Every Street, Chapter 15

Quick catch-up:
Part One - Doug was taken to court, charged with reckless homicide for the
death of Ricky Abbot.  Convicted, he was awarded the most lenient sentence
of time suspended.
Part Two - Doug runs from Chicago, unwilling to face up to his criminal
status and lands in small-town America, where he reverts to his former ways
and scrapes by day to day.  Minus a few lives a year later, he decides to
return to Chicago to apologise to Carol.
Part Three - Doug searches for Carol but uncovers a horror story when he
discovers she has been filed as a missing person for a year.

Important Note:  I deliberately didn't post this continuance the past
weekend as I normally do, on account of the events in America and the impact
on the world as a whole.  I didn't think that a story about a missing person
was at all appropriate in the face of the loss and situation in New York and
Washington, especially when it was still so raw.  I know that people are
still missing, and that it will be many weeks, months and years till we can
recover from and avenge the deaths of so many, and I just hope I don't
offend anyone by posting now.

On with the story.
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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.


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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.


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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.

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