Signal to Murder Read online

  The scents permeate the kitchen and drift about the apartment even through the closed doors. The thumping sounds of the cane striking the mattress failed to wake the deep sleep of the other occupant of the apartment, but the aroma of the breakfast reaches the sleeping person’s nostrils, and he stirs awake.

  The old man and the dog eat their breakfast and the man places the last of the dishes in the dishwasher; the kitchen is clean. He removes his eyeglasses from the kitchen island where he left them the night before. The old one reluctantly places the glasses on adjusting the arms behind his ears to be supported on his face by his normal sized Frenchman’s nose. He reflects back in time and remembers that his Father had a rather large nose. He loved his father, but was always thankful that he had inherited his Mother’s nose.

  Next, he retrieves a hearing aid from the special charging case and reluctantly puts it in his right ear. Grumbling out loud the old one spits out, “I hate wearing these devices, they make me feel like a cyborg or worse an old man, like I am.”

  The dog looks up inquiringly as the man speaks.

  Man and dog walk into the living room. The old one puts the dog’s harness on him, and from the hat rack grabs his black French beret and places it on his head. He then retrieves his dark green squall jacket from the coat rack and puts it on before he picks up his cane from the coffee table. Lastly, he leans to pick up his blue and black backpack which is sitting next to the leather couch; he lets out a slight groan as he pulls the backpack straps over his shoulders. The old one calls out to his roomy as he stands before the living room door, “Rise and shine, breakfast is in the kitchen.” The old man and the red dog do not wait for a response from the young man, but exit the apartment door, close and lock the door, and walk the short distance down the hallway to the elevator. The old one says to the dog, “Let’s ride the elevator instead of taking the stairs.” The dog steps forward and scratches the elevator door; he then woofs twice in quick succession. The man says, “I take your two woofs to mean we ride the elevator. All right my friend, we ride the elevator.” The dog likes being called friend, and so he willingly enters the elevator with his friend.

  The elevator ride takes them to the first floor where they exit into the entry hallway and walk to the front exit of the apartment building. They are headed to Forest City Park for a walk.

  Chapter 2

  Francis and the Red Therapy Dog

  The companions, man and dog, exit the apartment building entrance and casually walk to the yellow pedestrian crosswalk. They cross Elm Street and enter Forest City Park heading immediately for the pet island so that the dog can perform his morning necessity. After the dog is finished the pair walks the paths for exercise and then move toward their favorite park bench. The old one sits, while per their daily practice and understanding the dog willingly lies down at his feet.

  Their bench is usually available at this early hour; its location is not far from the park entrance and is close to the bus stop. The man enjoys watching the activity at the bus stop and crosswalk. He says quietly, “I am not far from the entrance to the apartment building.”

  The old man has removed his bulky backpack and placed it on the seat next to him. He has also placed his cane in his lap. He notices that the lady with her guitar and the mother pushing the baby carriage are in the park. They are early park visitors as he and his dog are. He enjoys seeing them each day.

  The old one has noticed that the ladies never pass the respective park benches, left or right of the one he and the red dog routinely occupy, but after walking they stop and sit and rest on those benches. The women never make eye contact with him or the dog. This is not unusual, because ladies tend to stay in the open and around others in the park. This is a safe park, but sensible females take safety precautions wherever they are.

  For quite some time, the old one and the red dog have sensed that they are being watched, but by whom they cannot discern. The man knows the dog has the same feelings as he because of the dog’s mannerisms. The old man has felt ominous forces present from his first visit to the park. The dog occasionally growls a very low growl, but it is evident that he is not growling at anything in particular. If the dog sensed eminent danger he would rise up as he growled. His companion is not a habitual barker or growler; he is quiet by nature. Therefore, if the dog raises his body as he barks or growls, something is awry. Neither man nor dog can detect any evident threat this morning.

