(for earlier chapters, click on the 2022 posts link on the left sidebar.)
The policemen instructed him to stay where he was and disappeared down the hall. People came in the back door but were only allowed to use the bathroom. At one point, Gladys' strident voice rose, demanding to be let into the kitchen, but she was firmly rebuffed. Then he heard Madeline speaking to the officers, and shortly after that, another voice joined in. Todd's brother-in-law, Charles, he thought. He heard the word "attorney" followed by more murmuring, then Charles entered the kitchen and sat down beside TP. He looked like a lawyer, TP thought. Sharp brown eyes, dark, wavy hair carefully styled, grey creased pants, crisp shirt, shiny shoes, well-manicured fingernails and that subtle aura of privilege and authority.
"I came to see if I could be of any assistance, TP," he said. "What's going on?"
TP threw up his hands. "I wish I knew. A prescription bottle was found in my trash and the police have a warrant to search the house."
"Who found the bottle?"
"I believe it was my neighbor, Marge. She's been helping Gladys with the party."
"Did you ask to see the warrant?"
TP shook his head. "I suppose I should have. I'm not very savvy about these things."
"Sit tight," said Charles, "and don't talk to anyone. I'll see what I can find out."
A few moments later he was back.
"They're looking for two things: a shirt with a missing button and evidence of drug use - used syringes, vials, empty gel caps, that sort of thing. What can you tell me about this, TP?"
He talked to Charles, trying to sound cool and collected and innocent, though guilt hung over him like a heavy black cloud.
"Marge seems to think I'm Dr. Demento."
Charles gave him a penetrating look. "I have to ask this, TP. Are you Dr. Demento?"
"No," he said emphatically. At least that was truthful. Dr. Demento was gone, never to return. And he could be honest about not knowing how the pill bottle had gotten into his trash can.
"I find it strange," said Charles, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, "that Marge, a nurse who's probably one of very few people with access to this experimental drug, should be the one to find the bottle."
They sat in silence a moment, and TP could see Charles' lawyer-mind sifting through the facts. "I think I should help you navigate through this. If you want me to, that is."
"Seems like a good idea," TP said.
"Ok, then," said Charles.
The policemen were back in short order. Of course they'd found the shirt. They'd also asked for a key to his lab and taken his vial of herbal sedative and some used syringes.
"We'd like you to come with us to the station, Mr. Dunlap, and continue our discussion."
"Go with them," said Charles. "I'll meet you there. Remember, don't answer any questions."
At the police station he was escorted to a small room and left there alone. Charles soon joined him.
"I've learned a few things," he said. "It seems that your neighbor Marge had visited a patient at home shortly before the first Dr. Demento incident happened. This patient was using the drug Gogetamine, but had decided to stop taking it due to side effects. Marge took the bottle with three remaining pills in it to dispose of properly at the hospital. She went home and left the bottle in her car for an hour or so, then went to work. When she got to the hospital, the bottle was gone."
"So she thinks I stole the bottle and drugged people with it? But that doesn't make sense. How could someone be forced to swallow a drug without even knowing it?"
"The pills were gel caps," said Charles. "The liquid in them can be drawn into a syringe and injected, so it would take effect almost immediately. Then the suspect could rob his victims or scare them to death or do whatever his twisted mind told him to do."
TP frowned and shook his head.
"Seems far-fetched, I know," said Charles, "but somehow the drug got into three of the four victims' systems. It sounds like nasty stuff, only used for treating very disturbed people. No telling what it would do to normal folks, especially when injected."
The two policemen returned, one holding the shirt with the missing button. TP's heart began to pound. More questions followed. Was the shirt his? Yes. Where had he lost the button? He didn't know. Did he ever walk along the street where Ms. Trueblood had been attacked? Yes, quite often, actually, when he walked to the park. Had he attacked Ms. Trueblood? No.
After awhile they changed tactics. "Mr. Dunlap, would you be willing to participate in a lineup? It would be a good way to help clear this up quickly."
