Ezekiel, page 13
He handed it over. ‘You got something here?’ He took a second look at the hairless teenager. Ezekiel raised his head. ‘Hey kid.’
‘Alopecia totalis,’ said Ezekiel.
‘Oh,’ nodded Scampini as if he understood.
‘It is not contagious.’
‘If you say so.’
‘We could be onto something,’ said Johnson. ‘I’ll let you know. This is Ezekiel Kaufman. He has some interesting insights.’
‘Huh,’ blurted the young detective. He headed back to his computer.
‘Ezekiel, I’m going to show you some photos,’ said Cathy. ‘One you will clearly recognise.’
‘Go,’ he replied.
The detective slipped a clipped note off the top of each photo before she handed them across. The first photo was identical to his drawing of the jogger. It had an ID code at the bottom – CH+Co 05.
‘Yes, that’s the rapist,’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ nodded Johnson. ‘Your sketch was truly remarkable. He obviously has some skin condition.’ She took out the second photo. It was a guy of Asian appearance.
‘No.’ He shook his head. She showed the third. An older man with curly red hair.
‘No. But I don’t feel good about him.’ She nodded almost imperceptibly, then showed another. A younger guy with a chubby face.
‘No,’ said Ezekiel. She displayed the next one. It was Tallon Chapman.
‘That’s him. That’s the guy I drew and warned her about. He did not murder Linda.’
‘No, he didn’t. We know that. What about this one?’ She showed him a picture of Tallon’s father, Dave.
‘No, but he’s not a kind man.’
Cathy Johnson slid Dave back into the folder then placed her fingertips on the next photo.
Without warning Ezekiel threw himself back in his chair, knocking it backwards onto the floor and hitting his head. Despite the fall, he remained in a sitting position on the fallen chair, looking up at the ceiling. His body trembled. His eyes opened wide.
He saw it above him. The dark, oily sphere - hovering, twisting, and turning like it was devouring itself and growing. For a second the stench of it filled his nostrils. Then everything turned black.
Chapter 25
What Next?
Ezekiel stirred and woke as he felt someone twisting the flesh on his shoulder.
‘Hello, Ezekiel,’ said a female voice. ‘How are you feeling?’
His eyes opened and he saw a face close to his. It was a pretty looking young face, with large brown eyes and long dark hair tied back. She was wearing green scrubs.
There were other sounds – beeping noises, a distant two-tone high-pitched alarm, chatting voices, groaning noises, a child crying and the clink of metal on metal every now and then. These were all the noises in the emergency department.
‘How long have I been here,’ were his first words. He lifted a hand to his face and saw a clip on his finger with an attached cord.
‘Twenty minutes,’ said the young lady. ‘I’m Mandy, your nurse. The doctor will see you soon.’
‘What happened?’
‘Hard to be sure, but looked like you had a seizure. Do you know what day it is?’
‘It is Saturday. Why, did you forget?’
‘No, I’m making sure you didn’t. And today’s date?’
‘I do not want to be sent to the psychiatric unit.’
‘I can’t promise anything, but you are here for medical reasons not mental health.’
‘I feel partially reassured.’
‘Now the date is?’
‘When I was last conscious, it was the eighth of December.’
‘Yes, and the year is?’
‘Not 1980,’ said Ezekiel with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘It is 2007. And it is twenty-seven years to the day that John Lennon was murdered.’
‘Ok… then…,’ smiled Mandy unsurely. ‘At least your memory is fine. Are you a John Lennon fan?’
‘I thought everyone was,’ said Ezekiel pushing out a grin.
‘Isn’t twenty-seven a significant number?’ pondered the nurse.
‘Not twenty-seven years dead. Maybe you are thinking of famous people that have died at age twenty-seven.’
‘Of course. A lot of singers and actors died at that age. Incredibly sad, but also a bit weird, don’t you think?’
‘No. A lot more died at the age of fifty-six,’ said Ezekiel. ‘Like King George the sixth, Beethoven, Julius Caesar, Abraham Lincoln, Adolf Hitler and the list goes on. In fact, more famous people died at age twenty-eight than twenty-seven.’