  The man reflects, “My roomy can hardly remember anything while I cannot seem to forget enough of life’s woes. I am tormented by dreams and nightmares.” Francis speaks quietly to himself, “At least I know my name is Francis Rene’ Sorrell and my red dog, Dillon, is not merely a pet, but a highly trained and reliable therapy dog.” Although Francis spoke softly Dillon tilts his head and looks inquiringly at him. “Dillon you are a very close friend and a significant and vital part of our immediate family,” Francis speaks directly to the dog; the dog woofs twice, indicating agreement, and smiles.

  Francis continues to reflect on the most recent past. My Grandson has acute amnesia as a result of an attempt on his life. He lives on the second floor of the apartment building directly across from this beautiful city park in Rockford. Dillon and I visit the park each morning. I sit on the same bench each day, and Dillon lies at my feet. I look toward the apartment building to see if my Grandson is standing in the window. He is not.

  Each morning I raise the window’s venetian blind to let maximum light into the living room, but I also raise it so that while I am in the park I can look up at the window and see my Grandson performing Tai-Chi stances.

  On this beautiful April morning, my Grandson may not recall who he is. He will not remember his past, his occupation, or his family. He will not remember recent acquaintances or events. Dillon and I must help him to restore some of his memory, hopefully in time, all of his memory. Detective Javier Hernandez and I have told my Grandson to not venture from his apartment alone; he must always take Dillon with him. I constantly tell him, “There is danger all around you.”

  The old man sits peacefully on the park bench and the dog lies contentedly at his feet. They both periodically look across the street to see if their friend and roomy has made his appearance in the window of their apartment. The old one knows that if his roommate is in the window at this time he has not eaten his breakfast. The food will be cold when he goes to the kitchen to eat.

  As I sit contentedly and watch for my Grandson’s appearance, I am aware of the animal life in this serene park. I recall as Dillon and I walked through the entrance to the park, I saw a brown rabbit scurry under a low growing Forsythia bush. Spring is coming early this year and the Forsythia bushes are laden with yellow blooms; some lilac trees are beginning to blossom. Dillon saw the rabbit, I heard a low growl. I remember thinking, “I thought all the rabbits would be safely in their warrens by now, but they are not.” I detect an alertness and low growl as Dillon turns his head toward the flowering bush and the place where the rabbit disappeared earlier.

  I note that the city planted many Forsythia bushes in the park, and they are all beautiful. The Birch and Elm trees have not begun to leaf, but they have many feathery occupants on their bare branches. My favorite bird is the male Cardinal. I see one sitting on a branch not far from my bench. He is glorious, one of God’s most colorful creations; he is an older male, his feathers are bright red and his body is large and fat. I say softly, “Beautiful!” Dillon’s ears perk up; he thinks I am talking about him. “Sorry little guy, you are quite a handsome fellow, but I was talking about the male cardinal,” Francis says looking Dillon in the face. The dog looks him directly in his eyes.

  By the old man’s watch, his Grandson appears on schedule at the window. The old one sees him making hand moves and taking dance steps finally settling into a Tai Chi stance. The young man is peering deeply, like an eagle, into Forest City Park’s numerous Elm and Birch trees. The man’s Grandson seeks peace and is trying to remember his past.

>   The ruddy faced young man has dark brown hair with auburn highlights and light blue eyes. He settles into his meditation stance and lowers his body a little more achieving perfect balance. The old man thinks, well at least he has awakened this morning in seemingly good spirits.

  The old one looks into the upturned face of the red dog and asks him, “I wonder which personality he is wearing today? I wonder who we will find occupying that body when we return to the apartment? We love them both, don’t we little fella?”

  The dog looks quizzically at the old man and woofs twice because he understands the word love is good. The red dog can see the young man in the window, but is not able, from his prone position, to see his actions or detect his demeanor. The dog sits up to see his friend better and possibly get a wave from him.

  I continue my thoughts. Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell, as I know him, is meditating while performing Tai Chi and observing us, and our surroundings. As he performs his customary Tai Chi steps he appears to be acutely aware of his surroundings. His movements are very slow and deliberate as he relaxes lower and lower into his preferred stances. I am concerned for Keith’s safety and vulnerability as he stands before the window.

