A Dark Mind (36 page)

“Don’t be rude,” Jessica said.

Hayley narrowed her eyes. “She knows what happened the night Eli Simpson’s sister disappeared, and yet for some reason she refuses to help. I don’t get it.”

The woman turned so that her gaze met Hayley’s straight on. Her old hands with their paper-thin skin were shaking as she removed her scarf. She reached for the collar of her blouse, yanked the fabric downward, and revealed a red keloid scar that made a twelve-inch winding path over her collarbone and shoulder. “This is what the monster did to me and what he threatened to do again if I talked.”

Jessica gasped.

The woman lifted her pant leg, revealing another jagged scar, severely red and puffy, more recent than the other.

“The woman John Robinson brought home that night was trying to get away,” Claire said indignantly. “I saw everything through my kitchen window. The young woman who was with him climbed into his car to get away from him, then locked the doors. Nobody else was around. No men surrounding the car, as John Robinson told the police. He’s delusional. He believed the woman loved him and wanted to marry him, but according to her brother, Eli, none of that’s true. To this day John Robinson talks about Rochelle as if they were a couple in love.”

“He did that to you?” Jessica asked.

The woman pointed a shaky finger at Hayley, still unable to look away from her. “Oh, this is nothing. He visits whenever he can just to make sure I’m staying quiet.”

Hayley shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“I would have moved from this godforsaken neighborhood years ago if I had the money. But nobody would buy this house.
I never married. I don’t have a husband or kids. This house is all I have.”

“You have to come with us,” Jessica said. “The police will protect you.”

“The police don’t care. The murderer down the street has convinced them that he’s the only one who’s
not
crazy. John Robinson is a decent talker. He could convince a brain-surgery patient to skip the anesthesia. He’s all talk, but his strong conviction and superior belief in his make-believe stories are hard to challenge. I could talk about what I saw until I was blue and it wouldn’t do anyone any good. But there you have it. He’s the devil. He’s egotistical, arrogant, and pure evil. He was the one who put a fist through the window of his car that night. He choked the girl until she passed out and then he carried her into his house.”

“What did you do?” Hayley asked.

“I grabbed my cane and I went to the house. I knocked on his door and I could hear her screams. He didn’t answer the door. He obviously didn’t care, so I ran home. Before I could grab the phone, I tripped and hit my head on the tile floor. It was all over after that. Days went by before the UPS man found me and called 911. I was in a coma for weeks, and it was weeks after that before I was brought home. Sooner rather than later, John Robinson began to pay me regular visits. I thought he was an angel sent from above. He brought me flowers and groceries and even made me home-cooked meals. But then the memories began to return and I made the mistake of confiding in my new friend. After that, he still visited every week, but only to make certain that I would remain quiet. His methods were quite effective.”

“And nobody has seen the girl since that night?”

“She could be buried in his yard, for all I know. John Robinson is a beast. I don’t want to know what he did with the poor girl.”

When Jessica pulled her phone from her pocket, the business card she’d seen earlier fell out. She picked up the card and was about to make a call, when she read the name scribbled on the back again. “Belle Gunness,” she said aloud, followed by, “Shit.”

“What is it?” Hayley asked.

“John Robinson, Dennis Nilsen, and Belle Gunness. I know where I’ve heard their names. I learned about all three of these people during my last behavioral class.”

“Spit it out,” Hayley said. “Who are they?”

“They’re all serial killers.”

Hayley went to the window and looked down the street toward John Robinson’s house. “Jared could be in there.”

“John Robinson could be a man of many names, including Robert Beck, the adopted son of the embalmers,” Jessica said. “I’m calling Lizzy.”

Sacramento

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Lizzy left Mrs. Trumble and climbed into her car at the same moment her phone rang. She picked up the call.

“He is going to die. You understand that, don’t you?”

Lizzy drew in a breath.

“You don’t catch on quickly, do you?”

“Call me slow,” she said. “So you’re a serial-killer wannabe, is that it?”

