Retribution
Book Two in the West Baden Murders Trilogy – Special Edition
Patrick J. O’Brian
Smashwords.com Edition Published by Fideli Publishing Inc.
Copyright © 2012, Patrick J. O’Brian
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Fideli Publishing.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN: 978-1-60414-538-0
Acknowledgements
I owe many thanks to my usual crew for helping out, and especially to Troy Lobosky and John Leach for their insight.
I also owe thanks to Brad Wiemer, Kelly Reed, Tim Lee, Rick Shellabarger, Korby Sommers, David Dotson, and Stephanie Barber for their assistance.
Cover design by Kendrick L. Shadoan from KLS Digital.
Visit www.klsdigital.com for more information.
Other novels by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
The Fallen
Reaper: Book One of the West Baden Murders Series
The Brotherhood
Stolen Time
Sins of the Father: Book Three of the West Baden Murders Series
Six Days
Snowbound: Book Four of the West Baden Murders Series
The Sleeping Phoenix
Ghosts of West Baden
Non-fiction projects by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
Risen from the Ashes: The History of the West Baden Springs Hotel
For more information about Patrick or his works, visit www.pjobooks.com or find him on Facebook.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Standing in the living room of his new country home, Paul Clouse took in the view of stacked boxes, clean carpet, and a fresh start to his life. Miles outside of town, he could begin anew, with the house serving as a template for his life.
In August he had proposed to Jane Brooks, and she accepted. The house was their first step in solidifying the idea of being married, particularly since Clouse’s first wife had been murdered almost one year prior in his former residence.
After surveying the packaged organization in the form of two-dozen cardboard boxes, Clouse stepped from the living room into the kitchen, hearing the sound of his brown cowboy boots clop against the linoleum floor. He stared at the large room, looking forward to cooking breakfast for the family when he was off weekends.
He crossed the room to walk through the open front door to the large porch, which wrapped partway around the two-story home.
“Not bad,” he said of the mid-October weather.
Living almost two miles from Bloomington, Indiana, where he and Jane both worked, Clouse enjoyed having no visible neighbors, and room for his animals to run. She ran a medical clinic, while he worked for the city as a firefighter once every three days.
He loved his schedule, and worked a second job as a design consultant for Kieffer Construction, a company in nearby Bedford that always seemed to have new work for him. He could pick his own hours, sometimes completing designs at the fire station, and he felt as though his college degree wouldn’t go to waste.
Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt to accompany his boots, Clouse looked more like a lumberjack than anything else with his brown hair loosely parted, and a thick mustache he planned to trim later in the day before he attended an inaugural dinner that evening.
His blue eyes scanned the empty, tanned fields surrounding his property, and the nearby old barn that housed his boat, his horse, and occasionally, a vehicle. It reminded him of the barn on his old property, except he no longer had space enough to keep his father’s seasonal farming machines for winter storage.
Clouse broke away from the scenery just long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee inside.
When he returned to the porch, he took in the new, bare wood. He had yet to pick a color to stain his porch, so he decided to leave it until spring. A few old rocking chairs and some flowerpots were all that adorned the outdoor retreat.
A small tan car pulled up the long drive to the house, and Clouse smiled as he saw Jane return with his son, Zach, and her daughter from a previous marriage, Katie. Part of what made their relationship seem perfect was how the kids, both five years of age, seemed to get along so well. They had both longed for a sibling to identify with, and finally found one.
“Hello,” he said, planting a kiss on Jane’s lips as she stepped from the car.
She looked as beautiful as ever, taking a bag from inside the car as the kids rushed inside the house to play with whatever toys she had bought them. To him, Jane never looked bad, even on her worst mornings when she dreaded going into public because she felt flawed.
Her medium brown hair flowed in the wind as though she was a supermodel at the edge of the sea, and her slender form might have landed her some parts on television if she lived out west. Clouse suspected Jane was perfectly content being a mother and a doctor. Dressed in blue jeans and a blouse of country beige, she looked the part of a natural country girl today.
If there were an imperfection in her personality, or beauty, he would have to find it later, because he had spent the past year mesmerized by everything about her. She felt the same about him, but Clouse never took to the compliments about his looks.
“You’re not going to the dinner like that, are you?” she teased as they walked toward the house.
“I was going to wear a baseball cap too,” he kidded before a sip of coffee. “Believe it or not, I do have my tux hanging upstairs, and I’ll even take a shower before I get dressed.”
“I’m impressed,” she said with an easy smile. “So I’m taking the kids over to my parents’ house to change before meeting you at the hotel?”
“Yup. I dropped their clothes off there this morning to make it easy on you.”
“What are you doing this afternoon?” she asked, apparently forgetting what he had stated the night before.
“I’ve got to see Mark, then I’m taking the boat out one last time before we put it up for the winter.”
“Don’t be late,” she warned. “You’ve been waiting almost three years for this night.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said sincerely with a crooked smirk. “I’ll take my stuff with me and get ready at Ken’s house once I’m finished with the boat.”
Ken Kaiser was Clouse’s high school pal who worked for the county police in the area of the hotel, and lived fairly close to West Baden. Clouse was no stranger to Kaiser, or the man’s family, because he often dropped by when working in the area.
Kieffer Construction had begun work on the West Baden Springs Hotel several years prior, when the National Preservation Society stepped in to save Indiana’s first self-supported dome structure, built just after the turn of the 20th century. Bought by Dr. Martin Smith, the hotel was funded for renovation, and eventually redone completely, from the grounds to each individual room.
Clouse took great personal interest in the project, particularly since he had drawn a set of blueprints from scratch for his graduate work at Indiana University. His prints proved quite useful to the company during the reconstruction. The first project manager and now his replacement heeded his advise.
