The Bedroom Killer (20 page)

CHAPTER 46

The rain was back and beat hard on the unmarked detective cruiser as it glided down the fractured, oil-stained concrete road. This portion of Greenwood had never seen the kind of state bond money that commonly went to upgrading parks or repaving the main boulevard. And so the original concrete remained, tired and cracked, oily and faded. Megan kept her gaze out the right side window and tried to think about the case. She wasn't in Bell's office for more than a minute before he said, "Let's take a drive."

If only the baseball bat had caught
the killer right across the top of the skull. Karen Sharp had said her first swing missed only because he'd heard her approach and jumped back at the last second. If it had landed square on the head, it would be a good bet the case would be over. If he hadn't been killed he would've at least been caught and in jail right now. Going through arraignment and talking with his defense attorney. But as she thought about the killer being caught, she also realized that if he'd been caught they would've also found John dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound right outside Karen Sharp's home. They never would have made the connection unless John's friends Dr. Turner or Dr. Larson made it for them. And if he'd been caught, Megan wouldn't be here in this car, driving down this oh-so-familiar road, heading for an oh-so-familiar parking spot. Or would she?

If he'd been caught.

***

At
3:30 p.m. this place was a ghost town, and in Gerald’s mind, that's what made it such a good place. Even in the middle of the day there wasn't much business going on. Bell took a right turn down Cascade Street, a road that lead deeper into the industrial section of town. The street originated six miles north in a residential area and dead-ended here in the old Greenwood Industrial Park. The word "park" did not belong. This was no park. Most of the "factories" were half-dead carcasses of their former selves, with small shattered windows peppering the sides of the buildings—like matured, pockmarked skin—just small enough to make their repair not worth the time or money. Each building had its own history, its own youthful story. Stories rarely told now if for no other reason than there was no one left who cared to hear them.

Bell glanced over at Megan
, her head turned away. It was a common sight to see. There was never idle chatter as they made these trips and Bell had asked himself more than once why he still made them. But he knew.

He had to
. Especially after today.

It was
a ritual that had to be kept. She needed to be reminded who was boss. Although things had seemed different as of late, Bell knew she would come around. Not that it happened every day, but it was like opening the shades to let in the sun, or stepping outside to get the morning newspaper. It was something they did and something they would continue to do. These trips helped keep the
status quo
, and now more than ever the
status quo
was paramount.

Bell had noticed her attention
being drawn away by Dr. Randall. Too much so. Big deal—Mr. Emergency Room.
Fuck him.
He saved lives too. Detective Gerald Bell, the cop who pulled the crazy fucker from the school bus before he had a chance to drive away, with ten kids still on board. Goddamned right Gerald Bell saved lives. She knew the story and she knew him well, just as he knew her. Dr. Randall would not be a problem. He would make sure of that. One more short discussion would take care of it.

Real short
.

To the point
.

Maybe a punch in the gut too
…for emphasis.

Randall wasn't looking for a new girl anyway; the man was fucked up in the head
. He needed more therapy. Obviously, Dr. Larson wasn't doing the trick. Maybe Bell would mention that. The force had people too. He could get him a referral.

Here
, Doc, go talk to this guy, he'll take
care of you.

That's what he'd do
. Then he'd mention Detective Ash again and make sure Randall knew his place. That's what he'd do. He made a mental note to talk to Caroline back at the office and get the psych sheet. He'd pick a name and number from the sheet and hand it off to Randall. That's what he'd do.

Bell slowed and pulled down C Street, turned into a parking lot at the back of the abandoned J.J. Kelmer
Ceramics building, and eased under a long neglected tree with the low-hanging branches located in the back corner, next to the perimeter block wall.

***

The branches dragged against the car roof, caused Megan's body to tense from the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard sound. Bell threw the car into park and cut the engine.

The car was silent,
except for the sound of dripping rainwater hitting the car roof. Then Bell let out a big sigh, reached down with his left hand, and adjusted his seat, reclining to a forty-five degree angle. Then he popped his seat belt loose and reached down with both hands and slipped his pants belt out of the clasp, yanked it tight to pop the prong out of the belt hole, then let it slip out of his hand. He unhooked the clasp on his slacks, and unzipped his pants. The belt, released from tension, slipped down and his belly roll grew upward like an expanding foil of a heated Jiffy Pop tin over a crackling campfire. He pulled out the tails of his dress shirt, unbuttoned the bottom buttons, and yanked each half to one side.

At this moment
, he turned to his right and looked at the back of Megan's head. As he watched her, he reached down into his pants and pulled out his dick. He turned back to face the front. Then he exhaled loudly and his big frame sank deep into the car seat, as if fitting into a space that had been machined to fit his exact measurements. Then he sat completely still. It was deathly quiet except for raindrops dripping from the tree branches onto the car roof.

It was the exhale and the subsequent cessation of movement that triggered in Megan the conditioned response action—that was the audible signal, one of two signals, audible and visual, that she'd been conditioned to respond to. It held her prisoner, was her guard and warden, and it was once again commanding her. Demanding her. She dared not ignore it. Besides, she thought, she and John were over now,
now that he knows
. So she did as she had always done. She turned to her left, titled her head down, closed her eyes, and took him into her mouth.