“I’m God.”

“Give me a break. You’re not even Satan’s cousin. You can’t even find your own victims. You have to use someone else’s leftovers,” she said, referring to herself.

“I have something I believe you might want.”

“And what would that be?”

“I believe his initials are J.S.”

She closed her eyes but said nothing, praying Jared was still alive.

“No smart-ass response?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. “Much better.”

“Oh, good, because I aim only to please you.”

“You are a gritty little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Oh, stop, you’re making me blush. Since I have you on the phone,” Lizzy added, “what’s with the beetle fetish?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She didn’t believe that for a minute. “If you’re so sure of yourself, so confident that you can kidnap an FBI agent and not get caught, then hand him the phone and let me talk to him.”

“Because I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you say your goodbyes. Because this is it, Lizzy Gardner. You and your boyfriend are finished, kaput, it’s over. You had your one chance at true love and you blew it, sister. How does it feel to recognize that you could have had it all, but you were too self-involved, worried about your own silly problems? How does it feel to know that you’ll spend the rest of your life all alone?”

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m not the one who took my life for granted. I really don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation. This will be the last time you’re ever going to hear his voice. This is your last chance to tell him how you feel.”

She could hear some shuffling before she heard Jared’s voice. “Lizzy, are you there?”

“Jared,” she said, her gut twisting. “Where are you?”

“Absolutely no idea. Kassie Scott is here, though, and she needs medical attention. I want you to keep that in mind as you work with Jimmy.”

“I’ll tell Jimmy. He’s searching a house in Lincoln.”

“Not that far,” Jared said.

“Sacramento?” she asked. They both knew the drill. There was no time for heartfelt sentiments. Get out as much information as quickly as possible.

“Yes.”

“Can the phone be traced?”

“Disposable.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about him? Anything to help us figure out who he is?”

“Basement. Two cages. Reminds me of a kennel. He likes to play dress-up.”

“Hand over the phone or the woman gets cut. Now!”

Lizzy heard a woman cry out.

“I think we’re done here,” the killer told Lizzy. “You had your chance to say goodbye.”

“Let Kassie go,” Lizzy pleaded. “If she needs medical attention, the last thing you need is another murder on your list of offenses.”

“My, my, you do sound a lot like your boyfriend.”

“Why are you doing this? What’s the endgame?”

He chuckled at that. “Endgame?”

“Yeah, what do you get out of this? What’s in it for you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is it! Talking to you and having long thoughtful chats with a child psychologist.” She could hear him breathing heavily before he added, “I have an FBI agent sitting in a cage…and you’re asking me what’s in it for me? This is a fucking thrill! I feel like I’m riding one of those state-of-the-art
roller coaster rides with all those amazing g-forces and vertical loops. But you know what, sweetheart, you’re right, there is an endgame, and the ultimate orgasmic thrill involves you, Lizzy. I want to see your face when you find your boyfriend’s head on a pole on Highway 80. But first, before I kill him, I want Mr. Shayne to watch me closely as I deal with Kassie. I want your boyfriend to see firsthand how a dark mind really works.”

After the killer disconnected their call, Lizzy’s cell rang again. It was Jessica. “What’s going on?” Lizzy asked, unwilling to allow herself time to fall apart.

“We have a connection: John Robinson, Dennis Nilsen, and Belle Gunness. All three are names belonging to serial killers. I believe they’re all the same person, including Robert Beck.”

Lizzy let the news sink in. Robert Beck was a bad seed. He went from foster home to foster home until he was finally adopted by Karen and Todd Beck. Where were Karen and Todd Beck now? she wondered. Was their son, Robert, the one responsible for stuffing the corpses with dead beetles? Did they love him so much that they had been willing to take the fall for their son’s actions?