Tonight, a dinner marked the completion of the hotel and the impending grand reopening of the building after decades of use for purposes other than its primary function.
“I’ll finish with the boat, change, and meet you at the dinner around seven,” Clouse said as the couple walked inside. “They won’t start serving and announcing the guests of honor until about seven-thirty.”
Clouse pulled Jane in for a kiss, wrapping both arms around her slender form. They locked lips several seconds until the children ran into the kitchen, anxious to be seen and heard.
“Where are you going, Dad?” Zach asked.
Many relatives felt Zach was a spitting image of his father. Others could see Angie’s traits from beyond the grave, thinking much of her resided within her son.
“I’ve got to take the boat for a spin while it’s nice out, son.”
“Can I go?”
“Nope. You’ve got to stay with Jane until the party tonight.” He knelt beside his son. “Give Dad a kiss?” he asked, despite Zach reaching an age where such an act was no longer kosher.
Zach shook his head, indicating a refusal.
“Oh, come on,” Clouse chided him. “Your friends aren’t here.”
His son finally gave him a hug and a kiss so he could be left alone to play again.
“I’ll see you at the dinner, okay?”
Zach nodded an affirmative. In Clouse’s opinion, he took to his father’s new love interest quite well. In many ways, Jane was like Angie had been. She was beautiful, led a professional life, and acted cordially toward everyone she knew.
Clouse quickly replaced his boots with tennis shoes for the boat outing, and left in his Chevy four-wheel-drive truck, which he considered a must when living outside of town. Since his parents lived on a farm, and his new property was of similar nature, keeping the big truck seemed practical, despite its appetite for fuel.
He pulled out of the driveway, leaving a slight trail of dust behind.
Chapter 2
Clouse stopped at a red light several blocks before Bloomington Hospital, seeing its familiar form illuminated by the afternoon sun. He hated visiting his friend every week at the hospital, but only because it conjured up bad memories from the depths of his mind.
When Clouse’s first wife had been murdered the previous year, Detective Mark Daniels was the only one who gave Clouse the benefit of the doubt in his plea of innocence. When it turned out his former employer, the first project manager for Kieffer Construction, was primarily responsible for Angie’s death and half a dozen others, Clouse and Daniels were already trapped by Dave Landamere’s evil scheme.
Though Clouse escaped the incident without serious injury, Daniels wasn’t so lucky. He was shot in the spine while scrambling to retrieve a loose weapon. The injury left him paralyzed from the waist down, and a year later, he continued to battle in rehabilitation for full use of his legs.
Once a week Clouse made the trip to the hospital, feeling obligated to visit the hapless police officer in his personal fight. Ironically, Clouse had never met the man before he was accused of murdering Angie. Now they were on a first name basis and knew each other quite well.
Clouse figured guilt kept him visiting Daniels every week because the man had shown undying devotion to find the truth when no one else made much of an effort. Until the detective walked, Clouse would never truly put his mind to rest. It made him feel horrible that his life had taken such an upswing while Daniels’ had basically fallen apart, and Daniels never spoke a negative word about how he had obtained his condition toward Clouse.
He was just that sort of person.
Confined to a wheelchair, the detective was now relegated to dispatch duty. Clouse imagined it ate him up inside, but Daniels never lashed out at him. Somehow, the police department worked it out with the dispatch center to use Daniels as a liaison or trainer for police dispatchers so he didn’t get pensioned out on disability. The possibility still lingered, and if Daniels went much longer without improvement, he was likely going to find himself out of police work.
Daniels did not seem to enjoy the firefighter watching him fail week after week in his attempts to walk, but he seemed glad someone aside from his wife cared enough to help him through his burden.
Within a few minutes, Clouse parked his truck and found himself on the fourth floor of the hospital, heading toward one of the therapy rooms where Daniels made his attempt in vain, once a week, to walk again.
As he approached the room, he saw Susan Jameson, the officer’s doctor, walking out.
“How is he, doc?”
“His state of mind just isn’t positive, Paul,” she answered. “He’s getting more and more pessimistic about his chances of ever walking again.”
“Do you still think his problems stem from his head?” Clouse asked.
She hesitated, glancing into the room as though Daniels might see them speaking.
“Let’s sit a moment,” the doctor said, leading him to a set of chairs across the hall. “His wife has been working with him daily, conditioning his legs. He should have enough strength to take a few steps, and he’s even told me he has most, or all, of the feeling back in them.”
“But he can’t or won’t walk,” Clouse summed up the situation.
“I’ve seen this before,” the doctor commented. “Sometimes there’s a mental block preventing the patient from fully recovering. Whether it be a deep residing fear of returning to active duty, or some trauma left from the shooting incident, I don’t know,” she said with an air of frustration. “Most mental blocks don’t last this long, but most are usually taken care of through psychotherapy, early in rehab.”
“And he won’t go, will he?”
Susan shook her head.
“No, he won’t. He knows there’s nothing physically wrong with him, so he thinks he can do it on his own.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Sure,” she said. “He’s about to attempt a walk with the support railings.”
Clouse and the doctor walked into the therapy room as Daniels supported himself with two parallel braces nearly six feet in length. Susan kept the door from slamming shut for the sake of her patient’s concentration as the two watched from behind. Daniels slowly dragged one leg forward, showing slight use. Concentrating fully, he wobbled a bit, jerking his right shoulder forward before dragging the left leg up to him.
“That’s good,” the female therapist by his side commented. “Are you ready to try full weight on it?” she encouraged, despite the fact he could barely steady his feet beneath him.
Daniels did not answer, but simply steadied himself on the braces, bringing both feet to a standing position as his upper body trembled from supporting all of his weight. He slowly let go of the braces appearing surprised he could stand at all without them. Subconsciously licking his lips in anticipation, the officer lifted one foot to take a step as the therapist moved to the inside of the bars for a better spotting position.
