Book Three: Part 7 - Varied Evil - Chapter 2

The Twenty-Second Precinct – 10:31 a.m.

“Excuse me, but can you direct me to who is in charge of this establishment?”

Sergeant Dewey McDaley, looked up and over his desk, and through his coke-bottle glasses, could see a modest, yet somewhat attractive woman standing before him.

“That would be, Captain Page, ma’am. He’s up on the second floor. Take a left at the top of the stairs, and his office is the first one on the right. Can’t miss it. Says: Captain John Satchell Page in big letters on the glass.”

“Thank you.”

The woman turned and slowly, methodically took her time, taking in the sounds and smells of what it is like to work in a place such as this. A place she wouldn’t normally be in to begin with but felt it necessary.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she looked down.

“So small they all look. Walking dolls.”

Turning back, she walked to the first door, and knocked loud enough to be heard the first time.

“It’s open.”

Twisting the handle, she entered the room, and across from her, she could see a tall black man standing at his desk with a streak of gray hair on both sides that seemed to give him a bit of a regal look. He almost resembled Morgan Freeman.

“You are Captain Page?”

“That I am. How can I help you?” His smile broke wide, and it was an honest one. I gentle one. Definitely Morgan Freeman, she believed.

“I finally decided to come in because of the events that happened about two months ago. Also, because I believe some of my dolls may have been involved. I have read the papers, listened to the news with that Ralston reporter, of the unfortunate accident that a few of your police officers had with a, Craig Murray. I believe that was the name he went by.”

“Please, have a seat, Miss ….”

“Colepepper. Bethany Colepepper.”

“Give me a minute. I’m going to get Lieutenant Baker, and ask her to sit in on this, if you don’t mind.”

Less than a minute passed, when Baker walked into Satchell’s office, spying Bethany sitting in one of the dark oak wood chairs in front of Satchell’s desk.

“What’s up, Captain. I was about to go to the hospital to see Ed.”

“This might not take too long, Baker. I think you need to hear this woman out. Baker, this is Bethany Colepepper. Ms. Colepepper, Lieutenant Baker.”

A handshake, a nod of the head, along with two reserved smiles, and Bethany Colepepper began speaking.

“As I first explained to the Captain, I heard about the unsavory events that happened involving that person, Craig Murray, and I feel partially at fault.

“In the news, it was mentioned porcelain dolls were part of an investigation your department has been, or still is, looking into. I think they are my creations.”

Baker leaned forward from where she sat.

“What makes you believe the dolls are yours?”

“It was stated in the paper and on Channel 08 news there were three dolls. I recently made three dolls for a man who called himself, Craig Murray.”

Baker’s eyes shifted to Satchell, who answered her unasked question.

“How long ago was this, Miss Colepepper?”

“Quite some time ago. Handcrafted, lifelike dolls take a great deal of time to perfect, but he picked them up from my shop; but I would say it was sometime around the eighteenth of January.”

“Ms. Colepepper,” said Baker, “if you would, I would like you to follow me downstairs into the basement where the evidence room is and identify the dolls as being your work.”

“I see no problem in that. I have also brought along the picture that Mr. Murray gave me to use their, excuse me, your likeness, and I daresay, and forgive me again, but I had no idea I would be speaking with you until you walked in.”

Bethany reached inside her purse and pulled the picture out and handed it to Baker.

Reaching for it, she knew right away where this was taken. Right after the wedding ceremony. It was her, Ed, and Stevie. Freddy told her he was there, and this picture proves that.

Baker threw the picture on Satchell’s desk and he glanced at it with a sad shake to his head.

“I would say this alone is enough to convince me, Miss Colepepper did make the dolls.”

“I agree, Captain.” Baker stood, looked at Bethany, and said, “If you would please follow me, so you can make a positive ID of your work, and then we can close this part of the investigation.”

“Certainly, Lieutenant Baker.” Bethany looked at Satchell, with a small curving smile. “Captain Page, my pleasure.”

Satchell stood from behind his desk, extended his hand and said, “Thank you for coming forward, Miss Colepepper. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

Definitely Morgan Freeman, she smiled again.

