Read Online Maddy's Floor by Dale Mayer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dale Mayer
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Paranormal, Occult & Supernatural
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Damn it. He sat back down and tried to refocus on the morning mail. He didn't see the words on the page. What the hell would the head of the most expensive, most prestigious hospital want with anyone upstairs?
Upstairs? His head snapped up.
Maddy.
Oh, Christ.
***
Drew pulled his scratchpad closer. He had several pages full of notes so far, but he was a long way from done. He hadn't been able to resist a closer look at the kids' cases – on his own time. Wilson had explained that wall was a reminder page, a memorial so to speak, rather than a current case.
He remembered more the deeper he delved into the case. His uncle had spoken about the raging argument among the members of his department as to whether it was a criminal case – or a case at all. He couldn't resist trying to find out. The mystery behind it was addictive. He'd stayed late last night to catch up on the details.
In all six cases, the cause of death had been listed as inconclusive. No evidence left behind and no links between the children – none that anyone had found, at least. He picked up the folder and flicked through old detectives' notes, results and timelines. The first victim, Sissy Colburn, had been sitting at her kitchen table doing homework when she'd fallen to the floor dead. The last victim, Stephen Hansen, was found in the backyard of his home, fully dressed, backpack hanging off one shoulder and a half a chocolate bar in his hand. Dead. As if his last breath had just left his body and he'd collapsed on the spot.
Odd. For some unknown reason, all six healthy kids had just dropped dead, under what seemed ordinary circumstances.
Even odder was the tiny bruise on the base of the spine on all six kids. The doctors had no explanation, the autopsy hadn't shown a cause for them, and none of the parents knew anything that would indicate how each bruise had occurred.
The intriguing thing was that each victim had the same bruise. Six victims within a four-month span of time. No similar cases could be found before or after, according to Wilson's research.
He studied the old photos. The bruises looked insignificant, like an everyday small bruise.
The hairs on the back of his head rose. Spooky stuff.
Could he contribute anything to the case? Was there anything, any evidence that could be processed again with today's technology?
He set the boxes, four of them, off to one side and sorted through the swabs and clothing samples. It took the rest of the afternoon to determine that the detectives on the case had been thorough. Their notes spoke of their frustration with the lack of evidence.
Many cops expressed their doubts that a crime had even occurred, suggesting these were medical deaths – sad, but not their problem.
Then there was the evidence box full of diaries. Small, feminine diaries chronicled the years prior and the twenty years after the death of Darcy Durnham, the second victim of the six. According to Wilson, the father, Scott Durnham, had started dropping the diaries off a good ten years ago after the writer, Darcy's mother, passed away, in the hopes the police could find something helpful in them. Wilson had put them in order to find that there was no diary for the period covering Darcy's death. He'd expressed doubts that it had existed, but Drew figured it probably just hadn't shown up yet. Compulsive writing like Darcy's mother had demonstrated with her diaries rarely stopped one day to the next…and started again just as abruptly.
Scott showed up once in a while through the years when he found another one in the house. As always, it was logged in and added to the pile. So far, Wilson hadn't found anything of value in them.
Now it was Drew's turn.
Not an easy job.
***
Bed 232 smiled. No, not bed 232, she'd be Sissy today. She did feel so much better. She shifted slightly in bed. Mornings were always better. 'Good drugs,' the docs would say.
The
Upstairs? His head snapped up.
Maddy.
Oh, Christ.
***
Drew pulled his scratchpad closer. He had several pages full of notes so far, but he was a long way from done. He hadn't been able to resist a closer look at the kids' cases – on his own time. Wilson had explained that wall was a reminder page, a memorial so to speak, rather than a current case.
He remembered more the deeper he delved into the case. His uncle had spoken about the raging argument among the members of his department as to whether it was a criminal case – or a case at all. He couldn't resist trying to find out. The mystery behind it was addictive. He'd stayed late last night to catch up on the details.
In all six cases, the cause of death had been listed as inconclusive. No evidence left behind and no links between the children – none that anyone had found, at least. He picked up the folder and flicked through old detectives' notes, results and timelines. The first victim, Sissy Colburn, had been sitting at her kitchen table doing homework when she'd fallen to the floor dead. The last victim, Stephen Hansen, was found in the backyard of his home, fully dressed, backpack hanging off one shoulder and a half a chocolate bar in his hand. Dead. As if his last breath had just left his body and he'd collapsed on the spot.
Odd. For some unknown reason, all six healthy kids had just dropped dead, under what seemed ordinary circumstances.
Even odder was the tiny bruise on the base of the spine on all six kids. The doctors had no explanation, the autopsy hadn't shown a cause for them, and none of the parents knew anything that would indicate how each bruise had occurred.
The intriguing thing was that each victim had the same bruise. Six victims within a four-month span of time. No similar cases could be found before or after, according to Wilson's research.
He studied the old photos. The bruises looked insignificant, like an everyday small bruise.
The hairs on the back of his head rose. Spooky stuff.
Could he contribute anything to the case? Was there anything, any evidence that could be processed again with today's technology?
He set the boxes, four of them, off to one side and sorted through the swabs and clothing samples. It took the rest of the afternoon to determine that the detectives on the case had been thorough. Their notes spoke of their frustration with the lack of evidence.
Many cops expressed their doubts that a crime had even occurred, suggesting these were medical deaths – sad, but not their problem.
Then there was the evidence box full of diaries. Small, feminine diaries chronicled the years prior and the twenty years after the death of Darcy Durnham, the second victim of the six. According to Wilson, the father, Scott Durnham, had started dropping the diaries off a good ten years ago after the writer, Darcy's mother, passed away, in the hopes the police could find something helpful in them. Wilson had put them in order to find that there was no diary for the period covering Darcy's death. He'd expressed doubts that it had existed, but Drew figured it probably just hadn't shown up yet. Compulsive writing like Darcy's mother had demonstrated with her diaries rarely stopped one day to the next…and started again just as abruptly.
Scott showed up once in a while through the years when he found another one in the house. As always, it was logged in and added to the pile. So far, Wilson hadn't found anything of value in them.
Now it was Drew's turn.
Not an easy job.
***
Bed 232 smiled. No, not bed 232, she'd be Sissy today. She did feel so much better. She shifted slightly in bed. Mornings were always better. 'Good drugs,' the docs would say.
The
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