With his left foot off the ground, Daniels attempted to move it forward for his first step, but fell forward instead, his fall broken by the therapist. Luckily, she was accustomed to catching everyone from elderly ladies to burly construction workers, so any bumps and bruises she received from the officer’s fall were expected.
“Damn it,” Daniels said to himself as she helped him back to his wheelchair.
He shook his head in disgust.
“You’re doing better,” Clouse commented, walking into the officer’s view.
“I just can’t get it,” Daniels said with a discouraged tone, his eyes showing the hurt he felt inside.
“Let’s get out of here a minute,” his friend suggested, leading the way to the door before opening it for Daniels.
Both left the room silently, opting for the sunlit hallway outside, with unusual warmth about it.
“Dr. Jameson still thinks your problem lies up here,” Clouse said, pointing to the side of his own head for reference.
“She’s right,” Daniels admitted. “I want to do it, I’ve been physically able for eleven months, but I just can’t get it done.”
Clouse took a seat at the edge of the hallway, across from the disgruntled police officer. For a moment he looked Daniels over, noticing a few things different about the man he’d met the year before.
For his rehabilitation, Daniels had quit smoking, which Clouse considered a step in the right direction.
That, coupled with confinement to a chair, led him to put on some additional weight and become a bit more crotchety. He had also grown a full beard thicker than his head of dirty-blond hair.
Other than occasional minor lapses of depression, Daniels still seemed the determined, genuine person Clouse recalled meeting under unimaginable conditions.
“You know, you don’t have to come watch me fuck this up every week,” Daniels said as he sometimes did.
“I owe you my life,” Clouse said. “The very least I can do is support you through this, so quit trying to get rid of me.”
Daniels grinned.
“I really do appreciate it, but you’ve got a life to live. Don’t put it on hold for me.”
“It’s no trouble, Mark. So, tell me what’s troubling you this week. Why do you think you’re not making progress?”
Daniels shrugged from his wheelchair.
“Dr. Jameson keeps trying new drugs on me every other week. One of them is for my mind. One’s to help my muscles and another’s to relax me. All I know is my hair is falling out in clumps, and I go through these mood swings worse than I’ve ever had before.”
Daniels had lost some hair over the past year, but Clouse attributed it to male pattern baldness. He never suspected the drugs might be responsible.
“She’s switched prescriptions three times, and every new one seems worse,” Daniels revealed.
Clouse simply shook his head, suspecting the medical staff knew what was best, and Daniels was just grumpy because of the side effects.
“Overall, are you holding up okay?” Clouse decided to ask.
“Yeah, I suppose. It sucks going to work and being a dispatcher when I used to bust the bad guys. No one talks to me because they feel sorry for me.”
Clouse nodded in understanding, and hesitated a moment before asking a favor of his ailing friend.
“I want you to come to that dinner tonight,” Clouse told the officer, speaking of the hotel’s grand reopening gala.
Daniels sneered at the idea, looking to the wall.
“You know I don’t want to go near the damned place after what happened.”
“I know, but it might do you good to see the source of your problem,” Clouse said, knocking on the wheelchair. “You’re too damn stubborn to see a shrink, and whatever’s plaguing your mind isn’t just going to work itself out.”
“Why can’t I just go down there with you sometime?”
“Because you and Cindy need a night out, and we’re both too busy to set a common time. Come on, Mark. You’re already invited. You can just sit with me and Jane.”
“I don’t know,” Daniels hesitated.
“It can’t hurt, you know. I doubt anyone down there will know you, and if they do, they’ll want your autograph.”
“Why’s that?” Daniels asked, finally drawing a smile.
“Ah, come on, Mark. You won National Police Officer of the Year,” Clouse said, playfully punching Daniels’ left arm, still solid despite the lack of mobility. “There are thousands of cops in this country and you won.”
Daniels rolled his eyes. He had remained extremely modest throughout the entire process, though Cindy once informed Clouse of how proud he acted about the award, away from other people.
“I still think you were instrumental in that.”
“A letter here, a letter there,” Clouse said with a disarming wave of his hand. “The only thing I did was tell every committee that would listen about the guy who saved my ass, and probably several other lives.”
Daniels seemed relaxed enough to debate with Clouse about the evening’s plans.
“Is this a formal thing?” he asked.
“Tuxedo, buddy,” Clouse said.
“I don’t have one of those handy,” Daniels countered.
“Yes you do,” Clouse informed him, standing from the seat. “I asked Cindy to go pick one up for you.”
Daniels lunged at him with a half-hearted punch from the chair, missing as Clouse dodged.
“I am going to kill you for this,” he said, followed by a sigh.
“Fine, but you’ll have to show up to do it,” Clouse said, pointing both index fingers at the officer, stepping backwards toward the elevators. “See you tonight, Mark. I’ve got to go play on my boat.”
“Sure,” Daniels said, realizing he was outvoted by his wife and a good friend.
Like it or not, he would have to visit the place that cost him the most important position he had ever held, and a year of his life he could never take back.
Chapter 3
Across Lake Monroe, tiny ripples glided atop the water as a gentle wind passed through the reservoir. Clouse’s boat easily navigated the lake, leaving a foamy white trail behind the outboard motor as he captained the craft.
A large boat, it was designed for overnight stays on the lake rather than fishing. Beneath the deck, a comfortable living area provided room enough to sleep, cook, or relax when the boat was idling or stopped. A collapsible canopy could be rolled over the helm to protect the captain and his controls.
No one else dared challenge the wind and quickly cooling water on the lake. Clouse merely wanted to give the boat one last run before winter weather hit the area. He usually ran it almost completely out of gas before toting it home for storage. During the season, the boat remained docked at a marina until he felt the urge to take it out.