  I know, from observing his actions, that Keith is Sevan Sorrell this morning. When he wakes the controlling personality takes over his activities and actions. The doctor said that if Keith were under severe stress, his personality could change at any time during the day. Also, a sudden trauma could reintegrate his two personalities into one. I do not want my Grandson to suffer another trauma, but I do want him whole.

  Sevan is watching everything going on in the park. He is contemplating mine and Dillon’s next moves. We must remain predictable for his sake.

  I observe no one in close proximity to us that poses any evident threat. As I settle back into restful thinking, I realize, once more, how much I miss the company of my best mate, Marguerite. Marguerite is in the Eastern Time Zone, one hour later than the time in Rockford. I know that she is awake and active at this hour.

  I pull out my cell phone and speed dial Marguerite in Charleston, South Carolina. On the fifth ring she answers in her beautiful clear voice. When Marguerite says hello Dillon’s ears perk up. Even though the phone is not on speaker, Dillon’s acute hearing picks up the familiar voice. He sits up settling on his posterior as he smiles woofing twice in happiness; the smile can be seen in his eyes and the way he holds his mouth and shows his teeth. Dillon has not met Marguerite, but he knows her voice and likes it a lot. He looks quizzically at me twists his ears and assumes his prone position remaining interested in the voice and words.

  “Good morning Francis,” Marguerite says and I bring her up to date as to the progress of Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell. I say, “Good morning Marguerite, I hope you had a good night’s rest and sleep. Keith is staying on his strict schedule and exercise regimen, and he is making progress. It is very early in the morning here in Rockford, and at this time our Grandson is performing his morning Tai Chi ritual. Every time I look at him, I see a lot of his Dad in his appearance and actions. Marguerite, he is a tall handsome young man.”

  Marguerite replies, “Yes, I slept well, and the news about Keith is wonderful.” Marguerite then tells me to place my phone next to Dillon’s ear as she says, “Good morning Dillon.” Dillon sits up attentively as though he has been given a great treat. He woofs twice as if to say good morning to Marguerite; there is a dog smile on his face.

  Marguerite and I begin to talk once more as Dillon lies down beside my feet. Dillon observes everyone nearby as though telling them to be quiet and listen because Marguerite is on the phone.

  I tell Marguerite that I cooked buttermilk biscuits and corned beef hash and eggs for breakfast this morning. She says, “I hope you followed my instructions.” “What instructions?” I think, knowing that she never follows a recipe. She wings it every time with wonderful results. I said, “My biscuits were good, but not as delicious as when you make them.” I remind her that I usually leave our Grandson some kind of breakfast before I come to the park, otherwise, he will eat just toast and jam.

  Marguerite and I say, “I love you, and goodbye.”

  Dillon continues to look around expectantly and protectively at the area around us as though sensing an intruder. Dillon looks up and toward the apartment complex at his true master, Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell, standing in the apartment window. I sense that Dillon is probably thinking some of the same thoughts as I. He is probably speculating as to which personality will show up in his master today; I already know that it is Sevan performing Tai Chi. My Grandson’s Tai Chi moves amuse Dillon and he smiles again.

  Dillon’s ears move erratically and he seems to be nervously expecting something. As he stretches out on the path he bobs his head looking both near and then far with what I take to be a warning for all of us to be alert. I make my cane ready for my mobility and as a defense or weapon whichever may become necessary.

  Before Keith awakens each morning, I practice throwing my cane very forcefully ten times sideways, but most often underhand, at my special mattress hanging from the ceiling in Keith’s living room. I perform these actions while sitting and or standing. The distance that I throw my cane is approximately fourteen feet; retaining accuracy and force while throwing is very important to me.

  At home, Marguerite only allows me to practice with my cane before she gets up. I sleep less the older I get. I rise very early each morning before daybreak. I complete my practice and have coffee ready to begin perking when Marguerite wakes up. This has been a part of my personal exercise ritual along with Tai Chi short form dance steps every morning for over thirty years. I am not bragging but I am very good at using the cane and at Tai Chi. It isn’t bragging if you can do it, and I still can.

