Fatal Encounter, Chapter 15
by Irv Pliskin
Goldowsky was standing in the woods, close to something and not moving.
“Over here,” he shouted. “Over here.”
Hallen walked to him.
“What have you got Frank? What's so damned important that you brought me out here in the middle of the night?”
“Sorry, detective, but we were told to call you no matter what time it was if we saw something interesting.”
“I know. What have you got in the pitch black out here?”
”There was a light right over there when I first got here sir. It has since gone out. It wasn't much of a light, but when I got here it was still burning and I thought I could hear a generator or a compressor or something, and then the machine stopped and the light went out.”
“Where?”
“Right over here, Detective.” He flashed his light at the cover, and they could both see it sitting askew on the ground, with a small area from which a light could show.
“Jesus,” Hallen said. “That looks like a dressed up manhole cover or something. What the hell do you think it might be?”
“I don't know, sir. I wasn't going to investigate any further without you here.”
“You did good, Frank. You did real good. Here, hold this for me.”
He handed the flashlight to the trooper and bent down to examine the cover closely. He slipped his hands under the edge and pulled. The cover came up, exposing the shaft to the floor below and the ladder bolted to the wall on the other side of the opening.
“Holy Christ,” Hallen said.
He took back his flashlight and pointed it at the ladder. “The son of bitch had another underground room it looks like. We’ll have to go down there and see what's there, but not now. It will wait until morning and until we can rig some lighting here so we can see what we are doing. It will be dawn in a few hours. Let's secure this place.”
“Listen, Frank, you go up to the house and get a couple of guys to come out here with a tarpaulin. We'll cover the hole and stand watch until the morning. You've been here a long time, and you don't need to stand watch any more. What I suggest is that you go back and get something hot to drink and get warmed up. A couple of the other guys can stand watch.”
“Thanks, detective. I wonder if I can be here when you investigate this thing, I'm curious as hell.”
“Why not? You've earned the right. You can call me Jerry, most of the fellows do. What the hell were you doing out here so far from the house, anyway?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, err Jerry, I came to the trees to take a pee. I looked up and saw the light and decided to investigate. I got here just as the light went out. Twenty minutes later, and we never would have seen it."
“Good timing. If it hadn't been for your bladder, we might never have found this hole in the ground,” Hallen said. “Go ahead, get yourself warm and be back here at six-thirty. We'll go down there as soon as it gets light, and we have an extension cord stretched from the house. I'll make sure we wait for you.”
“Thanks, Jerry, thanks a lot.”
Goldowsky left and went to his cruiser. He was on his way to the greasy spoon diner down the road, when he realized that it must be at least three or four hundred feet from the house to the hole in the ground. He wasn't sure they had enough extension cord to reach that far in the local headquarters so he decided to see if he could not help out. He knew a man who owned a local hardware, building supply store, so, despite the hour he drove over and knocked on the businessman’s door. A sleepy citizen came to the door, saw Goldowsky and asked if everything was all right, a tremor in his voice.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Abrahamson. Yeah, everything is fine so far as things are concerned. No problems at your place. But I need a favor, if you don't mind.”
“Sure, I don 't mind. It has to be important if you are here at this hour.”
Goldowsky explained his need: he needed at least 500 feet of heavy duty extension wire for a project. “I know it's a lot. Can you help me out? I'll be happy to buy it, or rent it, or whatever.”
“We rent that stuff to contractors. No problem, I'll be with you in a moment.”
Abrahamson came out in his work clothes in a few minutes and climbed into the cruiser. They drove to Moscow, Pa. to his store and equipment rental yard, picked up the wire and put it into the cruiser trunk.
Goldowsky dropped off Mr. Abrahamson, and then drove out to the cabin. He didn't feel the need for coffee or a pick me up. He was excited and delighted to even be a little part of the investigation.
When he got to the cabin and went in, Hallen was sitting at the polished dining room table, with the contents of the large red rope envelope he had gotten from the FBI spread out before him. He looked up and saw Goldowsky.