Jane was not as enthusiastic about boating as Clouse’s first love had been. It used to be a tradition for them to take Zach out overnight, or sometimes leave him with relatives if they wanted time alone on the lake.
He planned on taking the boat home after his next workday at the fire station. His work at the hotel was functionally complete, and he had no major projects pending with Kieffer Construction.
In the back of his mind, he hoped Dr. Smith might give him a chance to run the day-to-day operations of the hotel, but suspected the doctor probably wanted the opportunity to do that personally, at first. There were many people to meet, and so many compliments to receive about the hotel’s striking appearance.
Clouse would not pass up the opportunity either.
Noticing the gas meter drew close to empty, Clouse decided to return to the marina. He wanted just enough gas left to load the boat onto his trailer in a few days.
For a few minutes, the craft skimmed across the center of the lake with the greatest of ease, then it hit something that stopped the motor. The outboard sputtered a moment before dying as the boat gracefully coasted along the water, slowly drawing to a complete stop.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, steadying himself once the boat rested, floating in the middle of the lake completely alone.
Even the nearest shore was too far for Clouse to contemplate swimming without a risk of hypothermia setting in. He looked in every direction, seeing no one around, and no way to signal for help.
If the engine failed to restart, he would be alone for some time.
Looking over the back of the boat, Clouse saw a bit of lake vegetation trickling from the back of the outboard motor. This surprised him only because the water’s surface was completely clear of debris, the ripples carrying most of the plant life to shore, and the motor’s blade reached nowhere near the bottom of the lake.
“What in the hell?” he asked himself, studying the plant life attached to his motor, wondering if it had actually stopped his boat.
Walking to the helm, Clouse turned the key in an attempt to start the vessel. It tried to start, but fell short of actually turning over.
“Damn,” he muttered, knowing there was no additional aid because his cellular phone was in the truck, and the boat coasted far too slowly to return him to shore by the dinner’s start.
Also, not a soul could be found on the lake.
Returning to the rear of the vessel, he looked over the side, questioning how long he could stay in the water to fix the motor before his body began to freeze. At best, the water temperature stood between forty and fifty degrees. Without adequate covering, he would feel the effects of the cold within minutes. A severe cold would be the lowest form of punishment he might receive for such a foolhardy action.
Unwilling to take a chance in the water just yet, Clouse took up an emergency oar from one side of the vessel. He returned to the rear of the boat, using the oar to prod at the underside of the motor, slowly removing debris from its blades.
While he worked, the craft’s captain felt the boat shift slightly to one side, but attributed the motion to the ripples striking one side. He devoted more time to battling the motor housing, barely noticing the rocking motion stop suddenly.
Knowing the ripples in the lake would not simply cease without a good reason, Clouse tensed, suspecting he might not be alone. It seemed far too coincidental the boat got tangled in debris during a season where the plants and brush were mostly gone, or submerged far beneath the surface.
His boat had never struck anything in all the years he had taken it on the lake.
Without turning around, Clouse took a few steps back, casually reaching for the second oar as he knelt down, fearing he might need it for additional self-defense. His hand fumbled momentarily for the wooden tool, finding nothing in its usual housing.
Suspecting he was in deep trouble, now hearing the distinct dripping of water along the boat deck behind him, Clouse bolted upward, pivoting away from the potential attacker at the same time.
His action failed to deter his attacker, however, because someone wearing a black wetsuit waited until Clouse was done parrying before swinging the second oar like a baseball bat toward his skull.
Too slow to react, Clouse felt the oar impact the side of his head, which whirled him around into a defenseless position, allowing his assailant to land a second blow against the side of his head, right beside the temple.
Never able to see his attacker’s face, Clouse was knocked into the water, where he struck the surface limply. His body turned as it bobbed, his clothes quickly filling with water.
Every bit of consciousness he had left went to hold his breath while viewing the dark form looming over the side of his boat from beneath the water’s surface. Ripples and air bubbles along the surface obscured his view of his assailant, who looked mysterious and black in the wetsuit, with no visible face.
Everything grew dark as Clouse slipped further beneath the surface, feeling his consciousness waver as he entered a liquefied oblivion. The only sound entering his ears was that of moving water before he blacked out, unable to keep the aquatic environment from entering his lungs.
Chapter 4
“Goddamn it!” Daniels exclaimed as his wheelchair hit one of the chairs around the kitchen table.
Usually mild-mannered, Daniels found himself a bit more emotionally turbulent with each failure in his rehabilitation.
“What is it, Mark?” his wife, Cindy, asked as she ran into the kitchen from the living room.
“Nothing,” he replied with a sour expression, forcefully shoving the chair out of the way.
His entire morning was mired in frustration, especially since he was practically being forced to attend the formal dinner.
As much as he tried, Daniels could not always avoid hurting the most important woman in his life.
He had spent his entire police career sheltering her from the occasional horrors he witnessed, and the everyday aggravations his job brought to him. Now he forced her to deal with a husband who seemed to take out his frustrations on no one except her.
Daniels went to work at the dispatch center, came home, and avoided public contact as much as possible. Even most of his old friends were shut out of his life. She often told him she was tired of him feeling sorry for himself and giving up on so much of his life.
Rearranged to accommodate Daniels’ condition, the house looked a bit different, especially after several friends from the police department volunteered to build an entirely new front walkway, complete with a ramp, for his wheelchair. He slept and lived downstairs, by himself most of the time, while Cindy was at work or in bed.
He found strength in the family pictures hung along the living room walls, and lining the shelves closer to him on the ground. Though tidy because he couldn’t afford any wheelchair accidents, the house seemed a bit disheveled because of the modifications made specifically for him.
Though Daniels was completely functional, he chose a lonely direction, afraid his performances in bed would not satisfy his wife, though she had urged him to try several times since the shooting.
