March Into Hell (21 page)

Although brimming with questions, Scott decided to just sit back and listen without asking anything until Mark was done speaking. When the other man paused, he encouraged, “Go on, I’m listening.”

At first, Mark had looked down while speaking, but now he met Scott's eyes. “I use the information to fix things… to save people. It’s what I do.”

Scott nodded. It was apparent that Mark completely believed what he was saying.

Surprise flashed on Mark’s face. “Well, that’s pretty much it. I don't know how it works or why I'm the only one it seems to work for, as far as the dreams go. Just lucky, I guess."  A self-mocking grin faded. "I used to wonder but…” He took a deep breath and gave a small shrug, wincing slightly. “I gave up questioning it…until now.”

Scott had more questions and while he wanted to believe Mark, it was an incredible tale. He'd  treated many patients over the years who suffered from an altered sense of reality. Many thought they had special abilities. Some believed that they could fly; others claimed to read minds or to hear voices telling them the future. This was the first time that anyone had claimed to be able to foretell the future with the aid of  a camera and dreams.

“Have you spoken to anyone else about this…gift…of yours?” Scott tried to phrase the question as neutrally as he possibly could, but his skepticism must have slipped through anyway. Mark faced him, his eyes boring into Scott while anger, hurt and then resignation slid through their depths.

Mark’s voice was like cold, hard granite. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I was imprisoned for over a year. Those guys...the interrogators...they know how to get a man to confess to anything if it'll make the questioning stop."

Scott tried to keep his expression neutral, but this was news he hadn't expected. "So, these interrogators—they believed you?"

Mark looked out the window briefly before dropping his gaze to the floor. “No. Not at first. I tried proving it one time, when I predicted the questions and outcome of an interrogation session, but...months went by. I don't know if it helped, but eventually, I was released due to lack of evidence."

Scott had to ask. "Evidence of what?"

"Terrorism."

The comment was so matter of fact, Scott had to replay it in his mind to make sure he'd heard correctly. "
Terrorism
?"

Mark's skin took on a pink tinge that Scott detected even with the pallor from the man's recent blood loss.

 He looked Scott straight in the eye and said, "I didn't do anything, so you can stop worrying. Since my release, I have a few people who believe me...but I can't go into details. I...I shouldn't even be telling you. I've been told the camera is now classified information."

“Ah.” Scott couldn’t believe how disappointed he felt. “I see.” He was beginning to believe that this was a very unusual case because Mark didn’t display any of the normal symptoms of being delusional. He didn’t ramble, he made eye contact and he seemed perfectly sane, except for this one specific delusion. Classified information. The perfect excuse not to give information and paranoid schizophrenic people often claimed government conspiracies and connections.

“It's true. There was an incident at the Cubs game last summer that I helped the government prevent...but my part in it was kept under wraps.” Mark’s voice sounded defensive as he stood and hobbled a few steps to the window, leaning against the sill. He was quiet for a long moment while his eyes seemed to focus on something out in the park across the street. Scott noticed Mark’s throat working as if he was going to say something, but he didn't, and after a moment, his shoulders slumped as though in defeat.

Scott sighed. He wanted to help this man so badly, but he was at a loss. He decided to change the focus from the camera to Mark’s mood swings and possible depression. “I wonder if you could tell me about your outburst yesterday. What triggered it?”

Mark’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile and he shook his head ruefully as he turned from the window. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which outburst are you talking about?”

“Whichever one you want to talk about.”

Mark gave him a long look and sat down again. “You’re good at this psychiatric stuff, aren’t you?”

Scott smiled. At least Mark looked calmer now, but Scott still kept a watchful eye on him. He’d learned long ago that patients tended to have mercurial mood swings and were unpredictable.

“I was talking to Jessie and Jim--”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but who are they? Just so I can keep it all straight.”

“That’s okay. They’re friends, sort of.  I found out yesterday that--” Mark stopped and his gaze dropped to the floor again, or maybe his feet, Scott wasn’t sure. “—they were the ones who found me. I guess I had a hard time with that.”

