Insight

By R. D. Scott

A new look at crime fighting.  The 'Talents' he was given had gone unused, until the right use was found.  It was not planned, but fate never is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. D. Scott
• Release date: Mar 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386448594

R. D. Scott

Retired policeman and retired private detective.  The golf got boring and writing took it's place.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Atlanta in late September is a good place to live.  The weather is perfect, temperatures are between 75 and 80, the summer heat is gone and so are the heavy storms.  Winter's freezing ice storms are still months away and everything is still green.  An enjoyable twenty minute stroll from home on Peachtree Rd. to my favorite cafe in the Buckhead Village, a good cup of coffee, an omelet prepared to perfection, and a newspaper are the best way to start Monday mornings.  In my case a quiet rear corner of the cafe and alone made it almost perfect. 

My day was going well and with that thought developing, fate (my nemesis) intervened, the front window of the cafe shattered, gunshots echoed and customers started screaming.  To be perfectly honest, I don't believe in fate.  There is nothing mystical or magical about events in life, shit happens.  The difference this time, it was me it was happening to. 

I don't know how I got there, but from my new position on the floor I looked to the table near the front window and saw three people down, one leaning against the wall and bleeding, the others not moving.  As I rushed to help I could hear Dale, the cafe owner and my business partner, on the phone yelling for help and within what seemed like seconds, but actually two minutes, a uniformed police officer was running in the front door, a gun in his hand shouting for no one to move.  I had already checked two of the three victims, both were dead, a shot to the head for one and a shot in the throat for the other.  I was applying pressure to a shoulder wound on the last one when I felt a strong hand on my shoulder demanding I move back and to show my hands. 

If you want your Chief to bleed to death, George, I'll be happy to move away.  Since it looks like he's likely to survive you might need to find a new job.  I don't suffer fools well and apparently the Chief didn't either.

Back off, Officer.  He's trying to help.  the Chief barked loudly, then turned his attention to me.  The others? he asked. The shooter? he immediately asked next.  He wasn't worried about himself.

Sorry, both dead.  The shooter is long gone and more help is on the way.  You're going to be okay, just keep pressure on your shoulder.  I answered as I stood and walked back to my table.  The non-existent Fate was working overtime, the Chief of Atlanta Police getting shot, here, in my breakfast spot? 

In several more minutes there were police officers everywhere.  An ambulance had arrived and removed the Chief.  Customers still in the cafe were herded by detectives to the back tables for names and accounts of what they had seen.  Crime scene people had covered the dead and were already trying to recreate the events.

My wonderful morning had just turned very bad and in an attempt to avoid trouble I asked Dale about going out the back, but he said the police were outside the back door too.  I resigned myself to the inevitable.  During the next half hour I sat quietly, ignoring the activity around me, drinking coffee and reading my paper, hoping the police would forget I was there.  I must have been destined to not have that kind of luck.  (fate was the only thing I could blame).

I found myself being approached by a burly detective, over six feet tall with muscle, and what appeared to be a police supervisor of some sort at his side.  The detective was telling the supervisor, a serious, very good looking woman in a smart business suit, about my fascination with the reading and my lack of interest in the busy events surrounding me.

I'm Lieutenant Holder, this is Detective Ballard, and you are?  her voice was very crisp and professional, but I could hear undertones of what it would sound like when she wasn't working.  That's when I remembered her.  About two years ago I had gone to visit the kids at the hospital and without looking got off on the wrong floor.  I didn't realize it was the wrong floor because my mind was on a recent stock trade I had made.  When I arrived at the room I thought I was heading for, she had been sleeping in her bed.  As I'm the curious type, I read her chart and then laid my hand on her arm in sympathy and left. 

Gary Sutton.  I said as my attention was still on her looks.  Because of her chart I knew her age at just over 30.  She had brown hair cut to the neck, green eyes, and was about five seven.  If I were the dating type, which for the past few years I wasn't, she would definitely qualify as date worthy.

Mr. Sutton, the detective tells me you're been very carefully trying to blend into the background and my experience says that's not a normal reaction for a person who was recently dodging bullets.  Where were you during the shooting and what did you see?  I am a poor judge of women, but this one was very much all business, she was not going to tolerate any bullshit, but I had to try. 

I would like to claim my constitutional right under the fifth amendment not to incriminate myself, I answered.  I didn't see anything.  The attempt at humor did not go over so well, she had a look on her face that said I was about to become dead meat.  Before it went wrong I immediately apologized.

