. Then she added the fact that her personal secretary, Jane Chambers (*Gifts From The Kasbah) became engaged to some French university professor where she was studying art.

“Is that a fact? Oh well, I wish her the best, what more can I say”. Looking at his wristwatch Wallace stood and said, “Well, Sharon, thanks for your input. I'm sure what you have told me will be a big help. Now, I think I'll get out of here and let you two be alone. Good night”, Wallace said, as he left the room.

That night, at home in his condo Robert Wallace sat at his desk. Opening the desk drawer, he removed two photo's. One was a picture of him with Jane taken on the boardwalk by a stranger. He had handed his camera to a man and asked him to photograph them together. The other was a photo taken as they sat at the table while dining at the Glass Menagerie. He looked at both photo's then reaching for an old cigarette lighter, lit it and attached the glowing flame to the corner of each picture. He held them for a while, then placed them in the ashtray watching them burn and curl as the flame ate away the image, just as the pain in his heart let her go.

Chapter Eight

A bright morning sun shining on the tall meadow grass created a field of gold as far as the eye could see. At the same time the cold March wind blowing in short gusts bent the reeds towards the ground then released them, allowing them to stand erect again, only to bend them once more with another blast of air. Wallace watched this action as he drove towards the Mullica Arms Assistant Living Complex located on ten acres near the Mullica River.

It had been a few years since he had been in this area. He and Doc Edwards had tried winter fishing on the river, trying to snag dormant striped bass. They soon realized that the sporting element was absent and quit and motored the rental outboard row boat back to the marina. Now, he was making the trip to the Mullica Arms to see an old friend and mentor, Al Wilson.

Captain Albert Wilson was the commanding officer of the Major Crime Squad when he took Detective Robert Wallace under his wing and taught him how to do police work with honesty and integrity. Wilson like Wallace had come through the ranks achieving promotions from passing high on civil service exams and not through politics. At one time Al Wilson also commanded the Juvenile Division. It was Wilson's time in the Juvenile Division that Wallace wanted to talk about.

Wallace parked the car, locked the doors and entered the building. He stopped at the reception desk and told the receptionist that he was there to see Albert Wilson. In turn the receptionist called Wilson in his three room apartment who then granted permission for his guest to take the elevator to the second floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, Wallace paid particular attention to the numbers on the doors as he walked down the hallway looking for and finally finding number two seventeen. He knocked gently on the wooden panel, then heard the words, “Come In” from inside. He turned the door knob opened the door and walked in.

“Robert! Damn son it's good to see you. Not too many of the guys come to see me. Hell, now that I think about it, not too many of the guys I policed with are still alive. Anyway. Like I said, it's good to see you. Listen it's almost lunch time. How about you be my guest for lunch. I've got an idea why you're here and we can shoot the shit over a sandwich and a cup of coffee. What do ya say?”

“What ever you say Cap”.

“Good, let's go. Now, I suppose you're here about the, what he's being called? The Garwood Village Slasher”?

“Yeah, that's a bull shit title the press has given him in order to sell newspapers”, said Wallace as they took the elevator down to the main floor.

“That figures. Got any leads so far?”, asked Wilson.

“Not too many. I've got a pubic hair and a blood type along with a witness who described who he thought might be the killer, but nothing concrete”, Wallace answered.

Wilson guided Wallace to a table back in a corner of the dining room. “Let's sit here. This way we won't be bothered by people wanting to stop and annoy me”, said Albert.

When both men were seated, Wilson continued the conversation. OK. I only know what I read in the papers and knowing you haven't told the press too much. Am I right?”

“Yep”.

“Good, I see I taught you right. Now, do you have a profile?”

“Yes, and a pretty good one. That's why I'm here. My profiler suggests that this guy as a kid was a juvenile delinquent who more than less was a royal pain in the ass in or around Garwood Village maybe ten or fifteen years ago. I remember that at one time you worked the Juvenile Division. I'm hoping you can remember a troubled kid back then.”