“Why did it bother you, Mark?” Scott observed his patient and noted how his skin flushed.

“It bothered me because I can imagine how I looked up there. I feel so stupid!” Mark swallowed and kept his head lowered. “Of all the people to find me, it had to be them."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Because they'll think less of me."

“Why do you care what they think of you?”

Mark raised his head and sighed. but kept his face averted. “I guess because I really respect them a lot. Jim…well, he’s a good guy." He paused and laughed. "If he heard me say that, he'd think for sure I'd gone off the deep end.”

"Why is that?"

"Because he was one of my interrogators."

Either Mark was one of the most forgiving guys in the world, or as an interrogator, this Jim fellow had created a kind of Stockholm-type bond with his prisoner. Interesting concept.

“And you think that he’ll think less of you now that he’s seen you at what you perceive to be your lowest point?”

Mark nodded. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. Scott thought he was going to say something more but he didn’t, he just took a deep breath and let it out slowly…shakily.

“And the other person…Jessie? Will he think the same thing?”

Mark shook his head. “She.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jessie…she’s a woman. Jessica.” Mark’s face turned a deep red and things became a little clearer to Scott.

“Do you have feelings for her?”

“We tried to have a relationship, but it didn't work.” Mark’s voice was low and Scott had to lean forward to hear him.

“How come?”

“How come? I’ll tell you how come.” Mark lurched out of the chair and turned to face Scott. “Because she thought I was a kook as it was, before I went to prison.” He waved his hand in front of himself to indicate the injuries, “And now there's all this. Life with me is a non-stop party. What's next? Burning at the stake? Beheading? I can't ask a woman I love to deal with all of this."

Scott held up a hand. "Hold on, let me ask you something. Why don't you just stop using this camera?" He spread his hands wide. "All your problems would be solved."

Mark shook his head. "I...I tried doing that several times, but I can't.  It's like a drug." He tried to run a hand through his hair, but the tape  got caught, and he glared at it before letting his hand drop to his side. "I can't sleep, I have crazy dreams, and it just won't let me alone. It's become worse since I started using it after I got out of prison. It's as though it's trying to make up for lost time. Almost every day, I have to use it, or I'd never get any sleep."

Despite his skepticism, Scott was intrigued with how detailed Mark’s story about the camera had become. In what he felt was a stroke of genius, Scott decided to change tact and use Mark’s delusion to actually try and help him get past this feeling of shame. “Hmmm…how do you view victims that you save? Do you feel like they should be embarrassed because of what has happened to them?”

Mark shot him a look. “I know what you’re getting at, but it’s not the same. I have all this baggage already.” He fell silent for a moment and appeared to be watching the crowd out front. Pointing vaguely towards the gathering, Mark spoke, his tone bitter, “Look at them, Doc. They think I’m some kind of…of savior…or something.” He shook his head. “And you  think I’m a nut.”

Sighing, he turned to face Scott. “But I’m neither of those things. I’m just a guy. Just a regular guy.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Hey, Jessie, I got a possible lead on Kern’s whereabouts.” Dan strode into their office, tossing his overcoat onto the coat tree as he passed.

Jessie glanced up from a report she had been skimming. “Really?" She closed the folder and leaned back in her chair, following Dan with her eyes as he settled at his desk. “Where is he and how did you get the info?”

“It's actually a lead on Medea, but I'm hoping where she is, he can't be far away. A CTA bus driver called in a tip. He saw her on his bus this morning, and he noted where she got off. It was the 5000 block of West Jackson Boulevard."

"That corresponds to something I discovered."

Dan tilted his head. "
You
discovered?"

Jessie felt her face heat. "Okay, I get it, I'm off the case, but that doesn't mean I can't analyze the information that's here already." She waved a hand over the pile of files in her out box. "All I have to keep me busy is some scut work on old cases."