Lieutenant, that was supposed to be a joke.

Mr. Sutton...

Call me Gary, please.

Gary, bad jokes aside, you've been studiously ignoring what's going on here, reading and drinking coffee and I'm wondering how you can tune out the things around you?  Everyone else has been excited and curious, yet you haven't. 

I knew that the conversation was about to get more involved than normal, but my  avoiding the truth or keeping my mouth shut were not very good options.     

Lieutenant, I ...,  do you have a first name and may I use it?  I don't normally get to talk to authority figures and I'm a bit intimidated.

My name is Lieutenant, and why do you feel intimidated?  ( Fate was really having fun).  There was no compromise in her face.  The patrol officer said you were trying to help when he got here and then came back here to your table.

Everybody was huddled behind tables and there were three men down, I felt an obligation to try to help.  Two were obviously dead, so I did what I could for the third man. 

We appreciate the help and concern of citizens like yourself, but we still need help.  Anything you can tell us would be good.       

Lieutenant, answering questions causes me to say things that lead to the belief that I may have a screw loose.  I don't have a screw loose, I have a rational explanation for what I say, but in most cases the person listening has already decided I'm not normal.  If I explain, you'll ignore everything that I say from then on and may even think I'm crazy.

I see.  So you're mentally handicapped and it would be a waste of my time to continue this conversation then, wouldn't it?  Is this a way to get me to go away?

No.  I just want you to understand that you might not be happy with some of my answers and I would hate for you to think poorly of me.

Try me.  Just tell me what happened in here.  She was not warming up to me and needed some more convincing. This was going to get really complicated and I could see no way out of it.

Get your note book ready.  I said to the detective, then waited until he had pen in hand.  "There were twenty-three customers, fourteen women and nine men.

Ten of the women and six of the men are regular customers.  There also were two waitresses, a cook and the owner in here when the shooting occurred.  There are now seventeen customers, two waitresses, a cook and the owner, two bodies, two uniformed officers, and four investigators here.  Four of the customers left before your officers arrived, but were not involved in the shooting, one victim was removed by ambulance.  There is an addition to the group, a reporter sitting in the corner making notes and taking pictures with his phone."  My recital was having an effect, her face tightened and her detective had become very tense. 

The dead man closest to the door was shot in the forehead, I don't know him.  The one in the middle, an FBI Agent, was shot in the throat and the one by the wall, your Chief, was shot in the shoulder.  The Lieutenant was staring open mouthed as I continued and the detective was writing as quickly as possible. 

"The time between the first shot, at about 9:20, and the last shot was very quick, three to five seconds.  That seems to indicate the shooter was running.  I heard five shots.  The first officer to respond was George Murphy and the next responders were here about five minutes later.   

The Chief has a wound to his left shoulder and the bleeding has stopped.      The four people that left will be in for breakfast tomorrow sometime around 9:00am.  You have been sitting here for just over 5 minutes.  I stopped talking and drank some coffee.  Should I explain my answer or do you have some different questions?"  My inquisitor's eyes narrowed and she motioned the detective toward the reporter, with the command to arrest him for obstruction, then turned back to me.   

"Question one, how do you know the Chief?  Question two, How do you know the middle victim is FBI?  Question three, how do you know Officer Murphy.

Last question, how do you know the rest of what you just told me?"  Now came the time for explanations 

The Chief has been in the news, I recognized him.  The Agent is... was,  a regular customer, as is George, and I have a very good memory.  If that answers your questions then I would like to leave. (Fate started laughing)  That's all I have, I can't explain more than that.

Oh, you're going to explain in more detail, downtown at the station, and I will have more questions for you.

Lieutenant...., if you take me to the station, I will forget this conversation and state that I didn't see a thing this morning and you get nothing else from me.  If, however, we can sit here and talk like normal people I will, like I said, answer all your questions.  Would you like some coffee?  I need some more coffee.  I waved my cup at Dale.

No, I don't want any coffee and you better start talking.  Obstruction of justice is a serious offense, like that reporter is about to find out.  Who were the four people that left?  How do you know the time things happened and the number of people in here?

The four people are two prostitutes and their pimps who come in for breakfast most mornings, and the awareness thing is a quirk of his memory.  said Dale as he poured my refill.

The best answer I can give you is that I have a unique memory.  I'll try to help if you want, but I have no need to convince you of anything.  This was getting stickier by the second. 