“Back so soon, Francis? I thought I sent you off to relax and get something to eat and drink.”
“Yes sir, you did. But I thought I might be able to help out a little here, so I went to see Al Abrahmson over in Moscow. Do you know him?'
“I know the name. Owns a hardware store, doesn't he?”
“That's right. Well, I borrowed about 500 feet of heavy-duty electric extension wire from him. I know we don't have that much at headquarters and I figured this may help.”
“Great, good thinking. But go ahead, relax. I'm still going to wait for full daylight before I investigate that thing. I'll call the desk sergeant and tell him you are with me and will clock out after your shift.” He looked at his watch. “Be back here at 5:30. By the time we string the cord and so forth, it will be light. I'll see you then.”
Hallen went back to the FBI information. It was something of a revelation. The fingerprints of the man he identified as Carl Rogers were indeed on record with the Bureau. But not just as Carl Rogers.
The fingerprints were first entered into the files when the man enlisted in the US Navy as Abdul Illagiiatum Bastardian. That the Navy accepted him with such a strange name was indeed interesting. Moreover, it was obviously a made up name, a name, which Hallen thought, indicated a lot about the man. He was obviously illegitimate, since there was no record of parents in his enlistment file, a copy of which the FBI had included. There were several other identities for the fingerprints, but they were all of the same man, obviously. The name he used, even as a young man, indicated that he had a pretty good sense of humor. Funny, his victims never found that to be the case.
Once out of the hole, Carl lay in the rain, unmoving just sucking in the fresh air and letting the water wash over him. The rain was deliciously cool, cool and strangely comforting. As he lay there, inundated with water, he slowly became aware of a stench. Not just a smell, this was a powerful stench. A strong acrid, unpleasant stink. It hadn't been there when he first came up, he was sure, but now it was pervasive.
What the hell is that stink, he wondered? It wasn't here before. It smells like shit and sweat and a sour gym. Jesus, it is terrible. He raised his head and looked around for the source. And as he did so, he realized that it was he that smelled so bad.
'Jesus, I think that's me. Holy Christ!' He wondered about it for a moment and then realized that he had not changed his clothes since he had gone into the hole. He was normally fastidious, but in his pain and discomfort he had not thought, at all about changing clothes or underwear. He had sweated and while he was practically unconscious soiled himself somewhat. He had also been sick to his stomach, and vomited on his shirt. In the fetid hole, he had not been aware of the odor or the discomfort. But now, now he was repulsed. The soaking rain had exacerbated it and made him aware of it. He would have to change his clothes. Nobody would even come close to him the way he smelled and probably looked.
He had planned to change clothes once he found a private location, so, he had packed clothing in the bag he laboriously pulled up from the floor of the bunker. Although he had packed plenty of clothing in the hole with him, fresh underwear and outer garments, he had never used them. He had at first been too sick to concern himself, and then he had been so deluded he hadn't cared.
But he cared now and would have to take care of that issue as soon as possible. First, he had to get away from this dungeon and the horror it represented to him. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, and then stood up. He bent over, picked up the bike, and opened it and locked it into position. He thought for a moment he should ride out of there, but then realized that the terrain was very rough and if he fell, he would not be able to get up.
He was never really comfortable on a bike...he had taught himself to ride on a stolen bike as a kid. Learning to ride without help was tough. He had kept falling and skinning knees and elbows. Nobody cared, of course, there was no one there who cared about him or how he grew or progressed. He learned his manners and behavior from watching and observing. He was smart enough to realize that he had to conform or his life would be even more of a hell than it was. So he learned. He watched. He observed. He absorbed.
He decided to walk the bike through the woods. He knew that about a quarter of mile through the trees he would find a narrow road. He could ride the bike there fairly safely even in the dark. And he knew the road took him to the turnpike service road, which eventually ran behind one of he Pennsylvania Turnpike's massive rest stops. If he could get there, he should be able to slip into a toilet stall and change his clothes, wash and clean himself up. It was a goal, a way to start on his new life.
