Brush Creek Charlie by D. B. Reynolds (best free e book reader .TXT) 📕

you’re looking for?”
“Yes, it’s possible they’re the subjects we’re interested in.”
“The man and the woman?”
“Can you zoom in closer?”
“Sure can.”
Henry provided picture enhancement. He added some brightness, contrast, saturation, and some hue. There it was. The exact same day when Charlie pulled over on Pershing Road to offer Lisa some assistance during her crisis of car troubles.
“Good Lord in Heaven!” Overstreet snubbed, stunned from what he saw on the giant computer screen.
“Everything okay, Lieutenant?”
“The man responsible for killing and dismembering the four women in Brush Creek. That’s him in this video footage.”
“Are you serious?”
“The woman in this footage, she might’ve been his first victim.”
Henry frowned as he looked closer into the monitor. “My goodness! What happened to his face?”
“Only a doctor who knows about Vietnam War experiments can explain it to you.”
“He looks like a creature or something. That’s definitely a nightmare-of-a-face.”
“Can you please make me two good snapshots of this frame?”
“Coming right up, Lieutenant.”
Falling right into the tray of the printer were the two copies Overstreet requested. They were crisp and clear. Charlie’s mug could’ve been sold to a horror magazine. Overstreet tucked photos and video footage under his arm and moved on to his next destination.