"Alright Mr. Sutton, maybe you can help."  Maybe she was warming up to me, she hadn't beat on me or shot me yet.

Tell me what you need to find out and I'll try to give you answers.  My memory is not like a video, it's more like a sponge.  I see something and it gets stored, but I don't know what I've stored until a specific detail is asked for, or another thought connects to a previous memory.  This was confusing her and I hadn't even gotten to the best part yet.

Can I speak privately with you?  She gave me a suspicious look, then motioned her returning detective away.  Look, just for the sake of argument, what if I can tell you something about your life and not ask for any information from you?  I'm really not manipulating you.  I carefully laid my hand over hers.

I'm not going to sit here and play party games with you.  She jerked her hand back.  My job is to get answers about this shooting.  Now, either you cooperate and keep telling me what happened, or we take a ride to the station.  I was now going to get in as deep as I ever have.  The only thing I could think of to convince her was only going to make her really angry. 

Lieutenant, I'm going to say something that you'll find hard to explain and I need you to promise not to hurt me.  I got a glare and a small nod. 

A little over two years ago you were shot, once in the arm and once in the chest.  Four days later you sneaked out of the hospital.

I've never seen expressions change as quickly on anyone's face as hers did at that moment.  Her entire body tensed and her face went from shock, to fear, to anger, to embarrassment, and finally back to anger so fast I probably missed a few emotions.  Her eyes went from green to black pinpoints.  I don't know how, but I somehow avoided a gruesome death by torture during that few seconds.  She sat there and finally got control of her emotions before she spoke. 

"How in the Hell do you know about me getting shot?  Who are you?"  She stopped, and took a breath to regain control of her emotions.       

You better explain how you knew about that and you better make me believe you're telling the truth.  You say or do anything to make me look like a fool in front of the detective or my bosses and I will make you hurt.  Do you understand?  I'm not sure how the answer got past my suddenly dry lips.  Yes.  She sat there for another minute deciding if my answer was acceptable.  Well, let's hear it.

I was the one who helped you get in the cab and had the driver take you home.  She sat quietly searching my face for signs of a lie, but finally concluded that I was telling her what I believed to be true.  Why would you do that?  Again, who are you?  Assuming you are telling the truth, how can you help me?

You looked like you needed some help and I was available.  It was nothing more than that.             

I think you're going to tell me a lot more.  There is no way to know if you're just making all this up, so you're coming with me.  Until I have your story checked out there is no chance I'm letting you out of my sight.  She looked at the detective watching us, motioned him over and told him to search me, that I was going downtown with her.  He wasn't gentle.

Chapter  2

Downtown is about ten miles, or about twenty minutes away driving in traffic.

Dale's is in the Buckhead section north of Atlanta and the police station is past the State Capitol in the heart of the city.  You can go down Peachtree the entire way or you can jump over to the Interstate, either way the trip time is the same, there are over 5 million people in suburban Atlanta and a large percentage of them work downtown thereby causing the usual traffic problems. 

As she drove us downtown, with me as her hostage-prisoner, my thoughts jumped back fifteen years to the beginning of my adventure with the ability to see.  It started right after I graduated college as dreams about people in my life.  Dreams about my boss, my girlfriend, my college buddy, people I came in contact with every day.  Disturbing dreams, about my girl and my buddy dating behind my back, my boss figuring out how to cheat his way to a promotion and how I was secondary to his ambitions. 

I didn't believe any of it, commonsense said I was imagining it and I put it down to overwork and stress of my new job as a stock analyst.  It became real the day I unexpectedly showed up at my girl's apartment and found her and my buddy in bed.  A few days after our subsequent breakup I found out that my boss was blaming his mistakes on me and taking credit for my work, so I began to take my dreams seriously.

Gradually, over the next few months, I found myself able to get a view into the lives of everyone around me, as soon as I touched them or things they had touched.  The images were now immediate, they weren't just in dreams.  I became obsessed with avoiding physical contact, even wearing elastic gloves as often as possible. 

One of the things that finally made it possible for me to avoid people was an accidental discovery about my 'talent'.  I was reading a financial magazine one day when suddenly memories of other news articles and stock trades were swirling in my mind and I was able to see the progression of the company I was reading about and saw the prospect of the owners deciding to buy back their stock before announcing a new innovation.  It wasn't like the images I had from before, it was kind of a clicking together of my memories.  I took a chance and invested my savings in the stock and it paid off, my money tripled in three months and I found a new career in personal finance, so I quit my job and began investing for myself.