The rest stop was a good twenty miles down the service road, and he rode slowly and carefully, stopping often to take a rest. It was morning raining softly, when he pulled alongside the fence that lined the turnpike. A few miles further on, he realized he was behind the service center parking lot.
He found a place to hide the bike, under a tree in some thick bushes, and then toting his bag, walked along the back of the complex. After a while he found a spot where the chain link fence had been pulled apart so people could walk in, and he took advantage of that to get into the parking area. He walked around to the front, waited until there was no one coming in. Anyone who caught a whiff of him might remember the strange-looking, smelly creature.
There was an entrance foyer, and beyond that a large common room with special shops and a restaurant. The men's room was just opposite the foyer, and he hustled to it, found it empty, and went quickly into the stall reserved for handicapped. He walked in, locked the door securely and started to pull his clothes off. They reeked.
There was a sink with soap and paper towels in the cubicle. He filled the sink with hot water and dropped his cotton undershirt into the water. He took it out, soaped it heavily, and then washed it as he had done in the navy. He scrunched the fabric, and then rubbed it together, rinsed it n the water and soaped it a second time. He smelled it, and it smelled reasonably clean. He wrung it until it was damp, and then he used it to wash himself.
Nude, he let himself air dry, used the john, sitting on it until he thought he was reasonably dry. Several people came in and out of the rest room while he did all this, but no one tried to use the handicapped section, so he got himself cleaned up and dressed in the spare clothes he had had packed in his case. He took the money out of the pockets of the pants he had been wearing, counted out three hundred dollars and put that, folded over, in his pocket. The rest he put in the money bag inside his carrying case.
He wasn't sure what he should do with the smelly clothes. The handicapped cubicle had a small wastebasket in it with a plastic liner full of used towels and other refuse. He took the liner out of the basket, emptied it into the can that held it and then stuffed his smelly clothes into the plastic bag. He tied it tightly, so no smell could escape, and put the clothes into his carry bag. When he came to a large dumpster, he could toss all of his stuff in there, and be rid of it.
He was starving. He looked at himself in the mirror as he was leaving. He saw a sallow man, wearing simple work clothes with a reasonably full beard, unkempt hair. He could get by with that, he was sure. He stopped at the little gift shop in the lobby and bought a comb, and went to a booth by the window to watch the cars coming in and ordered breakfast. Sitting in the booth he combed his hair.
He was drinking his second cup of coffee after he had downed the “Super Duper Trucker's Breakfast” - three eggs, sunny side up, three slices of bacon, a slice of ham, three pancakes and toast and coffee. Total cost, $5.95, but to him it tasted like dinner at the Ritz.
He looked up to see a somewhat battered 1995 or 96 Plymouth pull into the parking lot, driven by a college aged kid who got out with another boy and dashed through the rain to the rest stop. Carl watched them come in and go to one of the booths. He waited until they had ordered and saw the passenger head for the men's room.
Carl stood up and walked to their table. The kid was rereading the menu and just looking around. When he saw Carl he stiffened.
“Listen,” Carl said, “would you like to make a hundred bucks, cash?”
The kid looked at him skeptically.
“Nothin’ phony,” Carl said, as he pulled five twenty dollar bills out of his pocket and put them on the table. “I need a ride and I'm willing to pay for it.”
"A ride, where to?"
“Wherever you're going will be fine.” The kid looked even more doubtful.
“Let me explain,” Carl said. “I was driving on the service road alongside of the pike, back there a ways when I hit a pot hole and broke my front axle. Least I think I broke it. The car stopped, and I can't go hardly at all. I got the car off he road, and it's sitting there till I can get it towed and fixed. The car's back there a couple of miles. I walked that far to get here. I’ve got to get to a good-sized town, like Bethlehem or Wilkes Barre so I can get someone to tow me to a garage and fix the car. I need to rent a car, too. That sort of requires a good sized town, you know?”