His fears went far beyond paralysis.
“Why did you volunteer me for this dinner?” he asked Cindy, complacent to wheel the chair beside the table and stare at her.
“You need to get out of the house, Mark. You’re so close to walking again, and you need to keep your mind occupied. It’s not like you to brood so much.”
“Brood?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I get shot in the back, receive a great prognosis that I’m supposed to walk within a few months, and I can’t live up to my end of the bargain. How should I feel?”
“There you go again,” she said, raising her voice to match his. “Something’s keeping you from walking, Mark, and it isn’t your legs,” Cindy added, showing her frustration. “I spend over a dozen hours every week conditioning your legs and feet, keeping them strong enough so you can walk when the time is right, and something keeps holding you back. It’s time you faced your fears and moved on.”
“I haven’t been back there in a year,” he said in a solemn tone, settling down. “Every night I see that damned hotel in my dreams.”
Some nights, Daniels dreamed he walked along his street, joined his daughter on the playground, or patrolled a beat at work again.
Simple things like dancing with Cindy or in-and-out use of the bathroom still eluded him in daily life.
Usually he awoke, instinctively trying to swing his legs out of bed, but it never worked. They teased him with occasional twitches, and sometimes he actually swung them out of bed halfway before realizing it. Daniels never brought himself to stand on his own when his legs swung out, and if he tried, fearing his legs would simply buckle from beneath him. It tortured his mind, knowing everything was ready except his mind.
He never told his wife about those failures.
Cindy knelt beside him, taking his hand.
“All the more reason to face this and put it behind you,” she encouraged, speaking of the dinner. “Paul moved on with his life. He’s getting married again and leaving the past behind him. We’ve got a baby boy who needs his daddy.”
Daniels knew he hadn’t been a model father lately. His girl, Renee, was almost three, and his son, Curtis, was only four-months-old. Doctors and friends all told him to concentrate on himself and getting well, but perhaps he had taken it a step too far and left too many friends behind, and more importantly, his family.
Before, his family meant the world to him. He remembered how many sacrifices he made to provide for Cindy and the kids, and to save for his children’s eventual college. He realized his self-involvement tore apart his relationship with Cindy and distanced him from the children who needed more than just a mother. He was too good on the inside to realize otherwise.
“Alright, I’ll go,” he said, knowing he was doing the right thing to be with Cindy in public if nothing else.
Perhaps his fears had gotten the best of him for too long. He would do anything to walk in front of the people who cared for him once again.
And get back to his real job.
***
As Jane Brooks ascended the main stairs of the West Baden Springs Hotel toward the double glass door entrance, she took in the view of the six stories above her, and the mammoth dome topping off the old building. It still amazed her how the hotel remained so sturdy after years of decay and the eventual rebirth of the grounds.
She knew the grounds well after being a volunteer tour guide for nearly two years. Her mother lived in Southern Indiana, so Jane decided to play into her mother’s interest. Giving tours was also where she had met Clouse while he helped design the building, appearing on the grounds several times a week, catching her eye.
Several selected rooms had lights on, giving the hotel the appearance of actual use for the evening’s visitors. It was the first time everything was complete and actually suitable for us. It was Dr. Smith’s way of letting everyone know the hotel was functional and ready for everyday use so they could spread the word to their thrifty friends.
“Where’s Paul?” a voice asked Jane, catching her attention as the kids stopped on the steps beside her.
“Hi, Ken,” she said to Clouse’s friend Ken Kaiser, a local county police officer who happened to be working a security detail for the evening, dressed in a tuxedo of his own. “I didn’t see your car anywhere.”
“Got a different ride tonight,” he said, nodding toward an older, maintained Harley-Davidson just off to the side of the steps below.
Kaiser had recently purchased it from a fellow officer.
“I see,” she said.
Clouse had mentioned his friend’s recent motorcycle fetish, but wrote it off as an early mid-life crisis phase. Looking the part of a biker, Kaiser had grown in a full beard since the last time Jane recalled seeing him. A training mishap kept him off work for a few weeks, and now his vacation time had kicked in, allowing him to keep the facial hair a bit longer. Clouse told her about heckling his friend for looking like a soap opera villain, but Jane didn’t agree with the assessment.
Kaiser typically kept his hair buzzed short, but he had grown it out to accompany the beard of dark brown, almost black color. Clouse once revealed his high school buddy had curly hair, and absolutely hated it, so he buzzed it short whenever it started growing in. Strangely, the man’s hair didn’t even appear wavy, but Jane knew some people went through physical changes as they grew older.
“Paul should be here by now,” she said after a few seconds. “He said he was going to shower and change at your house.”
“Never saw him,” Kaiser said. “And I’ve been here about half an hour now.”
Jane’s perplexed look showed, because nothing would keep her fiancé from attending the dedication of the project he had worked almost three years on, not to mention the hours spent blueprinting before that for his college courses.
“You know Paul,” Kaiser said without any outward concern. “He’s probably just running behind. The guy has the worst luck of anyone I know.”
“But he usually calls, Ken,” she stated.
Kaiser shrugged, unsure of where his friend might be.
“I’d better get the kids inside,” Jane said, shaking off the notion anything bad kept her future husband.
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if I see the big lug.”
Jane gave an appreciative nod.
Two doormen pulled the beautiful double glass doors open for the partial family, then the next set of doors leading to the lobby. Inside the lobby, the children were awe-struck by the array of bulb lights across the overhead balcony and the stained glass windows lining the walls of the lobby. The room was designed to impact guests by giving them a taste of what sort of hotel they were entering.
It worked, time after time.
A circular hallway surrounded a central atrium where all of the inside rooms owned a view downward, into the social center, while the outside rooms overlooked the gardens and red brick walkways outside.