“Lizzy, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Hayley and I are with John Robinson’s neighbor Claire Schultz. She told us everything. Eli Simpson was right. Not only was John Robinson with Eli’s sister, Rochelle, the night she disappeared, but, according to Claire, the man put his fist through the car window, choked her until she passed out, and then carried her into his home. She said that nobody else was involved. The story he told the police was one big lie.”

“Why didn’t Claire go to the police?”

“Because John Robinson has been torturing her and threatening her. She has the scars to prove it. It’s awful, Lizzy.”

“I need you to call the police. I’ll call Jimmy and tell him what’s going on.”

“Hayley already called,” Jessica answered. “They’re on their way.”

Even when she was dead, she was still bitching at me. I couldn’t get her to shut up!

—Edmund Kemper

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Jared watched the Lovebird Killer ready a table—a modern-day stretcher/gurney that an EMT might use to get a patient to the ambulance. It was equipped with a device that would raise and lower the table. There were also wheels, making it easy for him to move the table from one end of the room to the other. Next, he set up a surgical tray and proceeded to methodically prepare his tools. For a moment he appeared deep in thought as he examined an assortment of scalpels.

Holding a scalpel in the air, he said, “I prefer the rounded number ten blade for making the first cut into the skin.” He used a cloth to wipe his favorite scalpel, then held up a retractor used to hold open parts of the body and examined it closely.

Jared glanced at Kassie.

Once again, the killer was hoping for a reaction and yet he wasn’t getting one from either of them.

“A dull blade leaves a jagged scar. Not pretty.”

Jared watched him closely.

“I bet you’re dying to know what I’m going to do with all of this.”

“Nope,” Jared said. “Not interested.”

The man smirked. “It’s not for you, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

The man smiled as if he already knew what Jared would say. He gently placed a jar on the surgical tray next to the scalpel, the same sort of jar sitting next to the television set—the one with the semipreserved heart inside.

“Was your father a doctor?” Jared asked.

“I have no idea who or what my father was.”

“Oh, come on. You must have heard something,” Jared prodded. “Where was your father from?”

He picked up the scalpel that he’d already cleaned and wiped it with the cloth again, more vigorously than before.

“Was he a doctor, a mayor, or maybe the town drunk?”

His hands shook slightly as he held the sharp tip toward Jared like he might come forward and enter the cage to finish him off. More than anything, Jared hoped that he would try. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the man and take him down.

In the blink of an eye, though, the killer’s facial expression changed from outrage to utter calmness. “I get what you’re trying to do. Very good. You almost had me for a minute there.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Jared said. “I’m only interested to learn what makes someone like you tick.”

“You may be an agent, but you’re a profiler at heart, aren’t you, Jared Shayne? You like to open up the minds of people like me and dig around, hoping to find something new to throw into your
bag of tricks so maybe the next time you’re searching for a killer, you might save a life. You’re wasting your time. I won’t be able to help you, since you’ll be as dead as Kassie when I’m done, but I understand your need to prod and analyze.”

He left his tools and focused his attention on setting up a digital camcorder, making sure he inserted a new memory card. His actions seemed robotic. Clearly, he’d done this many times before.

After he finished setting up the camera, he said, “Being a killer is like being in love.”

“How so?” Jared asked.

“You can’t make another person love you, nor can you force yourself to fall in love with someone. Either it is or it isn’t. It’s the same way with killing. People like me,” he said, picking up the scalpel again and brushing the blade across his forearm, “don’t suddenly decide to kill one day.” Blood dripped slowly down his arm. He smiled. “Either we’re born killers or we’re not.”

He put the scalpel down and fiddled with another tool, making sure it was in working order. Then he looked at Jared. “You’re shaking your head. Why is that?”

“Nothing is that simple.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Many killers are made,” Jared said, “sculpted by society, the by-product of their parents, relatives, friends, and the life they’ve been dealt.”

“Not in my case.”

“How so?”

“I grew up with a loving mother. She doted on me. I was her everything. I was her sunshine and she was mine. She spent time with me, taught me everything she knew, and made sure to tuck me into bed every single night.”

Kassie snorted.