Tom Schreck: TKO

“The sick bastard likes it,” I said.

“You think Mullings did it?” I asked Kelley. We were promulgating a stereotype by meeting at the Dunkin’ Donuts. I had a toasted coconut and a glazed and Kelley was just drinking coffee.

“Look, Mullings is an asshole, everyone knows that, but that hardly makes him a murderer,” Kelley said.

“What about the kids at McDonough, the ones in the fan club?”

“They’re keeping an eye on them. Two got picked up for smoking pot, and they had some strange kung-fu-type weapons on them.”

“What are you guys making of that?”

“Creepy pothead kids with toys to make them feel tough.”

“Did they do forensics on them?”

“Forensics? Duffy, go back to boxing, will ya?”

“Humor me for a second. What if we looked into this guy Gunner a little closer?”

“So, all we have to do is find a guy who left the area a decade ago and who there’s presently no record of… anywhere?” Kelley said.

“Aren’t there records I can go through-death records, driver’s license, shit like that?” I asked.

“Yeah, but unlike on TV, it isn’t that easy. I can try, but I have to have a reason to start requesting that sort of thing.”

“A reason? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not really. There’s two ways of doing this. I can present the whole bit to Morris, who can then take over. That’s the legitimate way.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but Howard has confessed. Why would anyone expect anything different? There’s a confession, a history, and clearly a means, in that he’s done this sort of thing before.”

“What’s the other way?”

“I sneak around and get the information.”

“You up for it?”

“You’re nuts, you know that?” Kelley said and then shook his head. He said he’d have whatever he could by the end of the day or sooner.

Around three thirty Kelley called and let me know he came up with absolutely zero. He was able to do it quickly because nothing at all came up on Gunner. The best we can tell is that he ceased to exist, at least in this country, about five years ago. No medical license renewal, no driver’s license, no credit card, and no mortgage. There was also no record of death.

As a last-ditch effort, I called my new friend back in Wisconsin. I think I had gone to that well enough, but I had nothing left to do. I remembered her extension and dialed her directly.

“Leslie, it’s Dr. Dombrowski. How are you?” I used my best too-cool doctor voice. “Hey, hon, I’m still striking out on ol’ Guns. You didn’t think of anything else, didya?” I said.

“Hi Doctor. No, I really haven’t,” she said.

“How about the doctor who Guns left to take care of, the sick guy with no family?”

“Ah, it was a long time ago now. Hang on, some of the other nurses are here today. Let me see what they know.”

She pulled away from the receiver but didn’t cup her hand over it. I heard her yell to the others if they remembered Dr. Gunner and the other doctor. There was the usual banter.

“Oh, what’s his name?” a nurse said.

“He was kind of cute,” another said.

“You think? I didn’t think so,” the first nurse said.

“Wasn’t it Dr. Richardson?” a different one said.

“No, Richardson’s in California. He’s a jerk,” another said.

“Ask Julie, she remembers everything,” the first one said.

Leslie returned to the phone.

“Hang on, Doctor, we’re going to ask the unit secretary,” she said. I heard her call to whoever was the unit secretary.

“Dottie, who was the doctor that had pancreatic cancer that was friends with that Dr. Gunner?” she said.

Dottie must’ve gotten up and joined the circle of nurses.

“Oh, yeah, what was it? It began with an A. Avalon, like Frankie Avalon,” Dottie said.

“Abadon, not Avalon,” one of the nurses said.

“Yes!” they all chimed in together.

Leslie got back on the line.

“Did you hear that, Doctor? It was ‘Abadon.’ We all remembered at once.”

“A-B-A-D-O-N?” I said. I felt a chill.

“Yep,” Leslie said. “But I don’t know where he went.”

“I think I do,” I said to myself but out loud. “Thanks,” I said, and I hung up.

That night at AJ’s, I laid it all out for Kelley. Gunner is alive and well, living in Crawford after stealing the original Abadon’s identity. Kelley wasn’t as positive as I was.

“So how does he just take the guy’s identity?” Kelley asked.

“He had the perfect cover. This guy was dying, so Gunner could quit his job on the grounds of being distraught and no one would suspect a thing. He takes him someplace, tells no one, kills him before he dies, and takes his identity. They’re about the same age and he’s privy to all of Abadon’s personal information and he just takes his identity.”

“Then why does he come to Crawford?”

“To have Howard as a patsy.”

“I don’t know, Duff.” Kelley sipped his beer. “Why would he risk it?”

“One, because he’s deranged, but there’s probably a more logical reason. He knew Howard was due to be paroled, and he knew Howard could identify him from his time in Green Haven.”

“Huh?”

“If Howard could finger Gunner as the graduate assistant with the fatal drug, then he could put him away. If Gunner wanted to pursue his drug experiments, he could choose the kids from this area as well as kids from any other area. Then, if the experiments didn’t go right, he could kill them and make it look like Howard did it.”

Kelley’s eyebrows went up and down and he looked straight ahead. After a moment he turned back around.

“Duff, it’s a little out there,” he said.

“Tell me it doesn’t make sense,” I said.

“No one’s going to buy this, you know. All you really have is a name and a missing guy,” Kelley said.

“How many Abadons you know?”

Kelley just sat and looked straight ahead.

“I’ll tell Morris and he’ll laugh,” Kelley said.

“I know,” I said.

“That means you’re not only in the private-eye business again, but you’re also going after a serial killer.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Nobody else will,” I said.

My first thought was to wait for Gunner to leave the clinic, whack him in the back of the head, take him to the police station, and tell my theory. On deeper reflection, I decided that would get me arrested and keep him out on the street. In order to really put Gunner away, I was going to have to have hard evidence on him. Howard had confessed and he was still the obvious suspect.

In the meantime, I had to keep an eye on Gunner so he wouldn’t kill again. I took a ride to the clinic and spied the parking lot, but there was no sign of his SUV. Then, it was over to McDonough while I sat in the idling Eldorado, listening to Elvis do his Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite. Elvis always introduced the band about three-quarters of the way through the show, and it was right about that time that I got sick of waiting and headed back over to the clinic. The eight-track kicked around to the second track for the second time, and there was still no sign of him.

I drove until I found a pay phone, which took a while because since everyone has gotten wired or whatever the appropriate geek expression is, there’s no need for public ones. The old-fashioned diner on Pearl Street, about two miles from the clinic, still had one and I went there to call Monique.

“Monique,” she said when she answered.

“Be honest, the place isn’t nearly the same, is it?” I said.