Within a few minutes, Baker and Bethany found themselves in the basement and in front of a caged counter where a sign hung overhead reading: PROPERTY ROOM.

A tall, skinny man with the nameplate: Gibbons, walked to the counter.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

“I hope so. I need you to pull the evidence box on the porcelain dolls for me. I have this woman with me who is going to identify them for us.”

“Give me two minutes.” Gibbons disappeared behind a shelf to his right.

“Is he the only one who works down here?”

“Pretty much. Marty’s been doing this almost seven years. I sometimes think if someone else were to work with him, Marty would feel invaded. This place is his home away from home.”

“Sad, in a way, when you say it like that. It’s as if this is the only life he has.”

“It may well be, at least in his eyes. He lost his wife in a terrible accident at the textile mill. Her name was Meredith. Seemed a cog or pin came loose on the machine she was assigned. It fell apart, crushing his wife before she had a chance to react. Two other people were caught under the weight of the machine who died as well. It was a sad day then.

“Marty had a funeral for her, closed-casket, and from that day to now, he’s been in that ‘I’m fine’ mode. And he is, or as close to it he will get. But he is a good man.”

Just then, Marty Gibbons returned from the corner shelf with a one box in his hands.

“I believe this is what you are after, Lieutenant.”

Opening the box, there lay three dolls. Some were broken, some cut into, but without really looking, Bethany Colepepper acknowledged they were her handiwork.

“I must say, when I created these, they were intact; not so messy.”

Baker closed the box, looked at Marty, saying, “You can put these back, Marty, and thanks.”

“Quite all right, Lieutenant.” He grabbed the box and disappeared once again.

“Ms. Colepepper, thank you for coming this morning. At least this piece of the puzzle we’ve been working, has finally been found and put in place, thanks to you.”

“I do hope you find the rest of the pieces. That Craig Murray, well, he appears to be a very dangerous man.”

“Dangerous is an understatement, and I don’t believe we will ever see Craig Murray again.” Baker reached for her wallet and pulled out her business card and handed it to Bethany. “But in case you do, or have any other information, please call me.”

Taking the card, she said, “I feel terrible that my work was involved in all this, and that it nearly cost several lives.”

“You had no way of knowing. Besides, that part is finished.”

As they reached the main floor, Bethany handed Baker one of her cards. Smiling, she said, “If you ever get the urge.” Then she turned and walked out the front doors.

Baker looked at the card that read in bold letters: THE-DOLL-MAKER.

Turning, she walked up the stairs to her office to file a report on today’s events and close out the nagging question that held no answer until today. Once she finished, she would head over to the hospital and look in on Ed, and later Roberts.

As Bethany got in her car and drove away, she couldn’t help but think aloud, “Pity I hadn’t found her when she was a child. So natural a beauty she is.” Stopping for a red light to change, she briefly looked at her image in the rear-view mirror.

“Nothing wrong there. I won’t need another child to enhance my looks for at least another eighty years.” She winked at herself, smiled, and when the light turned green, she drove on.

The Baker-Manning Home

111 Homestead Lane – Late Night

Baker drove up to her garage as the door opened from her remote.

Today had been one of those long tedious days of going through old and new files, compiling summary reports from each of her team members, and then, no less, photo-copying each in triplicate, then scan each page into the computer data-base. On top of that, she had meetings with city council members over new zoning modifications, and the restructuring of finances for both the police and fire department as well.

God, she can’t stand “polly-ticking”, as Ed would say.

The upside? No emergences, no robberies, no assaults; no nothing.

With the garage door closed behind her, she stepped out of her red Hummer to go into the house and spend a relaxing night, or at least what was left of it; first in the tub just to soak herself into a prune. Every muscle in her body ached. Then, a late-night dinner with Stevie and Ed. Some conversation, maybe a movie, that is if she could keep her eyes open that long; then off to bed and snuggle in bed with Ed, until the Sandman, or some other sleepy-time character came along and put her in dreamland.

