The Medusa File by Robert F. Clifton (best large ebook reader .txt) 📖

just screwed me for a hundred. But, yeah, I'll take your so called retainer fee. Other fees will be negotiable. Understand? And the next time I'll be able to tell you bout who got killed and why”.

“Why not now?”

“I got to talk to someone else. This someone don't want to get involved, but they givin me the true story about what went on in that there rooming house. Won't be long now”.

“No problem Twana. How do I get in touch with you?”

“Here's my number. Don't call until after noon”.

“By the way, are you still turning tricks?”, asked Kevin.

“Maybe yes. Maybe no. A girls got to eat you know”.

 

On Monday morning Kevin Mckenna typed his report along with the request for reimbursement for one hundred dollars. Surprisingly after Captain Myers read the report she also handed him the money. To him things were beginning to open up. By putting together what he already knew and adding it with what Twana had told him he now had a good idea of one of the things that was going on at 1600 Albatross Lane forty seven years ago.

Altina Woodson in a partnership with Ed Dawson took guys looking for sexual favors to the rooming house. Once there they were exposed to scopolamine. Under the influence of the drug they were rolled, waking up somewhere in or outside of Nautilus Beach and unable to remember anything that happened to them.

From the description that Twana had given him about Dawson's wife it was possible that the shoe containing the scoploamine residue belonged to her. However, right now why was a Delores Rodriquez asking about a life insurance policy on Harry Nichols?” Kevin reached for his wallet, opened it and placed the hundred he received from the Captain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

N.C.I.C.

 

As the days and weeks went by McKenna became frustrated. To him the answers he wanted from different agencies were not coming at all or at best very slowly. He sat and stared at an open file containing reports that were dated weeks back revealing the lack of progress in the case. At the same time he knew that the time and money spent on a cold case nearly fifty years old without results was ground for Captain Myers to halt the investigation. Yet, something told him, something deep inside made him feel that he was close, close to gaining more evidence and information and then be able to solve and close the case. Right now, he needed something, anything that would move his investigation forward. Cool Loo had remained quiet and Twana hadn't called.

At nine thirty five on a Tuesday morning Kevin sat drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup when the mail clerk walked up to his desk and handed him a business size, white envelope. McKenna glanced at it and noticed the F.B.I. address in Washington, D.C. He opened it and saw that it was the N.C.I.C. response for the research of Edward Dawson. He read the long lists of Edward Dawson's that had been taken out of the National Crime Information Center's computers. There were Edward Dawson's from different parts of the country, but none from or near Boston, Massachusetts. He did notice one entry. An Edwina Dawson arrested in Brookfield, Massachusetts, October 14, 1959, charge Grand Larceny, Over five Hundred Dollars. Disposition, Found Guilty, Sentence, Eighteen Months to be served at Baylor Correctional Institution. In disgust he tossed the report on to his desk top.

Cynthia Adams looked up from the papers she was working on, “Something wrong Sarge?”, she asked.

“Same old thing. You look for a breakthrough and you hit a stone wall”.

“Well, sometimes you can either break down the wall or climb over it”, Adams replied.

“Just what I need, a philosopher. By the way what have you got on the Rodriquez woman?”

“Actually, something a bit strange.. Mrs. Dawson aka Delores Rodriquez lists her birth date as April 8, 1936 in Vega Alta, Puerto Rico. I checked down there and the report I have is that Delores Rodriquez, born on that date also died June 17, 1938”.

“So the kid died when she was two years old”.

“Correct

“Are you under the opinion that Mrs. Dawson has been living under a stolen identity?”

“Isn't it possible?”, asked Adams.

“Certainly, but why?”

“I don't know yet Sergeant, but I'm still digging”.

John Collins walked into the office. Seeing McKenna and Adams in conversation he asked, “What are you two talking about?”

“Cynthia found that Mrs. Dawson, who we are under the opinion was one Delores Rodriquez might be an imposter using someone else's name”, said Kevin.

“Wow! That's a kick in the ass”, Collins replied.

“You think so? Read the report we just got from N.C.I.C. The Edward Dawson we're investigating doesn’t exist, according to them. That my friend is what you call a kick in the ass”.

Collins picked up the report that Kevin pointed to then read it. When he was finished he said, “So they're suggesting that the Edward Dawson that owns the Dolphin Motel here in town is or could be Edwina Dawson, a woman?”

“That's the way I interpret the report”, McKenna replied.

“They're nuts. Ed Dawson is nearly eighty years old, bald as a cue ball, and has a white beard”, said Collins.

“Well the next time you're in Washington, stop in and tell them that”, Kevin replied.

“So, what do we do next Sergeant?”, asked Cynthia Adams.

“We keep digging, investigating, listening to those who will talk to us. I've got the feeling, even though I'll admit to being frustrated, the feeling that sooner or later we'll break this case”.

That evening Kevin McKenna sat watching the six o'clock evening news on television. As usual the broadcast started off with the political situation in Washington, followed by the political situation in New Jersey which led into crime in the state and crime in the city. In between there were the same boring commercials and once in a while the mention of American's fighting somewhere in the world. His attention to the television was interrupted when the telephone on his living room desk rang. He got up out of his chair and answered, “Hello?”

