Every Street,

Every Street, Chapter 15

--see previous chapters for notes--

Doug didn't return to his hotel room until gone midnight. It was beginning to smell, he thought, as he gladly headed for a hot shower before falling into bed. After he'd called 911, two cops had turned up and taken him to the police station where he'd remained all day and most of the night, being questioned by a series of different officers. As he sat in the small interview room and tried to fend of the barrage of questions and suspicious looks, he knew that what he said sounded circumstantial, and even slightly incriminating. Helen had always had a dislike for him, but he'd been calling on her a lot recently despite her asking him several times to go away. He was what they might consider a 'disgruntled boyfriend'; angry that Helen's daughter had run off carrying his children. He was living in a hotel and had a nasty looking scar across his neck. In all honesty, he would be the easiest person to lock up for the murder - hell, he even had a previous conviction for reckless homicide. So why were they holding back? It wasn't like he'd had a particularly easy detective rolling harmless questions at him, but it could have been much worse. He was certain there was a room full of people behind the large mirror on the far wall, all looking at him for signs of a guilty killer and discussing the evidence. He had all but given up when a police officer and two detectives entered the room. The officer, a slim guy whose shirt was a size too big, positioned himself by the door casually, and the two senior officers came right up to the table at which Doug was sitting. Unable to bear the weight of their stares, he said, "I didn't do it," a statement of childlike truth, a sad and lonely echo in the quiet room. Knowing the looks that were being passed from cop to cop, he let his eyes wander to his hands on his lap instead.
"That's okay, Mr. Ross. You're free to go."
Doug blinked. "Uhh...what?"
"We've uncovered some additional evidence which gets you off the hook."
"What evidence?"
"We're not at liberty to tell you that. You're free to leave." They hustled him out of the room, failing to answer his questions. He'd told them explicitly why he'd been to see Helen, the fact that Carol was missing, and she had his children. But they hadn't been interested in his 'personal problems' - a phrase that seemed quite popular - and had ignored any pleas for information or help to find her. He couldn't make them understand that this wasn't just any old domestic case, that she really was missing and he wasn't just an abusive boyfriend. It was infuriating, and now after all his time there, they were throwing him out. He stood on the steps of the police station in the dark, where he had been left. It was raining again and he'd left his jacket behind. In fact, he hadn't left it, it had been taken for evidence early on in proceedings as it had blood on it. Doug stuffed his hands into the pockets of the slacks he wore, burying them as deep as they would go, and looked out into the street. His mind drifted as his eyes followed the cars and lights that flowed past. Why would anyone want to kill Helen? That was the craziest thing of all. There was no reason for it. And yet, there had to be, because such an execution was so professional but nothing had been stolen, there was nothing that anyone would have wanted from Helen Hathaway. A cop with a handcuffed teen by his side brushed past and Doug moved to one side. He couldn't avoid the thought any longer, that it had to be something to do with Carol. It couldn't just be circumstantial that one woman goes missing uncharacteristically, without a trace, and then her innocent mother gets murdered. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more he knew that if he found the killer, he'd find Carol. Slowly descending the steps, he walked off slowly in the direction of the hotel, eyes on the ground.

He awoke late the next morning with the thought of money in his head. He couldn't afford to stay here any longer. He couldn't really afford it when he'd originally taken the room, but now he'd stayed for an unexpected amount of time, and he knew he'd have to move to somewhere cheaper, at least for now. Unsurely, he felt around for his wallet and assessed his financial situation. He had no more than $15 in cash, and he was almost certain that his bank balance wouldn't stand up well to more than 2 or 3 nights in a hotel, wherever he stayed. He got out of bed slowly, his t-shirt crumpled, and padded to the desk, rubbing his lower back with one hand. Reaching out, he brushed the collection of keys from the desk top into his palm, and flipped around the ring until his fingers settled over an old key, smooth at the edges and a dark chrome colour. He wasn't sure if he could do it, and he wasn't sure if he should do it, but he didn't have much choice.