Jane paused a moment, seeing Smith with a few of his guests. They seemed to be speaking to him about the marvelous job he had done with the hotel, but as always, he was modest, giving credit to his designers and the construction workers.
“Hello, dear,” he said upon seeing Jane. “So good of you to attend.”
“A pleasure,” Jane said, putting forth the best smile she could, considering Clouse was running fashionably late.
“Where is your future husband?” Smith inquired.
“Running late, I suppose. I know he wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Smith cracked a smile, though his age showed through the lines in his face and the pale nature of his skin. He seemed as happy as a deteriorating man could be. Jane suspected his health had gone downhill after the death of his wife, and if there was more to it, Smith wasn’t telling.
He seemed weak, almost frail, compared to the man she met several years earlier, when she first started doing tours at the hotel. Still, she took his hand and gave a reassuring smile, hoping her fiancé would arrive soon.
“You’ve outdone yourself as always, Dr. Smith,” she noted, peeking into the atrium, which looked gorgeous, despite the low lighting.
“It would never be possible without the help of people like Paul and Rusty Cranor,” Smith said. “Paul was quite a find when he showed up with his blueprints all those years ago. It’s a shame he had to endure so many hardships last year.”
Smith’s concern showed.
“I can’t imagine how he ever got through it,” Smith added, “but I’m sure you were about the best therapy he could have ever received.”
“Thank you.”
To this point, the children had remained patient, but they were beginning to get antsy with the party calling to them from within.
“I guess we’d better get inside so you can tend to your guests,” Jane said quickly.
“Thank you,” Smith said, giving a reassuring grin. “I’m sure Paul will love what we have planned after this inauguration.”
Jane nodded, making her way inside the atrium through a large arch.
As always, Jane was impressed with the hotel’s splendor. Especially so when they were led into the atrium where a sea of round tables provided much of the room’s lighting from the candle centerpieces on their white tablecloths. An array of saucers and silverware adorned the tables with various colors.
Nearly as long as a football field in any direction straight across, the round atrium held beautiful colors of gold, green, and red trim that the candlelight failed to reveal. With so many tables present, the caterers would be hopping all night long.
She was amazed at the turnout, and how formal the event appeared, with tuxes and gowns everywhere. Her profession made certain she attended numerous galas, but Jane recalled few so grand as this. The atrium looked like something out of a movie, or perhaps an extravagant dinner only seen in Washington and political circles. A collective murmur crossed the large room as people made conversation about the hotel and their contributions.
Apparently, Smith had spared no expense.
Above, a select number of the rooms were lit, teasing with pieces of their beauty inside now that they were finished. Jane heard people speculating about what the rooms contained. Would the massage parlors return, or the saunas? Would the suites contain luxuries in the form of hot tubs, or would they be traditionally maintained?
Even Clouse refused to tell.
A new designer carpet replaced the pattern Jane saw on her last tour. She knew Dr. Smith detested the look of the old carpeting and ordered a new pattern to replace it. To her, this design of vines and various colored roses seemed no more appealing, but the primary colors of gold and forest green matched the colors of the atrium’s wall and trim work.
Far above the crowd, a chandelier spread some light from its nest in the center of the glass dome. Supported by a dozen pairs of thick, steel ribs, the mammoth dome remained safe from weather and the elements. During daylight hours light streamed into the atrium, illuminating various artwork and statues at different intervals. At night, the low light hid most of the supporting structure, leaving only a clear view of the stars above through the large glass panels.
Jane, like Clouse, grew to love it more every time she visited.
“Hello, Mark,” she said once Daniels and his wife drew her attention with a discreet wave. “I see Paul didn’t sneak in.”
“He’s not with you?” Daniels asked.
“No, and I’m worried. He took the boat out on the lake and I haven’t heard anything from him in a few hours.”
“Paul won’t miss this,” Daniels said. “He knows better than to drag me here and not show.”
As most of the chairs filled, waiters and waitresses dressed nearly as nicely as the guests rolled trays filled with covered dishes into the atrium. She looked to the itinerary, noticing the guests of honor would soon be introduced with a brief ceremony and announcement before dinner.
Jane looked to the entrance, wondering where her fiancé might be. She pulled out her cellular phone before the meals made their way around, trying Clouse’s number, and getting no response.
“Where’s Dad?” Zach asked, seated beside her.
“He’ll be here, Zach,” she answered, not wanting to worry him.
She refused to outwardly show her concern because of the children.
Jane considered walking outside to ask Kaiser for his home phone number, or to call his wife and see if Clouse ever stopped by, but she spied him walking inside with a uniformed officer.
Daniels seemed to recognize the uniform of dark green adorned with tan patches because he raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Who is that?” Jane inquired.
“He’s a conservation officer,” Daniels replied. “They patrol the roads sometimes, but their primary responsibility is the state parks and lakes.”
The last part about the lakes caused Jane to stiffen slightly since Clouse had taken the boat out on Lake Monroe. She figured there had to be a reasonable explanation why a conservation officer showed up unannounced to the dinner.
“Do you know him?” she asked Daniels.
“Nope.”
Both continued to stare at the duo beside the door until Kaiser pointed toward their table and Jane in particular.
“Oh, no,” Jane said as the two motioned to her to join them outside the atrium in the hallway.
“Go ahead,” Cindy told her. “I’ll watch the kids a minute.”
Collecting herself and her purse, she stood, walking as discreetly as possible toward the exit. As Jane drew closer, she saw Kaiser look away toward the floor beside him as the conservation officer took a deep breath with a grim look in his eyes. He appeared a veteran of his department, and most conservation officers with seniority transferred to the southern part of the state because it was an ideal retirement area. Regardless of his experience, the officer seemed unable to contain the unhappy emotion painted across his face.