So, either way. I don't know if you were going north or south. Either case, if you take me to a good-sized town, the hundred bucks is yours. You don't have to go out of your way. Which way are you going?”
"South, toward Philly."
"Good, that will do fine for me. You can drop me near Bethlehem, I have some friends there, and they will even come for me, I think. How about it, is it a deal?"
The kid hesitated a moment, then reached out and picked up the money.
He slipped the money in his shirt pocket and turned to Carl.
"Have you had your breakfast?"
"Yes," Carl said, "but I”ll have more coffee with you, if that's okay. My name is Carl."
"I'm Paul,” the driver said.
Carl went back to his table, got his coffee cup and his bag and came to sit with the Paul and his friend.
The other boy came out of the bathroom, and was surprised to see Carl sitting at the table.
"Rudy,” Paul said, "this guy is Carl. He had some car trouble out on the service road, and he bummed a ride with us to the Allentown--Bethlehem turnpike exit. Is that okay with you?"
“Why not? It's your car Paul. Up to you." Rudy said. He turned and greeted Carl. The boy sat down and the waitress brought their breakfast.
When she put the check on the table, Carl picked it up. "I'll catch this,” he said. "You guys leave the tip."
After breakfast they went to Paul's car, and Rudy offered to sit in the back so Carl could sit up front.
"No, thanks,” Carl said, "the back is just fine for me."
The back seat, he knew could give him control if he felt he needed it.
From the back he could pull his revolver and effectively shoot either the driver or his companion, if things did not go well.
That would be much harder to do if he was sitting up front. Within minutes after leaving he rest stop, they were talking, as strangers do about all sorts of things. Carl told them that he was, like George Washington, a surveyor, and that he had a gig to work along route 22, which ran from Newark, New Jersey all the way through Pennsylvania.
The boys he discovered were undergraduates at Wilkes University, in Wilkes Barre, Pa. Paul was studying business and sociology. Rudy was a major in science. They talked a little about the school, which Carl said he had only heard of, but knew nothing about it.
When they got to the Allentown, Bethlehem exit, Paul insisted on going off the pike to a nearby gas station-coffee shop where he was sure Carl could find a phone, call his friend and wait comfortably for his ride.
Carl thanked the boys, and waited until they turned out of the gas station and took the on-ramp to the turnpike.
Hallen put the FBI file aside, rubbed his eyes and looked up. He was tired, and he was also hungry. He would have to check out the hole they had found shortly, but he decided that he needed to eat breakfast. He left the cabin and walked to his unmarked.
Goldowsky was sitting in his cruiser, parked right alongside the unmarked. He obviously was waiting for Hallen to come out so they could go and investigate the hole he had discovered.
Hallen tapped on the window. Goldowsky rolled it down. “Did you do as I suggested and get yourself some rest and some breakfast?”
“I've been resting detective, but I haven't eaten. I'm too excited to sit by myself and eat.”
“I'm impressed with your enthusiasm. Look, I'm going for breakfast. Come with me, we can spend some time speculating and besides, I'd like the company, too.”
Frank got into the unmarked and they started to the greasy spoon diner about five miles or so away.
Hallen was driving down the road, in the full dawn with the windshield wipers swiping their peculiar clunk, clunk sound, when a woman, driving a Mercury Grand Marquis while talking on a cell phone, burst on to the highway from a side road without stopping, forcing Hallen to slam on his brakes. If he had not been wearing his seat belt, Goldowsky might have been thrown into the windshield.
Hallen considered pulling the woman over and giving her a lecture about road etiquette and using the cell phone while driving. He reconsidered, and followed the car to an intersection with a traffic light. The light was red, and both cars were stopped. Goldowsky had his book out and was writing down the plate number of the car.
Hallen decided to reprimand the woman about reckless driving. He put his car in park, walked around to the driver's side of the Grand Marquis and tapped on the window. He was standing behind the door, since that was the way he had been taught to approach any car. The window rolled down, and before he could say anything, the woman swiveled as well as she could with the seat belt on, and pointed a pistol out the window.