Packing didn't take long, and he was checked out by noon. But just as he was standing on the threshold, teetering on the brink of the future, the hotel receptionist called him back to a telephone that she held out.
"There's a call for you, sir."
"Thanks." Doug reached over the desk and took the receiver, the wire stretching out across the bookings diary and around a small pot plant.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Ross?"
"Yeah..." The name he was so used to being called rolled off the tongue of the caller, and Doug almost didn't notice until after he'd answered.
"I need to meet with you."
"Who is this?" He couldn't place the voice at all, and there was a slight twinge of an accent from somewhere. Somewhere other than Chicago.
"I cannot say. I must talk to you soon. When can we meet?"
Confused and suspicious, Doug stayed silent trying to think what action he should take.
"It is about Miss. Hathaway."
Something in Doug's eyes jumped, but he remained still.
"I can meet you in an hour."
"Yes. That is good. Someplace busy."
"Uhh..."
"I meet you at Doc Magoo's by where you and Nurse Hathaway used to work."
Doug flinched slightly, a muscle in his jaw flexing. How did this person know that?
"Okay. And you'll be wearing a big red rose, right?" He couldn't resist the joke - it felt like something out of a James Bond movie.
"No. I be wearing a Cubs jacket and a cap. See you there." The dial tone rang in Doug's ear. He passed the phone back to the receptionist.
"Do you have a number that I can forward any other calls to, Mr. Ross?"
"Uhm. Sure. Hang on..." He searched for a pen and paper, which the receptionist passed to him and he scribbled a number down for her before leaving the hotel altogether, now a certain purpose to his stride. How the hell had that guy known his name, about where he used to work, and what did he know about Carol? Why did they have to meet like something out of an episode of Mission: Impossible? He walked quickly, a slight frown crossing his features and the watch on his wrist slowly ticking away the time. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the choice of rendezvous; he had been trying to steer clear of County as much as he could after that initial visit. It brought back too many memories, too much bitterness and too many 'what ifs'. What if he'd stayed? What if he hadn't helped Ricky die? What if he'd never even met Ricky? Going back there made him hate himself more than he already did. Doc Magoo's was too close for comfort, despite the good times that had happened there. Unwilling to look at even the doors of the ER, Doug jogged up the steps of the diner and stopped just inside the doorway to look for anyone in a Cubs jacket, and to look at his watch. He was half an hour early, and he couldn't see the dark blue colour of a baseball jacket anywhere. In fact he couldn't see anything, because someone had just walked into him.
"Uhng." He grunted, feeling an arm crunching into the old wound on his stomach.
"Sorry, sorry. Are you...hey! Dr. Ross! I mean, Doug. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there, and I've got a presentation in- "John Carter glanced at his own watch "-argh, three minutes."
"Hi, Carter. Go on, don't mind me." The fleeing form dashed out with his cup of coffee, stopping once to let a car pass before jogging towards the hospital doors, his white coat flapping behind him. 'Some things never change', Doug thought to himself and slid into a booth. He folded his hands into a pile on the table in front of him and declined coffee from the waitress. Glancing at the grease smeared wall clock, he noticed despairingly that he still had 27 minutes to wait, and turned his gaze out through the window instead. For a stunning moment, he thought he saw her. The dark hair, resting in perfectly formed curls upon her shoulders, the brown leather bag, a white shirt. But the tall man by her side wasn't him, and as she turned to laugh up in the stranger's face, he realised it wasn't her. Doug turned away, glanced at the clock once more and stared hard at his own hands.

The hands of the clock had reached 12.58 when, out of the corner of his eye, Doug caught a fragment of light reflecting off a satin team coat. The short, dark figure wore a cheap red baseball hat that failed to keep several oily strands of hair under control. He stood by the door and Doug watching his eyes roving the diner until they settled on him.
"Dr. Ross?"
"Yeah."
The man slid into the seat opposite Doug and waved away the waitress frantically. If he was trying to seem un-noticeable, then he was failing miserably. Doug looked him in the eye and waited for him to say something.
"My name is Rudy. I know you are looking for Miss Hathaway and I know her mother was killed."
Doug blinked and leant forward a little. "How do you know?"
"I just do. I am...it is hard to say, I not think of the phrase but I am like in the middle of a difficult place and a rock - you know?"
Doug shook his head. The man, Rudy, sighed and looked out of the window before turning back to Doug.
"I am in trouble with bad men, but I cannot go to the police. I can't tell you a lot. But Miss Hathaway was a good person and I think she was finding out things that could have got her into trouble. Trouble like I am in now. I am scared for her, Dr. Ross."
Doug failed to find words for a number of seconds.
"What sort of trouble?"
"I cannot tell you too much, I am in so much danger already. If I tell you information, then they might want to kill you too."
"Kill me?" Doug whispered, leaning almost flat on the table, looking straight at the strange man who sat before him. "Why?"
"I cannot say. This is something very big, Dr. Ross. I think you have come off the normal path."
"Tell me. I want to find her. I want to help her. She gave birth to my children about 6 months ago, Rudy. I need to know where to find them."
"Children?" He mumbled something else, something very similar to words that had been thrown at Doug by Helen before she died. His hands ran over his face, and a bead of sweat ran in a trickle down from a sideburn on the left side of his face. Then, in a sudden, quick movement, he leant forward, grabbed Doug's sweater so that they sat with their foreheads almost touching. He spoke in a fast, panicky whisper.
"Miss Hathaway's father did not die naturally, and he did not die innocently. He was not even called Hathaway, he was called Debrevski and he was one of an elite army spying force from the KGB that infiltrated the American government in the 1960's. He was killed by the American government when they found out his real name and purpose. Helen Hathaway knew. That is why they killed her. And I am afraid that Carol found out to. They will kill her if she knows. I tell you no more. I won't see you again. Run quietly, Dr. Ross. They'll know if you are too loud with your information."
And before Doug could react, he was gone.