‘Really, well I have learnt something today… interesting. You seem to be firing on all cylinders all of a sudden.’
‘That is a good thing, right? I should be able to go home soon.’
‘We’ll see. For now, I need you to remain lying down. You have quite an egg on the back of your head. We’ll need to do a set of obs every ten minutes or so for at least another hour or two. What medications do you take?’
‘I am prescribed Risperidone,’ said Ezekiel, reflecting back on the chat with his grandad. ‘Two milligrams twice a day.’
‘And are you reliable with medication? Do you miss doses?’
‘My father supervises me. I would prefer not to take them at all.’
* * *
After two hours, Ezekiel was sitting beside his bed in the ED drinking fruit juice and having a sandwich.
Doctor Marion Gustafson had seen him and then had left to have a discussion with the psychiatrist at the adolescent mental health unit. She had ordered him an urgent CT scan of his brain. All his observations had been normal.
When he was halfway through his ham and cheese sandwiches the yellow curtain moved to one side and his mother walked in.
‘Oh Ezekiel, you will be the death of me,’ she said as she stood next to him. She put both her hands on his cheeks. He grimaced a little and she moved her hands away.
‘Let us hope that will never be the case. I really am okay. Is Dad here too?’
‘He’s trying to find a car park. Tell me what happened.’
‘I will give you the abridged version. I do not want Dad to be hearing any of this.’
‘Ah ha,’ she nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘There should be a spare chair in the next cubicle.’
Anna peered out the curtain screens, then dragged over a plastic chair and sat in front of her son. ‘Okay, what’s the story?’
‘I will speak. Do not interrupt. If you need further detail you can talk to Grandad or me later. Agreed?’
‘Yes, Ezekiel. Agreed.’
‘I went to see the police this morning to confess for my involvement, as an accomplice, in three crimes.’ Anna’s mouth fell open. ‘While the detective was showing me some photos to identify certain people, I felt something like a massive electrical shock and my chair fell backwards. I saw an oily sphere hovering above me. It was the essence of evil. The next thing I remember is waking up here.’
The curtains moved again. Joshua walked in.
‘Parking is a bloody nightmare at this place,’ he grumbled. ‘Hello my boy. Are you okay?’
‘Fine. I had some sort of turn or seizure. Cannot remember anything about it. I will be having a brain scan shortly.’
* * *
Ezekiel went off in a wheelchair for his scan. His parents waited in the cubicle.
‘Did he tell you anything else?’ asked Joshua.
‘No. He told me what he told you,’ replied Anna. ‘He seems quite well now. Rather chirpy in fact, don’t you think?’
An hour later the teenager was back.
‘Thank you, Eric,’ he said to the friendly wardsman who returned him. ‘See you next time.’ They did a high five.
‘Next time?’ said Anna with a shake of her head. ‘I don’t want there to be any more next times.’
‘Do you have any idea what they found?’ asked his father.
‘Apparently, I have a brain,’ smiled Ezekiel.
‘Huh… well there’s a surprise for us all,’ scoffed Joshua.
Mandy returned, wheeling in the blood pressure monitor on its mobile stand. ‘Hello everyone. Just a quick set of obs then I’ll be outta your hair.’
She went through the motions doing the BP then temperature and pulse. She checked his pupils then asked him to squeeze her hands. ‘Very good. Everything is fine,’ she said as she removed the BP cuff from his arm. ‘You have a very clever son,’ she said with a smile as she looked at Joshua and Anna.
‘Sometimes a little too clever,’ said Joshua.
‘Ooh, I don’t know about that,’ she quipped. ‘The doctor should be back in a few minutes.’ Mandy left.