CHAPTER—52

Overstreet got hit with a burst of sunlight as he walked past a big window inside the Kansas City VA Medical Center. Opened in 1952, the center earned a rich legacy of providing quality care to the men and women who’ve proudly served the United States. American heroes they truly were. Overstreet couldn’t’ve been prouder to be in their presence. The brave men and women who put their lives on the line to protect the freedom and democracy of their country.
The Kansas City VA Medical Center stayed busy. Nurses and doctors and patients plodded from room-to-room, from one office to the next. Sitting at an oval desk inside the main lobby was a blonde beauty Overstreet might’ve wanted to marry before he found his one and only true love. The elegant woman sure worked the tight black skirt with the long split on the side. She captured his full attention.
“May I help you, sir?” the receptionist asked Overstreet, her powdery blues pumping his adrenalin.
“Yes, I’m looking for a Dr. Peter Lindenthal,” Overstreet requested, keeping his full composure.
“You are, sir?”
Overstreet produced his badge and identification. “Lieutenant Jerry Overstreet with the KCPD’s homicide division. I’d like to ask Dr. Lindenthal a few questions.”
The receptionist snatched up the phone and punched in the digits. “Dr. Lindenthal, there’s a Lieutenant Jerry Overstreet up here who’d like to speak with you.”
She smiled at Overstreet and said, “This is in regards to what?”
“A patient of his.”
She hung up after receiving further orders. “Dr. Lindenthal will be up momentarily.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Overstreet stood around watching the trafficking of many people. The sight of watching many war veterans come and go with limbs missing wasn’t nice. He felt so sorry for them. Defending their country came at a price. Hopping around on crutches and rolling around in wheelchairs had to be depressing. They fought on foreign battlefields, only to return home filled with diseases and ridiculed by their fellow American citizens.
Strutting his stuff, wearing his white physician’s jacket, while also carrying patient’s charts, was Dr. Peter Lindenthal. All six-foot-two of his lean frame approached Overstreet.
“Lieutenant Overstreet?” Dr. Lindenthal gestured with his arm extended.
“Dr. Lindenthal?” Overstreet gestured back with a wavering finger.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Peter Lindenthal. How can I help you?”
“There’s a matter of urgent business that I need to speak with you about.”
“Lieutenant, I have several patients that I need to see.”
“Doc, please put your patients on hold, just for a few minutes. This matter deals with life or death.”
“My patients are also dealing with matters of life and death.”
“Doc, it’s very very important. Please trust me on this one.”
“If you insist. Nadine, please hold my calls.”
Overstreet followed Dr. Lindenthal down a long narrow hallway with rows of physician offices.
Once inside his office, he offered Overstreet a seat as he got comfortable behind his desk. “Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”
Overstreet reached into his suitjacket and handed the doctor a small sheet of white paper. “This look familiar to you, doc?”
“Yes, it’s a prescription filled out for Charles Rastelli.”
He whipped out another sheet of paper for the doctor to look at. “Does this paper remind you of anything?”
“Yes, it’s an appointment slip for Charles Rastelli.”
Overstreet looked around his office. Degrees of high magnitude graced the walls. A VA plaque with, We value trust, respect, commitment, compassion, and excellence, hung right behind his seat.
“Well, doc, I see that you spent some time with Charles Rastelli.”
“That I did, Lieutenant.”
“You helped treat him and write his prescriptions.”
“Yes I did.”
“You also knew that Charles had mental and emotional problems.”
“As my patient, I knew about that.”
“Doc, did you know that Charles is a dying man?”
“From my prognosis, his condition remained stable.”
“Did you know that he’s responsible for four gruesome murders?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Between carrying Agent Orange and all of those medications, he’s dying by the minute.”
“Charles hasn’t been to the clinic in quite some time.”
“We found that out when we searched his apartment. We discovered the prescriptions and appointments written by yourself. The dates on those were quite some time ago. When’s the last time he actually came to see you?”
“Almost a year ago.”
“How was he able to keep getting those prescriptions filled?”
“Your guess is as good as mine’s, Lieutenant. A lot of medications are brought on the black market. I’d usually write him a month’s supply at a time.”
“The dates on those prescription bottles are from several months ago. Doc, tell me about Charles coming here to the Agent Orange Clinic for treatment.”
“When Charles was screened and tested for Agent Orange, he’d been diagnosed with great exposure to the chemical used in Vietnam. I noticed the swift onset and rapid progression of diseases that were peculiar to himself and Agent Orange.”
“How’d he react when you broke the news to him?”
“Not happy at all. He’d been informed how important early detection was.”
“How’d he pay for his treatments and medications?”
“Through Medicare and a government supplemental health insurance plan.”
“Since he was a veteran?”
“Exactly.”
Overstreet had a knack for picking away at other people’s brains. “Doc, you are, of course, a board-certified neurologist and American board-certified psychiatrist. You’re also certified with the board of clinical neurophysiology.”
“Hmmmmmm,” Dr. Lindenthal murmured. “I see you’ve done your homework, Lieutenant. In your line of work, it’s in your best interest to know about the people you interview.”
“A vicious serial killer is on the loose. We don’t have a second to lose. It is well understood that you are one of the leading experts on the effects of Agent Orange on the body.”
“Screening, testing, and treating patients with the effects of Agent Orange is what I do.”
“Psychiatry is also what you specialize in. Did you ever see Charlie for any psychiatric problems?”
“Charlie had severe mental and emotional problems. During several of our sessions, symptoms of post traumatic stress syndrome, which are common for most veterans of combat, had begun to surface.”
“Symptoms of what nature?”
“Shakiness, muscle aches, sweating, dizziness, fatigue, racing heart, and dry mouth. Illusions and hallucinations and flashback episodes were common during our sessions together.”
“Hallucinations and flashback episodes of what nature?”
“Irritability and outbursts of anger and hypervigilance.”
“Give me an example of one of his outbursts of anger.”
Dr. Lindenthal had several to present to Overstreet.
“For example, one time he just hauled off and said that he’d get even with those two chink hookers one day. He lashed out and said that all women were bitches and their extermination from this Earth would be delightfully satisfactory in his eyes.”
“When he said chink hookers, did you know what he was talking about?”
“Not a clue, Lieutenant.”
“As his shrink, did you understand why he felt that all women are bitches, and how he wanted them exterminated from the Earth?”
“Again, not a clue, Lieutenant.”
“Did you ask him to explain himself further?”
“Yes, but he refused to elaborate further.”
“Any other outbursts during any of your sessions?”
Dr. Lindenthal shoveled into his memory and came up with something rather substantial. “One time, he jumped out of his seat with balled fists and clenched teeth, then shouted, ‘War has no beginning, and it has no ending’!”
“Searching his apartment the other day, we found a sketched drawing of a machete stained with blood, with the very same raged statement. When he lashed out with such a statement, did you know what he was talking about?”
“A statement of that nature can be interpreted many different ways. I served as a medical officer on active duty in the Marine