Not having to work outside the house kept me away from unwanted touching.  To prevent any curiosity and avoid attention, I was very careful about my investing.  I went to more than one brokerage to invest and then only occasionally.  I wasn't really greedy and invested cautiously until I reached a comfortable, moderately wealthy, financial position.  I was satisfied to just maintain that level.  I bought a nice home in a quiet neighborhood within walking distance of stores and restaurants and I rarely got involved with other people.  I have not told anyone of my 'talent' and did not think this would be a good time to start.  My musing stopped as we drove into the County Hospital parking lot.

What are we doing here and more importantly, am I under arrest?  I asked my captor. 

My Chief is here and I need talk to him about what happened at the cafe.  Like you said, he was shot in the shoulder and will recover, but I need answers as soon as possible.  If it makes you feel better I can put you in cuffs, but I meant what I said about not letting you out of my sight.  She waved a security guard over.

Ah, Lieutenant, I'm extremely germaphobic, if you want me inside I'll need some gloves.  I was not going to go into an environment that would let me see all the things around. How about I wait on the children's ward?  They know me up there and I like visiting with the kids.  I pointed at the security guard.  Besides, Jimmy knows me and will watch me for you.  He knows I'm a criminal mastermind and would love to shoot me.

She gave me a strange look and a menacing look to the guard.  Fine, but you better be there when I'm done. 

Jimmy gave me a knowing look as we watched her walk away.  Very nice looking lady, as well as a cop, what did you do to make her mad at you?  Why did you tell her I wanted to shoot you?  I had traded words with Jimmy for years and we tried to amuse each with our banter. 

You know how some women are, Jimmy, you can't ever make them happy.  As far as shooting me, I thought she would feel better letting me out of her sight if she believes someone else who doesn't like me is watching me.  Besides, she probably doesn't want me flirting with the nurses.

My experience with Grady Hospital began one day when I was brought into the emergency room.  There was an accident caused by a drunk driver that hit the side of the cab I was riding in.  I was slammed into the window and received a severe bruise on my head that the paramedics decided needed looking at since I appeared dizzy, so they made me go to the emergency room.  They had no clue why I was really dizzy, images of their lives and previous rescues were whirling around my mind.  Then at the hospital, the nurses, and all the fixtures, beds, chairs, desks, were a nightmare for me.

I was getting a non-ending stream of images from everything touched by anyone and I was even more dizzy from those than I was from the head bruise.  Finally, I asked a nurse if she would please let me put on a pair of gloves like hers.  I explained that I had an extreme fear of germs and I knew there were millions of germs around me.  Luckily, she was very busy and a little sympathetic and I got some gloves. 

A few minutes later I got a new shock as a doctor came to evaluate my condition.  When he touched my head I saw the last patient he had treated, a seven year old girl who had fainted on the playground.  He was confused about her condition as she only had a mild fever and no apparent reason for fainting.  From the images I was getting, through his examination of her, I knew she had hit her head on a rusted pipe of a swing set the week before and the inflammation was hidden by her hair.  I couldn't keep quiet, the doctor had to know. 

Doc, I'm alright and would like to leave, but the little girl you were looking at needs help.  I can't explain, but you need to look at the back of her head under her hair.  He gave me a suspicious glare, told me to stay put and left to see to the girl.  Left by myself and not wanting to be there, I walked out. 

I live alone in a quiet neighborhood in the Peachtree Battle area and I like it that way.  It has tree covered, shaded sidewalks and is away from any traffic noises.  Since I avoid most people there are no visitors to my house and I was surprised when the doorbell rang.  When I opened the door, the doctor from the emergency room was standing there.  It seems he tracked me down from my records at the hospital and wanted to discuss my abrupt departure, as well as the information I had volunteered about the girl.  He assured me she would be alright after treatment and that it helped to find the problem before it was to late.  He also wanted to know how I knew her problem.  I invited him in, made coffee and over the next hour told him about my insight.  I detailed my life as never before and he listened without questions.               

Dr. William Cook, my visitor, was the first person to ever accept what I told him without judging my sanity, he told me he had seen crazier things in his life.  He had grown up in farm country and watched farmers predict weather by sniffing the air, or finding water by dousing and understood my reluctance to share my story.  We became friends over the next few months, then years, and Doc would invite me to the hospital occasionally to discuss my experiences with my 'talent'.  Since he treated mostly children, when I asked, he informed me that pediatrics