* * *
‘I have discussed everything with the psychiatrist,’ said the emergency doctor, Marion Gustafson. She had a gruff no-nonsense type of voice, and she remained standing, at the foot of the bed, for her entire monologue. ‘And given that you had an unusual episode recently as an inpatient and another today, we have decided to cease your Risperidone for the time being…’ Ezekiel wasn’t sure if it showed on the outside, but somewhere inside he was smiling like a Cheshire Cat. ‘…Seizures or blackouts are an extremely rare, but not an unheard of, side effect. You’ll continue on the CTO and the community mental health team will visit you at home to monitor your mental state as often as they deem fit. Any future medication management will be decided by them…. and oh yes, the preliminary report on the brain scan shows no evidence of any abnormality or injury. I would like you to remain here for one further hour. If all your observations are normal you can return home. The nurse will give you a leaflet explaining about head injuries and what to look for should there be any issues after you leave. Are there any questions?’ she looked around at her small audience, while one arm reached back and started moving the yellow bed screen.
‘Is stopping all medication really a good idea?’ asked Joshua.
‘Did I not just explain that?’ she replied with a slight raise of her hands and a glance at Mrs Kaufman.
‘Yes, we understand doctor,’ said Anna. ‘My husband is just concerned about Ezekiel’s future, as are all the family.’ She looked at her son with quick smile.
‘I see. I would suggest you direct any such questions to the psychiatric team. They are best placed to respond to your concerns.’
Chapter 26
The Kaufman List
On that December morning, Quentin and Tallon were sitting in a gazebo at the Mortimer residence finishing their second coffee. They were about to make a series of phone calls. It was decided that, as Quentin had a slightly deeper voice, he would do the talking. They had their script written out and a list of answers to possible questions.
Tallon had called the office of the Public Trustee using a bogus name asking for advice about how to manage his aging mother’s affairs. ‘She has been diagnosed with dementia,’ he said. ‘I have concerns regarding the substantial amount of money she has in the bank. Others in the family are having thoughts they should be gaining access to her funds, but this is not what she would want. Can you advise what would be best to protect her interests?’
He had a brief, informal discussion with an officer named Brenton Forsyth. As soon as Tallon had the name and Brenton’s callback number he hung up.
Quentin made the first call from their list to Marjorie Kaufmann at the suburb of Booval, in the city of Ipswich. It answered after many rings. Tallon had his ear next to the phone to listen in.
‘Hello,’ croaked a feeble sounding ladies voice.
‘Good morning. Would I be speaking with Marjorie Kaufmann?’
‘Yes, this is Marjorie.’
‘Hello Marjorie. This is Brenton Forsyth from the office of the Public Trustee.’
‘Oh really,’ she said with surprise. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We are trying to locate a man named Ezekiel Kaufmann regarding a matter of a significant inheritance. Would he be living in your home? Or would you know where he may be residing?’
‘I’m sorry I don’t know any Ezekiel Kaufmann. You do know that the name can be spelt with one or two N’s.’
‘We know that Marjorie. Thank you for your time.’
Quentin hung up. ‘One down, fourteen to go.’
‘Nice work.’ Tallon patted him on the back. Try number five,’ Tallon pointed to the name Isiah Kaufmann. Maybe they have more Biblical names in their family.
‘Maybe,’ nodded his partner. He tapped the buttons on his phone, being sure to use 6 and 7 to block caller ID before each call.
‘Good morning. This is the Kaufmann residence. Isiah speaking.’
‘Good morning, Isiah. This is Brenton Forsyth from the office of the Public Trustee.
‘Hi Brenton. How are you today? Is there a problem with my account?
‘Oh, Isiah. No, not at all. I’m calling on another matter entirely,’ replied Quentin. Tallon moved away from the phone, dropped backwards onto his chair, and laughed. ‘I was wondering if you knew anyone called Ezekiel Kaufmann. It’s an urgent matter regarding a substantial inheritance.’
‘Wow, I’m really wishing I knew this Ezekiel, but unfortunately I can’t help you. Would you mind putting me through to reception though. I think I left some documents there when I came in yesterday.’
‘No problem, Isiah. I will put you through.’ Quentin tapped at random keypad buttons, then hung up and leaned back. ‘What are the fucking odds of that?’ he laughed.
‘Well managed,’ said Tallon. ‘You’d be a natural for a scam.’
