Джеймс Суэйн - The Man Who Cheated Death

“Please,” Wondero said.

“Make yourself comfortable. This may take a while.”

Bridgewater put on his glasses and started to read. Hardare leaned forward, watching like a hawk. Magicians had been reading body language well before law enforcement had discovered its usefulness, and he looked for any tell-tale signs in the principal’s facial or physical expressions.

Thirty minutes later, one of those signs appeared.

Bridgewater lifted his head. Then, his eyelids half-lowered, as if falling asleep. The file had jogged something in his memory, and Hardare came out of his chair.

“What did you find?”

“I’m sorry. But this is very painful,” Bridgewater said.

Wondero rose as well. “Go on.”

“There was a student named Eugene Osbourne who tried to murder another student. I hate to use this term, but Eugene was crazy. I knew Eugene’s mother. She was a speech therapist here, a gentle, lovely woman. So lovely, that I asked her to marry me.”

“How many years ago was this?” Wondero asked.

“Twenty.”

“I know this is difficult, but you have to tell us about this kid,” the detective said.

“Of course. Please sit down. I’ll tell you everything,” Bridgewater said.

Eugene Osbourne had been a gangly, lop-eared tenth grader whose alcoholic father had died when he was a boy. It was a hard way to grow up, but nothing Bridgewater hadn’t seen before.

Eugene had visited his office twice a week in an effort to work out his problems. The sessions went well, with Eugene willing to explore the things which troubled him. He agonized over being rejected by a girl at the sock hop, and how he was always picked last when teams were formed.

Bridgewater had ached for him. There was no greater hurt than a boy’s bruised sense of worth. He could not make Eugene’s pain or the circumstances which had caused it go away, and instead, had tried to help Eugene cope.

“I miss my father,” Eugene had confided one day.

“What do you miss the most about him?” Bridgewater had asked.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, Eugene, I do.”

“Watching him beat up my mother.”

“That’s not funny, Eugene.”

“It is to me,” the boy had said.

In his junior year, Eugene was caught setting fires, and sent to an outside psychiatrist for evaluation. The psychiatrist tested Eugene, and discovered that he had been born with an extra Y, or male sex chromosome. Based upon this, the psychiatrist determined that Eugene had a genetic affliction toward violence, and that little could be done to cure him.

Bridgewater had read the evaluation and thrown a fit. In his opinion, genetic destiny was as dangerous as racial stereotyping, and he had fought to have Eugene returned to Woodrow Wilson so that he could treat him by more accepted methods.

In his senior year, Eugene had attempted to murder another senior, a football player named Tony Capaletti. At the time, Capaletti did not have the slightest idea who Eugene was, having never shared a single class with him.

But Capaletti was dating a cheerleader named Rosalyn Summers, who Eugene had a crush on. Rosalyn thought Eugene had once asked her out, although she hadn’t been entirely sure.

The incident had taken place at a time when Bridgewater was certain he saw all the signs pointing toward Eugene’s recovery. Eugene was coming to school, working afternoons bagging groceries, and much to everyone’s surprise, had landed a minor role in the school’s production of Once Upon a Mattress.

By then Bridgewater and Eugene’s mother, Elaine, were dating. Bridgewater knew he was falling in love, and had planned to ask Elaine to marry him when the school year ended.

It was not to be.

Two weeks before finals, Eugene was found lying in the hall, barely breathing. While placing a poisonous snake into Tony Capaletti’s locker, the snake had slipped free, and bit him.

The doctors at San Diego General had kept Eugene’s heart going by pumping him with insulin. A remedy was prescribed by a local poison specialist that required another dose of poison. Only after Elaine’s consent was granted with Eugene given the shot.

The cure did not kill Eugene, but it came close. As his body temperature rose to 105 degrees, his hair had dropped out, and he had turned into a bald, screaming monster.

Bridgewater had been by Elaine’s side when the transformation occurred. Clutching his beloved to his side, he had known that their lives would never be the same.

Bridgewater was teary-eyed by the time he’d finished telling his story. Taking a Kleenex off his desk, he loudly blew his nose.

Wondero had pulled out his BlackBerry while Bridgewater was speaking, and hunted for Eugene Osbourne in the LAPD’s crime data base. The scowl on his face said he hadn’t found him.

“Where is Eugene now?” Wondero asked.

“I have no idea,” the principal said quietly.

“You must have heard something?”

Bridgewater shook his head.

“How about his mother? Is she still alive?”

“I suppose. She lives on the outskirts of town. Elaine and I haven’t spoken in many years.”

“We need you to take us to her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Elaine and I stopped speaking long ago. I’m not welcome in her home.”

Hardare slammed his fist on the desk. “You have to. Eugene Osbourne is a serial killer who’s murdered dozens people. My wife will be his next victim if you don’t help us find him.”

“Eugene’s a serial killer?”

“That’s right. Will you help us, or not?”

Bridgewater pushed himself out of his chair. His face had turned white, and he looked shaken to the core.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Rancho Penasquitos was located at the foot of the imposing Black Mountain range. Comfortable family homes and small farms ran up and down secluded hills and canyons, with people on horseback as plentiful as those riding in cars.

Driving down a dirt road, Bridgewater told them the rest of his story. A smart defense attorney had managed to keep Eugene out of jail, and in shame Elaine had quit her teaching job and rented a dilapidated farm in the area.

“I haven’t seen Elaine since she moved out here,” Bridgewater said. “I heard she was still giving speech therapy at the veteran’s hospital.”

A sign on the road announced the Osbourne farm. It consisted of a tiny house with a sagging front porch, a barn with fist-sized holes dotting the walls, and a doghouse with a chained mutt standing on its roof. In the yard stood a man in tattered jeans and a football jersey. Golden brown feed seeped through his fingers into the upturned mouths of a dozen squawking baby chicks.

“Who’s that?” Wondero asked.

“That’s Matt, Elaine’s nephew.” Bridgewater said. “He’s a bit slow. Let me deal with him.”

Bridgewater parked beside a rusted fence and they got out.

“Hi, Matt. Remember me? Doctor Bridgewater. How you been?”

Matthew squinted suspiciously. “Long time no see, Doc. What brings you out here?”

“I need to speak with Elaine. Is she around?”

“She’s in the ground, Doc.”

“Elaine’s dead?”

“Yup. Kicked the bucket two years ago.”

Bridgewater stared at the ground like an actor who’d forgotten his line.

“Ask him about Eugene,” Wondero whispered.

“Have you heard from your cousin Eugene?” Bridgewater asked.

“Why you asking about that piece of garbage?”

“We need to find him.”

“Eugene sent me a letter, asked to borrow some money. Like a dope I sent it to him. Never heard from him again.”

“Ask him if he still has the letter,” Wondero whispered.