 She saw a softening of his expression and pressed on, "One thing in Mark's favor is the public interest in this. The phone’s been ringing off the hook with tips. I know I’m not on the case officially, but there’s a stack of tips received since last night sitting on your desk. I took about the last ten of them.” Jessie pointed to the pile of notes. It was a small thing, but at least it helped her feel like she was doing something to help.

Dan leaned forward and sorted through the papers. “Hmmm…some of this looks worthless, but there’s a few that might pan out.”

"What's this about Mexico?"

"I'll get to that.  I took some notes on some of the more promising ones and that one was the prime tip.” Jessie opened her desk drawer and pulled out a large notepad.

“Whoa, hold on a second. You took notes on my case? What else did you do? Call up the tipsters?”

Jessie set the pad on the top of her desk and shot a look at Dan. “As a matter of fact, I did. Is that a problem?”

Sighing, Dan rubbed his eyes. “No. It’s fine.” He made a 'give me' motion with his hand. “Let me see what you have.”

Jessie tapped her pencil on her desk as he read over her notes. She knew this should have been a case like any other, but she was sure she was only kidding herself. In her mind, she could picture going to tell Mark that they had caught the bastard.

He chuckled and shook his head. "I won't be able to keep you off this short of changing partners, will I?"

"Probably not." She scooted closer to the desk and pointed to some of her notes on the pad. "I may have traced a bank account to Kern."

"Really?"

"Yes. Medea put some information on her job application for the job that Mark had offered her. Not much, just an address that didn't show up in her school or driver's license records, but it matched the address on a check used to pay her last semester of school and one for her hospital bill. I thought it might have been the place the cult lived before moving to the current one--which now appears abandoned, by the way."

"What makes you say that?"

"I checked the patrol officer's notes. Nobody in or out for three days."

"They could have just gone to ground for a little while."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Medea was spotted in a neighborhood that's not far from the bank I found and that's miles from that house. There are only three branches in the city, and one is right on West Jackson. The address on the check is for a home in Oak Park."

"And they aren't at that address? "

She shook her head. "I wish, but no, they aren't. The tenants of the house have been there six months and they all checked out. However, I found out the landlord owns properties all over the city. One is the abandoned house, and he has more buildings in the area of the 5000 block of West Jackson. There's more, but with your tip that Medea was spotted in that area, I'd be willing to bet Kern stuck to his pattern of using this landlord. Less red tape."

"That makes sense." Dan flipped the pencil in his fingers, letting the eraser end repeatedly hit the desk top, his expression distant. He was processing the information. Jessie wanted to sigh with relief. He was allowing her to share. She'd been afraid he wouldn't listen since she wasn't supposed to be investigating.

"In addition, the account had a major withdrawal two days ago."

“How much?”

Jessie sank back into her seat. “Enough to live like royalty south of the border.”

Dan nodded. “Good work, Jess. If we can get a confirmed sighting of him in Mexico, we can start the paperwork for extradition. I’ll rest easier when this guy’s locked up for a very long time.” His phone rang and he grabbed it, tucking it against his shoulder and ear. “Detective Dan Miller.”

“Thanks.” Jessie felt some satisfaction, but until the guy was safely behind bars, she wouldn’t be completely happy. She thought of how Mark had reacted to her hospital visit and how traumatized he had been. She could hardly contain her anger at Kern.

Nobody should have to go through what Mark had gone through. Especially not after all he'd already endured. But he was incredibly strong, she reminded herself. He'd already proven that. He would work this out on his own.

The thought of Mark going back to the loft alone sent a shiver through her. The last thing Mark would want is pity, especially from her.

She pushed the thought from her mind and tried to focus on her paperwork. Now was not the time to be wondering about Mark Taylor.

“Damn.”

Jessie looked up at Dan’s sharp tone. She had a feeling that something was up from the set of his mouth and the anger in his eyes. He looked at her and she just knew it had something to do with Mark.

“I’ll be right there. In the meantime, call in all your off-duty security guards if you haven’t already.” He hung up and cursed again, then rose and grabbed his coat, shooting a look at Jessie as he shrugged into it. “You want to help me do some crowd control?”