As she stepped to the side door leading into the kitchen, she noticed the door slightly open. Her hand automatically reached for her weapon when she paused, thinking, “One of them just didn’t close the door all the way.”

Entering the kitchen, she threw her keys on the kitchen counter and saw the place the way she left it this morning—spotless.

It was Stevie’s night to cook.

“Ed! Stevie! I’m home, guys.”

No answer.

She walked to Stevie’s room first as it was closer and spied a light on from under the crack of the door. She lightly wrapped her knuckles on the door saying, “Hey bub. You in there?”

No answer.

She opened the door. Room clean. Bed made. Spotless.

Maybe they are in the yard, but why so late? Plus, it’s cold out there.

She started for the French Doors that led out onto a spacious yard, when she heard something fall and break in her bedroom.

So that’s it, she thought. They are in our room, wrestling. Ed knows better. He isn’t fully normal; given the circumstances, but she smiled just the same. Ed and Stevie were becoming closer every day that came and went. As a mother, she couldn’t ask for anything more.

Slowly, she inched the door open, and just as she was about to sneak a look around the door, she yelled loudly as her hand went for her gun a second time.

“YOU BASTARD!”

He turned, blood-soaked from the neck down, a hell-bent smile pasted to his lips. In his left hand, he held Stevie’s head. At the edge of the bed, lay Ed, throat slit, his other arm cut off, chest splayed open.

“sweet Janis. Nice of you to arrive on time. Here is a present for you.”

He threw Stevie’s severed head in her direction just as Baker was aiming her gun at him, tears coursing down her face, her cheeks flush with anger.

Freddy had also thrown the first of two Bowie knives at her at the same time he threw Stevie’s head. The first blade went deep into her left shoulder, sending her against the wall between her dresser and the bedroom door.

Baker felt herself sliding to the floor, watching, as Freddy came at her with another Bowie knife.

She cocked the hammer on her gun.

“sweet Janis. This is the moment I have waited for. To taste your blood, feast on your heart, drink in your fear, and listen to your pitiful pleadings. Tonight, you die with all you love. Love is dead, sweet Janis, just like you. Now die, you BITCH!”

Freddy lunged, Bowie knife pointed at her stomach, eventually to be ripped straight up to her throat.

Feeling the blade rip into her deeply, screamed loudly, “You die with me, asshole!”

She fired every round from her gun into Freddy’s stomach, chest, and face. Even in death, Freddy had the final moment, without words. As blood poured from his flesh, his tongue snaked a bloody trail across her lips and face.

When he fell to the left side of Baker; her eyes, staring a final time at the carnage surrounding her; quiet became the loudest sound in the room.

The Sandman finally got to her.

But why could she still hear voices? She could hear her name being screamed aloud. She could feel her body being yanked, pulled, and tugged, as if she were but a rag doll being callously hurled in the air.

Getting into heaven was supposed to be easy.

Just leave me be, her mind screamed. Just let me go and be at peace, finally.

She could feel a light cross over her face. Her eyes reacted behind closed lids. The light! It’s the light leading me to heaven. To home. To those I love.

Jan!

Mom!

I can hear them. They are so close. Finally. Going. Home.

“Mom! Please, wake up!”

“C’mon, Jan. Snap out of it, girl. It’s just another dream. Wake up.”

Baker’s eyes flew open, shifting left to right, taking in both Stevie and Ed. Both of her hands touched their cheeks. Tears slid down the sides of her face.

“Oh, God. Another nightmare! He, he … Freddy killed you both. He killed me, but this time I killed him. He died this time.”

Then her tears raged forth faster and harder, and she curled her face against Ed’s stomach. She could feel Stevie’s hand against her face as he whispered, “It’s okay, mom. You’re back with us. We’re home, together, mom. He can’t hurt us any longer. And if he ever does come back, his days are numbered. I promise you, mom. Next time, we surprise him. Next time, Freddy is history.” He looked at Ed. “Right, Ed?”

“You better believe it.”

The three laid huddled together as a morning sun rose to chase away the overnight chill that had captured their part of the world.