“Ten or fifteen years ago. That would be between nineteen sixty or sixty five. It seems to me that I had two cases that took me into Garwood Village. As I recall the first case that comes to mind is a kid by the name of Paul Souder. The little bastard went around setting fire to the trash in the Dempsey Dumpsters. He got a kick out of watching the fire equipment arrive and put out the flames. The last I heard of him he had joined the army.”

“The other kid was Lionel Horton. Now, this boy was a handful. He bullied other kids. Stole money from the poor box in church, and was a purse snatcher. I sent his little ass to Jamesburg, or as it's better known as, The State training School for Boys. They kept him there for a year then sent him home. Guess what home was? Home was an apartment in Garwood Village where his mother operated as a hooker, sometimes turning tricks right in front of him.”

“As I recall, the next time I got involved with him, he was taken into custody as a juvenile on a complaint of assault and battery from a woman who caught him trying to break into an apartment next to hers. When she confronted him he attacked her, punching her in the face repeatedly. I sent his ass back to the reform school.”

“Finally, the last I heard of him, at least in an official way was when about six months after his release the second time around from Jamesburg we began getting complaints in the summer of, let me see now, the summer of nineteen sixty-three, I think it was. It was either sixty-three or sixty-two, what ever. Anyway we began getting complaints from the women of Garwood village about someone vandalizing their bathing suits. The women would go to the beach during the day. Come home, shower or bathe then wash their swimming suits. They would then hang them on the clotheslines to dry, many of them letting them hang over night. It was during the night that someone took a knife and cut out the crotch pad from the suit. Well, I don't have to tell you that a woman's bathing suit goes for a few bucks and these women of the village were some pissed off when they took the suit off of the line and found the thing had been vandalized.”

“Naturally, we focused in on Lionel and decided to bring him in. This time he fought us. I kicked his ass all the way into the office. I took him into custody again as a Juvenile and recommended to the court that he be sent back to the reform school. But, what does an ignorant cop know? The goody two shoes made up of Social Workers convinced the court that Lionel Horton although a problem was in reality just a miss-guided youth. A young man who with proper guidance could result in being transformed into a proper, upright citizen of the community.”

“Now, if you came here for what I just gave you I hope it helps. However, if you want my opinion all you have to do is ask”, said Wilson.

“Naturally I want your opinion”, Wallace replied.

“OK. Think about it. Lionel Horton grew up in Garwood Village. He was the son of a prostitute who turned sexual acts for money in front of him. This in all probability caused him to hate women. He directed that hate towards the women of Garwood Village, by, one bullying their children, two breaking into their homes and stealing, three an act of aggression destroying their prize possessions namely their bathing suits. And, ask yourself this. How did he do that? Of course the answer is with a knife. Put it all together it spells Lionel. Lionel Horton.”.

“And that makes perfect sense Cap. I think you just handed me my suspect”, said Wallace.

“I hope so. But be careful. This son of a bitch is no longer a kid. He's a deadly killer and insane. Instead of crotch pads he now cuts out intestines. Don't expect him to surrender meekly and take his chances in a court of law. He'll fight you. Just between you and me. You kill him or he kills you”. Wilson advised.

“Thanks Al”.

“Don't mention it. I'm glad you came to see me even though it was a business call. Let's eat”.

As they ate Wallace asked. “Tell me. Do you like it here?”

“Like? I suppose so. At least I'm content here. I got my own place, my own furniture. The foods good, they make my bed and clean the apartment. I pay for them to do my laundry and I can come and go as I please. There are a couple of horny old bitches who want me for company or companionship. I haven't figured out which yet. And, I beat the piss out of the male poker players even though it's for a penny a hand. Like? Yeah I guess I like it here. Where else would I be? Home? No one there but me. No wife. No kids. I didn't have time Robert. The job always came first. Don't make the same mistake I made. If you find a girl that loves you grab her and hold on. Hold on tight. There ought to be someone with a tear in their eye when they play the pipes. Make sure you have someone”.

Wallace nodded his head. “Al, I have another question. When was the last time you saw Lionel Horton?”

“Damn if I know now. Let me think. It was probably in nineteen sixty-something. Sixty-three, sixty-four. Sorry, Robert the old brain is turning to mush”.

“No problem.