Hallen moved back against the car out of the line of fire and quickly pulled his own weapon out of his holster. Frank, in uniform, watching from his seat was out of the car instantly. By the time he got alongside of Hallen, the light changed. The woman hit the accelerator, fired off two harmless shots through the window and skidded away from the scene. Hallen almost fell as she moved off, but Goldowsky caught him before he could tumble. Frank ran the plate number through his mind, and checked it in his book to make sure he was right.
Hallen drew a deep breath.
“No point in chasing her,” he said. “We have the number, let's run it and see if the car is stolen. If not, I'd bet she's a local, and we know where to find her. I'll have someone pick her up later.”
Frank used his cell phone to call in the plate number as Hallen drove to the restaurant. By the time they got to the diner, Hallen had the car identified. It belonged to Sheriff Jefferson's wife, Phoebe Jefferson. They made the assumption that it was she who was driving.
Hallen was stunned. 'What the hell,' he thought, 'this is some kind of a weird coincidence'.
“Well, we'll have someone pick her up and charge her with reckless driving and brandishing a gun. Reckless endangerment or something like that.”
He made the call, and gave the order to pick up the woman and hold her till somebody came to talk to her. He warned the police taking the call that the woman was armed, and could be dangerous.
They sat at a table. Hallen was hungry so he ordered the $5.95 Over The Road Trucker's Breakfast: three eggs, steak, home fries, dry toast and coffee.
After breakfast, the two policemen went back to the cabin, and Hallen dropped Goldowsky off so he could rig up the extension cord and bring it to the area to be investigated. He drove across the grass to the copse of trees where the hole was roped off.
Hallen called BB on he phone and suggested he meet them there at the site. BB was already on his way, and said that he would follow the extension cord to their location.
At the trees, Hallen parked the car, and walked through the wet grass. The protecting tarp was soaking wet, but Hallen carefully moved it aside and then examined the area before he explored the excavation.
As he came to the ladder side of the hole, he looked down and was surprised to see a clump of money lying on the grass. He knelt to examine it. It seemed to be a good sum. He carefully picked it up with his handkerchief and put it in an evidence bag. He noted where it was, and the fact that the outside of the roll of bills was wet, but that much of the money appeared to be dry. That would indicate, he surmised, that the money had been dropped only a short time before they got to it. Had it been there a long time, it would have been soaked through.
Hallen had Frank lower the brightly-burning bulb on the extension cord into the hole. He then sat on the edge of he excavation, swung his feet onto the ladder and went down. Once he was on the floor of the bunker, he called up to Goldowsky and told him to wait for BB and additional police back up and when they arrived, he and BB were to come on down.
He knelt at the foot of he ladder, and examined all he could see from the entrance. The room was completely empty. Hallen saw light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, but assumed that there was no power, since Goldowsky reported seeing light that had gone out. Using his large flashlight, he carefully examined the room from where he stood. He decided to wait for back up before he went inside and for a video camera with lights. He decided it would be best to record everything in the place before they examined it inch by inch.
He leaned against the ladder, and waited for the things he needed to do the job completely. Once a film record of he place had been made, then he might feel comfortable examining it. He knew that he would have to order a detailed appraisal of the entire area.
When BB arrived with the video camera and he and Goldowsky came down the ladder. Hallen held them at the small entranceway so as to protect any evidence while BB filmed the entire room. Then, the three of them went back up the ladder. Hallen called for a forensic team, and ordered them to examine every inch of the place for fingerprints, including the floors, ceilings, the walls. Everything.
“I want it all recorded and notated before anyone else goes down there,” he said to the team captain. “I want to see if we can figure out why he left the place. It certainly looks as if he had enough food and stuff to last him a long time. He had to know the longer he was out of sight, the better his chances were of getting away from us. So be very, very thorough, please.”
“If we can determine what drove the guy out of there, that might be very, very helpful. Why did he leave? Let's see if your techs can tell us.”