“What is it?” Jane asked, looking back and forth between the two.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” the officer said.
Chapter 5
Above the crowd of people in the atrium, Lucas Rexford made use of the mirror inside Room 304. As a descendant of Charles Rexford, one half of the hotel’s husband and wife management team after the turn of the 20th century, he was invited by Dr. Smith to attend the hotel’s ceremonial dinner and reopening as a guest of honor.
Though he held no direct ties with the hotel or grounds, his name was important to anyone who knew its history. Smith wanted the ceremony to be much more than just a focus on the new hotel. He wanted historical value added, and with that in mind, he invited numerous descendants of various figureheads from the hotel’s past. Smith paid their travel and hotel fare just to bring them to Southern Indiana for his gala.
A dentist in Chicago, Rexford found it easy to make time for the dinner. He knew about the hotel and his link to it from childhood, when his mother told him stories. Though not a direct descendent of Charles Rexford, like a grandson, the dentist was the best Smith could come up with for a relation. It gave him an excuse to take a week off work to travel to the hotel he heard so much about growing up.
Most of the rooms were completely bare of furniture, though sinks, tubs, and mirrors were installed, waiting for the larger pieces to come. Rexford marveled at the detail given to each room’s trim work. From below, the people never saw the completed product they were missing. That was part of Smith’s plan to sell them on spending a night to see for themselves. The grand reopening would not take place for another few weeks, and by then, everything would be in place.
Outside the room was a mounted balcony painted dark green to match the wall trim. Select rooms had balconies, once used for guests to appear and wave, or simply look down upon the atrium’s nightly events. In its day, the hotel drew events every evening. Circuses, seminars, large group meetings, concerts, and many other spectacles convened within its walls.
Rexford peered into the mirror, adjusting the black bow tie to his tuxedo. He could have used the downstairs bathroom, but Smith had a plan for each special guest to appear on a third floor balcony for all to see before dinner. He had a few minutes before the doctor took the microphone, giving his guests their cues.
Being in a large, empty room felt creepy, especially with no furniture, and an echo from every little noise he made. He looked around, seeing nothing but the closet door opened just a crack next to the curtains. The curtains, currently wide-open, could be drawn to cover the glass window and the door to the room’s balcony.
As Rexford returned his attention to his tie, they did exactly that.
***
“Please tell me what is going on,” Jane demanded, more than asked, of either officer standing at the threshold of the atrium.
“This is Bill Schrader,” Kaiser informed her, trying to stall for time.
Jane gave a perplexed sigh.
“Was your husband boating at Lake Monroe this afternoon?” the conservation officer asked.
“Yes.”
Jane decided not to mention she wasn’t married, because that would only take up more time.
“We had a lakeside resident report the sinking of a boat late this afternoon,” the officer informed her. “By the time we arrived the boat was nearly completely beneath the surface but we were able to identify it before it sank.” He paused a moment, letting Jane absorb the notion of what she knew was coming. “There was apparently foul play because the boat had several holes punched in the bottom.”
“Paul’s boat?” she asked nervously, not sure what to expect.
Schrader nodded.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’s missing,” Kaiser said, trying to soften the words, his expression showing he felt Schrader had acted too insensitively.
“We believe someone may have sunk the boat to cover up-”
“No,” Jane stopped Schrader short. “If there’s no body, you can’t believe that,” she said frantically, beginning to break down.
As their conversation drew the attention of more than a few guests, Kaiser led Jane further down the hallway, followed by the conservation officer.
“They’re looking for him, Jane,” Kaiser stated. “But it doesn’t look good. Paul’s truck was still parked at the dock with his cell phone and briefcase still inside.”
“I won’t believe it,” she replied, ignoring most every spoken word now. “I can’t believe it.”
“I’m not giving up either,” the county officer said. “Paul’s tough. He’s been through a lot before. They’ll find him.”
At the bottom of the lake, Schrader seemed to think based on the strange expression crossing his face.
“What can you tell me?” Jane demanded of the officer.
“I was patrolling the lake when I received a call about a sinking boat,” Schrader began. “I was able to don my scuba gear and examine the boat before it fell beneath the surface.”
He seemed to hesitate.
“And?” Jane insisted.
“There were punctures on the boat’s underside. They looked intentional.”
Jane sighed nervously, trying to steady her jittery hands by cupping her mouth. Her body felt flush and numb at the same time. Kaiser tried leading her to a nearby chair but she wanted none of it, gently tugging her elbow from his hand.
She simply wanted answers.
“Was there any trace of Paul? Any at all?”
“No,” Schrader said slowly. “But we consider that a good thing. Several divers relieved me so I could come out here, and so far as I know, they’ve found nothing.”
Everyone stood awkwardly a moment, apparently unsure of what to say next.
“What’s going on?” Daniels asked, finally wheeling himself out of the atrium, apparently to see where Jane had disappeared to.
He likely suspected a conservation officer was out of place at the dinner and wanted to know exactly what they were talking about.
“Hey, Mark,” Kaiser said quickly, since the two had met through Clouse. “Paul’s boat sunk in Lake Monroe and he hasn’t been seen since he left home.”
“Oh, no,” Daniels gasped. “What do we have to go on?”
Before Kaiser could answer, Schrader shot him a questioning stare.
“It’s okay,” Kaiser told the conservation officer. “He’s Bloomington Police.”
“Oh.”
“Both the county police and state organizations have divers combing the lake in search of clues to the boat sinking or, God forbid, a body. All of Paul’s belongings are still in his truck, and it was found near the marina.”
Daniels drew a deep breath.
“Not good,” he said before looking to Jane beside him, his wincing face making it obvious he regretted the statement immediately.