Off all the fifteen calls seven were answered, all saying they could not help with any Ezekiel information. Five others went to an answering service, where they didn’t leave a message, and two rang out.
‘This could take a few days,’ said Quentin. ‘I think we’ll need to make some after-hours calls. Say around six in the evening. Starting tomorrow. We have other plans for tonight.’
‘A nice helping of Chocolate and Cream to celebrate whatever we want to celebrate,’ said Tallon. ‘With a side dish of nose candy.’
‘I’m most definitely in,’ nodded Quentin.
Chapter 27
The Arrest
It was Wednesday, four days after interviewing Ezekiel, that Detective Cathy Johnson had a search warrant in her hand. Detective Trevor Longberry and Lawrence Brady from forensics had spent days at the general hospital checking records and lists of persons who had oral surgery, going back many years. It was tedious work. After being nearly ready to move to another health service and start over, Brady had the brainwave to check the records of the resident speech pathologist. It was here that the name of an eight -year-old child, who had seen the therapist years before, was a match with a name on a list of ten taping rapist suspects. The child had a lisp and trouble pronouncing the letters S and Z.
Before issuing the search warrant, the judge was in two minds about the matter, but when Johnson handed him Ezekiel’s sketch, which clearly put him in the vicinity of the crime at the time, he was onboard.
At five a.m. three police vehicles with ten officers descended on a home at 141 Waterfall Road, West Ipswich. It was a low-set brick home on about half an acre. The cars all skidded to a stop outside the double carport, only a metre from the two parked family vehicles. Car doors immediately flew open. Two armed and uniformed officers ran around to the rear of the dwelling, while two others covered the sides of the house in case a window escape was contemplated. The other officer, Constable Gorman, was directed to wait out the front near the squad cars.
The five others, including Detectives Johnson, Scampini and Thorburn, all wearing gloves, and two fully clad forensic officers arrived at the front door. Johnson slapped the door hard, pushed the button, then slapped again.
It took thirty seconds for the door to open. A man appeared, still trying to do up his dressing gown, a task made more awkward as he only had one hand.
‘Mister Wayne Barnes. I’m Detective Johnson. We have a search warrant, and we want to speak to your son, Richard.’ She didn’t wait for an answer forcing herself past the stunned man at the same time as pushing the warrant into his abdomen, where he held it with the stump of his handless arm.
‘Where is your son’s room?’ she shouted.
‘He has been interviewed. And it was clear he had nothing to do with the death of that psychiatrist,’ yelled Wayne.
‘This is a different matter altogether. Where’s his room?’ She started moving across the lounge and down a hallway.
‘Third room on the right,’ said Wayne. ‘Wendy!’ he yelled. ‘Get out here, quickly.’
The petite Wendy appeared with her hair in disarray. She had managed to slip on jeans and a t-shirt. ‘What’s going on?’ She scampered to her husband’s side and held his upper arm with both hands.
‘They’re after Richard. They have a warrant.’
‘What for?’
‘Don’t know. A different matter than last time.’
‘He mixes with the wrong crowd. I’ve told him before he needs to find a different circle of friends.’
‘I know, love,’ replied Wayne. ‘I know you’ve tried. We both have.’ He wrapped his left arm around her, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.
The couple could do little but watch as the police went about the search. Johnson and Scampini vanished into Richard’s bedroom. Moments later they came out.
‘He’s not in here,’ shouted Johnson. ‘The window’s open. We’ve got a runner!’ Cathy turned and bolted through the house, nearly knocking Scampini off his feet. She was out the front door and looking about frantically for the fugitive. The squad car headlights had been left on, so visibility was reasonable.
Richard made a dash towards the driveway where Constable Gorman stood, studying his phone and leaning on a car. Gorman looked up as Richard flew past him and headed down the drive. ‘Huh, what the…’ then Cathy Johnson dashed past. She held her hand out, and as she passed the constable, she slapped his hand, sending the phone into the air.
At close to full sprint, she caught up with Richard Barnes just before he reached the road. She grabbed the collar of his pyjama shirt and pulled him roughly to a halt. He flicked himself around.