CHAPTER 47

"How's the journal coming?" Dr. Larson said.

John heard
the question but had to stop and think back to when he wrote last. He couldn't remember. Nearly all of his writing lately had been notes taken on the Bedroom Killer case. If he wasn't writing on the killer, he was reading about forensics and interrogation technique, or suspect identification. The truth was, John wasn't writing in his journal anymore.

"Um
, okay. I actually haven't written too much lately."

"Is there a reason for that?
"

"No excuse, really
. I've been pretty busy on the Bedroom Killer case."

John had decided on his drive over that he was going to confess to Dr. Larson about his meeting Megan
. He wanted to get the doctor's opinion on that, and he wanted to ask him about something else.

"What do you mean busy with the
Bedroom Killer case? They don't still think you have anything to do with that, do they?" Dr. Larson said.

"No
. That's not it. Remember the project I told you about last time?" John said.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well…I've been meeting with one of the detectives on the case. We struck up a friendship and…he's…he's teaching me about homicide investigation."

"Why would you want to learn about homicide investigation?"
Dr. Larson said.

"It's very interesting
," John said, feigning enthusiasm.

Dr. Larson set down his pencil and thought about John's words,
seeming to mull over his response.

"How is it interesting?"
Dr. Larson said.

"It's not so much that it's interesting
…I just, I want to help catch this guy. I want to be a part of it. I am a part of it ever since that night," John said.

"And what is your role?"

"I'm asking questions. I'm reading about serial killers. I'm looking at the profile they have."

"You've seen their profile?"

"Oh yes…I've read the files. He…he showed them to me," John lied, not wanting Dr. Larson to suspect Detective Ash was his source.

"You're friend, the detective?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that against the law
? Or some standard police procedure, at least?"

"Probably."

Dr. Larson scratched his chin and pinched his nose. John watched him, waiting to see if he would get a lecture.

"Well, don't get caught
," Dr. Larson said. "I guess that's all I can say on that. I don't know how to advise you there. Do you see this as a permanent thing?"

"What, chasing
killers?" John said.

"Yes."

"No. It's a one-time thing," John said, but then thought about Megan and wondered if she were a one-time thing.

"And after they catch
the killer?" Dr. Larson said.

John heard the doctor's question and sat very still debating the answer
. It was something he'd thought about, one of the million things he'd thought about, in fact, since his life had taken yet another dramatic turn. He really didn't know, but this fact didn't bother him as much as he thought it might.

"I can't say
," John said. "I've certainly thought about it, but I haven't made any sort of decision. I guess I'll address that when the day comes."

Dr. Larson wrote
in his book.

"Dr. Larson
," John said. 

Dr. Larson set his pencil down
and said, "Yes?"

"I have a question
," John said, sitting up straight in his chair. "It's not about me. I'd like your opinion, or, I guess I could look it up, but I thought I would ask you today, see if you knew anything."

"Anything about what?"
Dr. Larson said.

John steeled himself
. Even though he was sitting safely in his psychiatrist's office, he was still nervous. Worried about what he might learn. He took a deep breath.

"Sex addiction."
John said.

"Sex addiction
?" Dr. Larson repeated.

"Yes."

"Well, I only know what I've read. Not that I've studied up on it. It's an affliction. Emotional mainly."

"Like trying to kill yourself is emotional?"

"I wouldn't put it in the same context," Dr. Larson said, using a somewhat exasperated tone, which John caught.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be flippant,"
John said.

"Why do you ask?"

"I have a friend. I think…I think she might be afflicted."

"Well, you realize it's not about the sex
. Right? Just like drug addiction is not about the drugs. There are outside issues and internal reasons as to why someone takes drugs, and the same goes with sex. It can be something that happened a long time ago. Something that just happened recently. There can be any number of reasons why someone turns to sex as a crutch. A feeling of power. A feeling of being loved. Self-loathing. But I'm really not an authority."

Dr. Larson stood and walked to his bookshelf on the far side of the office, scanning his titles until he came to the one he wanted
. He pulled a softcover book off the shelf, walked back, and handed the book to John. "I'll let you borrow this." Then returned to his chair.

John looked at the front cover of the book and the memory of the bookstore revelation returned
to him, along with the feeling of helplessness to do anything for Megan.

"She's considered an expert on the topic
," Dr, Larson said. "That book should tell you everything you need to know. "John nodded at the doctor and set the book down in his lap, thanking him and stating that he would return it at their next meeting. He then flipped the book over and opened the back cover. He found himself looking at a picture of the author—the very same woman he'd seen in the book he pulled down from the shelf at the bookstore after Megan ran out.

It was t
he same book.

Dear Journal,

Something is really wrong with Megan.  I’m not sure what it is.  That’s not true.  I think I know what it is but I don’t want to say just yet.  She’s a widow.  I never knew that.  She never said anything.  Detective
Bell told me.  We’ve been doing very well – talking about the killer.  She’s taught me a lot about murder investigations.  But she isn’t always there.  Her mind seems to wander.  Like she needs to be somewhere else.  Which is probably true, she shouldn’t be with me so much and I probably shouldn’t encourage it.  But I love being with her.  I love spending time with her.  We had a bit of an episode the other day.  It’s why I think she is in trouble.  I need to do some more investigation before I really talk about it. 

John