Jane, however, felt shock settling into her body, knowing Clouse might very well be settled at the bottom of the lake near his boat. She could not think of any reason why he would not contact her unless he felt her life, or perhaps his own, was still in danger. No one came to mind who would want to sink the boat or bring harm to Clouse.
She felt completely helpless as she walked away from the group to think a moment.
***
Rexford stopped fidgeting with his tie, turning around to find the curtains almost completely drawn. With his cue coming in less than a minute, that would not do. He needed an open path to the framed glass door to step onto the balcony. He also wished to remain obscured from view below until his cue came, per Smith’s instructions, so he dared not center himself while drawing them open.
Wondering why the curtains seemed to change positions, or if he was just imagining it, Rexford walked along the back wall toward the drawstring, located near the closet door. As he approached the string, hidden far enough behind the curtain that no one inside the atrium could see him, Rexford heard the first guest of honor’s name called.
“Damn,” he thought aloud, trying to hurry his pace.
As he reached for the string, the closet door sprung open, revealing a spray nozzle shoved only inches from his face before a stream of gasoline squirted forward, squarely embedding itself in his eyes and face, burning as it blinded him. Rexford screamed aloud when the gasoline struck, his cries muffled by the applause and laughter of the people in the atrium. One of his fellow guests of honor took a bow, amusing the crowd, across the atrium at a different balcony.
He stumbled back to the center of the room unaware of how many times his attacker went about spraying him as his body became drenched in the chemical liquid. Rexford moaned and whimpered, giving the occasional verbal obscenity during the process. The stinging in his eyes was unbearable, and there was little hope of finding his way to the bathroom to wash the chemical from them, even if he felt safe enough to do so.
What seemed like an eternity of blindness played out in less than a minute as Smith kept the guests distracted outside, calling various names as the guests of honor each took a turn from their balcony, waving and smiling for the dinner guests below. As the floor and Rexford reeked of gasoline, the attacker struck a match, setting the hapless guest ablaze, giving him a swift kick toward the glass door leading out to the balcony, ironically as Smith called Rexford’s name.
***
An agonizing scream pierced the soft music in the background and any noise the guests made as they whispered at their tables. Everyone swiftly looked around the atrium, then up, in an effort to discover the disruption’s origin.
To the surprise of the crowd below, Rexford smashed through the glass door as all eyes turned his way. Everyone gasped as a living ball of fire burst through the glass, onto the balcony. Instantly, horror fixated itself in the guests as they realized the inferno would not stop there. Rexford stumbled toward the edge of the balcony, toppling over the railing.
He fell a short distance through a table where he continued to incinerate. The sizzle of his body reminded many of a campfire, but the odor of burning flesh nauseated everyone nearby until one guest regained composure enough to grab a fire extinguisher and put him out.
“Oh, God,” Kaiser said, rushing into the atrium too late, looking up to Room 304 and the broken glass, before charging into the hallway.
He assessed the situation quicker than anyone else deciding what happened to Rexford was no accident. He also knew whoever caused the damage might still be on the third floor, or trying to escape. The county officer took the closest flight of stairs, rushing upstairs to search for the perpetrator, or a witness.
Reaching the third floor about thirty seconds later, he found nothing to his left or right down the rounded hallway.
“Shit,” he muttered, knowing how easily someone might have used one of several other stairwells to head downstairs, easily fitting into the crowd.
In the chaos below, everyone was standing and surrounding the body. Drawing his duty weapon, he began a necessary, but futile search for the assailant, heading directly for the room where the murder originated. He possessed a master key to each room, but he doubted the killer had the same means. Escaping the hotel wasn’t going to be a difficult feat, even with heightened security, so the deputy figured he needed to find the killer quickly or lose him in the confusion.
Kaiser didn’t see any rooms with an open door on his way to the room where Rexford had been biding his time. Taking a quick peek inside, Kaiser was greeted by a strong, horrid odor crossing his nose. He retreated to the hallway, realizing the killer had not remained inside. Odors of gasoline and burnt flesh followed him like a stalker, but he soon left them behind. Hoping he guessed the direction correctly, because the circular hallway led directly to other means of egress, Kaiser picked up his pace.
He checked each door as he walked, making certain it was locked, his firearm readily clutched in his right hand. After the events of the previous October, Kaiser refused to take any chances. He nearly died once defending his friend, and the thought of someone ruining the West Baden Springs Hotel’s reputation once more crossed his mind.
Detecting a noise down the hall a few seconds later, he ran down to check it, and found the conservation officer reaching the top of the nearest flight of stairs. Obviously thinking along the same lines as Kaiser, the officer had chosen a different set of stairs to check. Both realized their search was futile, and over, because the killer had already slipped into the crowd of hundreds below.
Chapter 6
Daniels felt groggy the next morning at work. He continually yawned from the lack of rest two hours of sleep had provided. After Lucas Rexford was pronounced dead at the hotel, guests were stuck there until local and state investigators questioned everyone. In the meantime, Jane Brooks grew more discontent dealing with her fiancé’s disappearance. She wanted to head to the lake in case any new developments were discovered.
Fortunately, nothing more of Clouse was found, leaving the dim hope he might still be alive. Last, he knew, Jane planned to take the day off from work and remain at the lake in the hope of an answer, good or bad. She made arrangements during the long wait for the kids to stay with her mother. Daniels thought she performed magnificently with them, not letting on for a moment that anything might be wrong. She left several times, however, to be alone and out of their view. He recalled seeing her on the phone in tears several times, doing her best to remain strong by keeping her emotions away from others.
So far as Daniels knew, the investigation into Rexford’s death led nowhere. The murderer might easily have been an uninvited guest who attended in the correct attire, killed the man, and slipped into the crowd, escaping later without notice. Daniels knew of no one missing from the party, although several people failed to show for the dinner. The police would check them for alibis later.