“Kevin? Uncle Bob. Where the hell have you been? I haven't heard from you in days. What have you been up to?”

“I've been up to my arm pits in bullshit supplied by the Federal government. That's where I've been”.

“Yeah? How come?”

“Well, first of all the N.C. I. C. report I got back more or less informs me that Edward Dawson, your number suspect and the one I'm interested in doesn’t exist. The report mentions an Edwina Dawson. If that's not bad enough. His wife Delores, isn't really alive. Pureto Rican authorities report her as having died in 1938.”

“I see. So what's your problem?”

“My problem is I look at an old, bald, bearded man everyday named Edward Dawson. At the same time I see his wife. Yet, those I turn to for positive information tell me that I'm full of shit and that the people I mention don't exist”.

“Calm down. In the bottom drawer of my desk there should be a black, leather, folder containing business cards of contacts I made over the years. I want you to bring me that folder”.

“O.K. when?”

“How about this weekend? Saturday is good for us. Come for lunch”.

“That sounds good”.

See you then”.

****************

On Saturday afternoon Kevin sat in the living room of his godmothers home. Robert Wallace sat in his wheelchair looking through the many business cards in the black, leather folder. “While I look for what I want I'm under the opinion that you disagree with the N.C.I.C. report”, said Wallace.

“ Absolutely. I want background on Edward Dawson, not some woman called Edwina which according to the F.B.I. is the Dawson owning and operating the Dolphin Motel”.

“Or so you assume”, said Wallace.

“What do you mean?”, asked Kevin.

“You're assuming that you are right. That the report is wrong and the proof ,in your opinion is the fact that Edward Dawson is an old man operating a business in your town. On top of that, you assume that you're right because you see his wife alive and kicking. Therefore in your mind everyone else is full of shit, except you”.

“Not quite, but close”, Kevin replied.

“Let ask you something. What do you know about the Civil War?”

“Other than the North and South fought and the North won, not too much. Oh yeah and Lincoln was assassinated”.

“Just as I suspected. What the hell did you study in high school?”

“Girls, mostly”.

“That figures. Alright, then it's a safe bet that you never heard of Albert J. Cashier”.

“And you'd be right”.

“Albert J. Cashier was a woman who lived her life as a man. So much so that she enlisted in the army and fought in many battles, in particular, Vicksburg. When she became elderly she became a resident of the Old Soldiers Home in Quincy, Illinois. She died there. When she died a doctor discovered that Albert was really a female named Jennie Hodgers”.

“So what are you trying to tell me?”

“History contains evidence that probably four hundred women posing as men fought in that war. Transsexuals just didn't happen in the twentieth century son. The life style goes way back. What I'm trying to tell you is that it is very possible that your, make that our, Edward Dawson might be a female”.

“No way. I don't believe it'.

“I'll say one thing, you're as hard headed as your father. Ah, here's what I was looking for”, said Wallace removing a white, business card from the folder. “This is the card of Doctor Milton Lippman. He's a medical doctor, but is also what some call an expert geneticist. I suggest you talk to him. If and when you do keep an open mind and listen to what he has to say”.

Kevin took the card then looked at Wallace. “I have to go to Philly?”

“I hope you don't expect him to come to you”.

“I'll think about it”.

“You do that. Now, what about your informants?”

“I haven't heard from Cool Loo and nothing new from my source”.

“I'll get on Cool Loo's ass and try to get him moving. I suggest you do the same with your informant”.

“O.K. that shouldn't be a problem.”

“Good, now let's talk about Mrs. Dawson”, suggestedWallace.

“What about her?”

“You say she's alive. Puerto Rican authorities say that she's dead”.

“Correct and at the same time keep in mind just how many Rodriquez's are alive in this world”.

“Right, but each one has different fingerprints and unless they're all related, different DNA”.

“Both of which are damn near impossible to get”.

“Not really. I want you to deal with Benson the florist. He will keep his mouth shut just in case the Dawson's ask questions”.

“A florist?”

“Yeah, have Harry Benson send a twenty five dollar bouquet to a Mrs. Dawson. Have the card read, “From a very satisfied customer”. The flowers are delivered. Hopefully, Delores reads the card and is inquisitive but pleased.”

“And just how do I do that?”

“Do you have someone you can trust to do as he or she are told?”

“Yes, why?”

“Have one of your people pose as the delivery person from the flower shop. They deliver the flowers to Mrs. Dawson and only Mrs. Dawson. She's handed the receipt pad to sign. When she holds the pad she leaves her prints on it. Then let forensics do the rest”.

 

*****************

At eight o'clock on a Friday evening Sergeant McKenna sat at a small table in the cocktail lounge of Resorts Hotel and Casino. Sitting across from him was Doctor Milton Lippman. “Doctor, I want to thank you for taking time to see me”, said McKenna.

“It's really no problem, especially since I was coming to Atlantic City to play cards. Now, according to our brief conversation on the telephone you for some reason are interested in genetics. Is that right?”, asked the doctor.

“Yes sir. I'm investigating several homicides where the killer I assume is male, yet others are pointing to the fact that the suspect could be a female. My purpose of meeting with you is to first understand how a woman can change her appearance from a woman to a