Good lord. TP opened his mouth, closed it, looked at Charles, who murmured, "You don't have to. It's completely voluntary."
No way, thought TP. He would surely be recognized. But would they think him guilty if he refused? And would he now spend the rest of his life in fear of being recognized by one of the victims?
"I don't believe I will," he told them firmly. Hadn't he been through enough? He'd endured a horrendous ordeal with a monster, survived over two hours in the mistangle which hardly anyone else had ever done, been chased by outlaws in the Boggy Meadow swamp, shot at, and now, now on top of everything else would he have to spend years behind bars as punishment?
The men looked disappointed.
From behind the closed door TP suddenly heard a familiar honking voice. What was Evalda dong here? A moment later she burst into the room. Harold was with her. What on earth?
"Ma'am, you can't come in here," one of the men said, blocking her path.
Evalda was tall and had the Dunlap nose, a very effective tool for looking down on others to put them in their place. She used it now.
"I'm TP's sister, Evalda, and this is my grandson, Harold. He has something to say that you need to hear."
She pushed past the policeman, an arm around Harold, drawing him with her. "Go ahead, Harold, tell the officers what you told me."
Harold's freckles stood out against his white cheeks. He peered up at the men from under the fringe of his bangs, gripping his grandmother's skirt.
"Uncle TP couldn't have given those people the drugs. I know, be-because - "
He stopped and hung his head.
"Did you see the pills?" asked one of the men.
Harold nodded.
"And what happened to them? Where are they?"
"Archie ate them!"
"His dog," Evalda said.
In bits and pieces, the story came out. When Harold had first come to visit, Archie had escaped his leash and run over to Marge and Mel's house. He sniffed around in some bushes beside their driveway and came back with the pill bottle in his mouth. It had likely rolled out of Marge's car unnoticed until Archie came along. Harold had put it in his dump truck and driven it to the dumping site. This morning, when he went to play in TP's backyard, the bottle was still where he'd left it. He had opened it up and taken out the pills, laying them on a leaf for further examination. But Archie had promptly eaten them. Feeling both frightened and guilty, Harold had thrown the bottle in the trash can.
The men looked dubious. "Impossible. That much drug would kill a dog."
"I assure you he's very much alive," Evalda said. "And Harold doesn't lie."
The men turned away with their heads together, talking softly, gesticulating, frowning.
"Get the dog down here," one said.
"He's in the car, actually," Evalda told them.
"Wait a minute, then." One of the men left and returned with a specimen cup, holding it out to Evalda.
"See if you can get him to - you know. We'll do an instant drug test. That will tell us if there are drugs in his system. If so we can follow up with a blood test to get the specifics."
Archie's urine was loaded with benzodiazepines. The policemen were confounded.
"How he can still be alive is beyond me," said one, shaking his head. Archie eyed him dolefully, sitting calmly beside Evalda with his crooked legs splayed in front of him.
The officers looked grim. Now they were back to square one on how the victims had been drugged.
Not my problem, thought TP, feeling a huge wave of relief.
"You're free to go for now, Mr. Dunlap.
The words were music to his ears. Apparently the shirt with the missing button was not enough evidence to hold him on. His steps were light as he approached the front desk. A woman stood there, talking loudly.
"Can't you make the guy be in a lineup? I'd recognize him in an instant. Those staring eyes, that ghastly grimace."
Her eyes fell on TP. He braced himself, sucking in his cheeks, narrowing his eyes, slouching a little. But after a brief glance, she turned back to the man at the desk.
"I'm very glad you found my watch at the pawn shop, and I know the camera showed the seller to be young, bald and short; but there obviously were two of them working together. One drugged me, the other ripped me off. You said you had a suspect, so let me look at him."
Again her eyes shifted to TP, who was hurrying towards the door, then she turned away. She hadn't known him! He felt like crowing. Maybe his nightmare was finally over.
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