  Marguerite joins me a little after daybreak and we begin practicing Tai Chi. We love this time together. When we complete our exercise I start the pot of coffee and after it perks I bring a cup to Marguerite. She is normally sitting on the couch ready for us to do our Bible Study. This is our special time of learning and sharing, and I miss being home with her. At present it is best that I am here supporting our Grandson by helping to protect him from his unseen enemy or enemies.

  The old one says out loud, “Only minutes before we see the bus approaching for its eight to ten minute stop. What do you say, should we head for the pet island for one last visit before returning home?” Dillon replies with two light woofs in agreement. The old one checks and assures that the harness is secure on the dog. The man gently, but firmly holds the handle of the harness and this along with his cane enables him to raise himself more easily to a standing position in front of the park bench. He reminds himself to stand for a few seconds securing his balance before starting to walk; this pause is absolutely necessary for my safety.

  The man and dog visit the pet island for the dog’s final constitutional before heading back to the apartment. As he and Dillon walk across the street they gradually disappear from the view of the young man in the window. As Francis crosses the street he is ever vigilant; he is always alert for any occurrences which are out of the ordinary.

  As the old one exited the park, in his peripheral vision (which is quite wide, paired with his keen senses), he noticed the two women, guitar lady and mother with the baby carriage, move closer to the park bench that he and the red dog had just vacated. He thinks, “It is unusual for both of the ladies, with cell phones to their ears, to approach the bench. Their behavior is not normal, quite out of the ordinary.”

  Careful not to turn and look back at the two women, the old one does not want them to detect his suspicions of their seemingly joint actions. This morning their actions are most unusual.

  The old one and the red dog are anxious to say good morning to their friend in the apartment who always seems to be meditating and reflecting back in an attempt to remember his past. The young man has been through quite a lot recovering from the attempt on his life.

  The elderly man thinks
again about his Grandson consuming the strong narcotic which had been covertly placed in his milk carton and after he had passed out, he was hit on the head with a blunt object, and the gas in his kitchen oven turned on. All of the windows in the apartment had been closed and locked.

  The murder attempt left Keith in a coma, and upon his awakening from the coma it was discovered that he had amnesia. Several days later, his doctor’s detected two personalities, neither appeared to be dangerous. Francis knows that Keith is going to require much help if he is to regain his memory and his integrated personality.

  As the old one walks toward the apartment he reflects on his and the young man’s immediate past and when they were joined together in friendship. After the attempt on Keith’s life, Francis was contacted by a mutual friend of his and the young man’s attorney, Mr. Raj Arakkal, located in Chicago, Illinois.

  Mr. Arakkal had been an acquaintance of Keith’s parents when they were dating. Keith’s mother lived in Rockford and his father, Brian, lived with his parents in Freeport, Illinois. Brian’s father, Francis, was transferred out of state, and shortly thereafter Brian enrolled in college in North Carolina and later enlisted in the United States Army. Brian never knew about his son’s birth. A co-worker of Francis’, from Freeport, told Raj Arakkal the history of Keith’s birth. This mutual acquaintance contacted Francis upon the request of Raj after the attempt on Keith’s life. Keith had no other living relatives. The young man’s Mother and maternal grandparents had been killed in a car accident in January of 2008.

  According to Raj Arakkal, Keith needed physical and emotional support to help him recover and to help ward off any future attempts on his life. Raj told Francis, “The enemy or enemies of Keith Edwards must be found and dealt with.”

  Francis travelled to Rockford and stayed by Keith’s bedside for hours each day. Finally, concerned about the young man, he refused to leave his side. Unbeknown to Francis, Raj Arakkal intervened and the hospital allowed Francis to occupy Keith’s room. The nursing staff arranged for a folding cot to be brought in along with a comfortable reclining chair and hospital meals. Francis was ever present by his Grandson’s side.