The Bedroom Killer (8 page)

The officers
stepped back. Ash sat in her chair, and Bell stood defiantly over John.

John turned from Bell and looked across to
Ash, the only person he felt he had any hope of actually listening to him.

"It's not a scratch
!" he shouted through his tears.

"Christ
," Bell said.

"It's a gunshot wound
. From my gun. And you know who put it there? I did. I was going to put a bullet through my brain, but I missed. Because the guy you're looking for slammed into my car and knocked me sideways. I saw him. I'm not a killer. I don't kill people. I help people. I'm a doctor. I
save
lives.” John slumped forward, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. "I save lives."

CHAPTER
16

Two hours after the ugliest interview in her long career
, Megan had John's bandage replaced. She calmed him down and gave him a Tylenol. When she learned he hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours, she bought him a cup of coffee, some eggs, and bacon from the local Denny's around the corner.

She spoke briefly with him after Bell and the other detectives had left the room, asking him to go into a little more detail about his entire day before driving to his old house
. And when he was finished, she believed him. He wasn't the Bedroom Killer. They would visit his home— he even encouraged it—but she didn't believe they would find anything. She'd conferred with Andy and Rick about their interviews with Drs. Larson and Turner, and she shared her information about Nurse Atwood. It was clear to Megan that Ms. Atwood was somewhat in love with Dr. Randall—or had been at one time. She certainly cared for him. More than just a co-worker. It was also clear that if anything happened between these two, it ended the night his wife and son died. She didn't know how to feel about that, and in reality it didn't matter. But still, the way Carrie spoke about this man made Megan wonder. Could he really be as wonderful as she'd made him out to be? Megan had only met one man who fit that description, but he'd been gone a long time now. She missed him. Every day.

Focus
, Megan
.

She
didn't need to review anything. There just wasn't enough evidence to put Dr. Randall inside the house, either that, or Randall missed his calling as an actor with Oscar-caliber talent. Time would tell. She found herself feeling very sorry for him. Everything in his life had collapsed around him. He was a good man. That's what they all said. Dr. Turner said, "
One of the best human beings you could ever meet."
Nurse Carrie said, "
He was loved by everyone. I was a little envious of his wife. They were the perfect couple."
Dr. Larson said,
"I can't imagine what made him try suicide. We were making such good progress.
"

All that and the way his eyes looked
. They were warm. Not a killer's eyes. No, he wasn't a killer. He was a man in need of love. A man who needed to be held. Taken care of. She knew before she left the room that she would have him. But it would be different with him. She felt it. And it gave her hope.

***

The men walked single file into the stark, white room and stepped upon the wooden stage, then turned to face the one-way mirror. Each man moved in front of a number, one through five on the wall behind them, and said nothing. The stage was lit well enough to see the facial features of each man, and the wall behind them bore horizontal lines with height measurements on the right side to reveal the height of each man. Megan's eyes were glued on John as he entered. Although each man had a bandage on his face, he was the only one with a black eye that looked real. The others had makeup under their right eye. Detective Bell and Karen Sharp stood beside her. Before they even settled into their spots, Karen pointed. "That's him. Number four."

"Are you sure
?" Bell asked.

Karen hesitated
. Megan and Bell watched as she stared at the men, her eyes always coming back to John. "He's the one in the car."

Gerald smiled and grabbed Megan's shoulder in a show of
solidarity. She flinched! Bell took note, and let go.

"But
…"

"But what
?" Megan asked.

"He's not tall enough."

Megan watched as Bell leaned forward, looked at the height of number four, and his smiled dropped as the realization spread across his face. John didn't match her description of the man in the house. At least six foot three was what she'd said, maybe taller.

"Maybe he was wearing lifts
," Bell said.

Megan turned to face him.
"Five-inch lifts?"

Bell
winced at her comment and bore his gaze into Megan, but she didn't flinch. She knew Dr. Randall wasn't a killer. No matter how much her fat-ass boss hoped he was.

Sorry to burst your bubble,
Numbnuts.

"They could be working together," Bell
said.

Karen Sharp took one more
look at the man under number four, Dr. John Randall, as he stood there with his bandaged cheek, "All I know is he's not the guy who killed my daughter. You still don't have him."

After Karen was finished
, they drove her home and had the other moms brought to the station to try to identify John as the killer. In each instance, the mother of the murdered child could not identify John or any of the other men in the lineups. The other three mothers hadn't woken up in the middle of the night, so there was little hope of them recognizing John.

Finally,
Bell had to admit John Randall was telling the truth
.

CHAPTER 17

A crowd of neighbors, onlookers, and news reporters had gathered outside John's house as Detectives Bell, Anderson, Kennedy, and Megan walked inside with John to search his home. He had given them permission, almost imploring them to come take a look. He knew he had nothing to hide…at least not from them. Once the front door was opened, Detective Bell took over.

"Kennedy, you and Andy
check out the backyard and the garage."

Detectives Kennedy and Anderson nodded
, stepped off the porch, and disappeared around the corner of the house. Megan watched John as Bell barked his orders.

She
was attracted to John, but she wasn't sure if it was normal attraction or something else entirely. Normal being he was a handsome man, even with the bandage, and he was a doctor. The "or something else entirely" being her never-ending lustful needs. She was experienced enough to know the dangers of falling for a suspect. But she didn't think of him as one. She knew that was dangerous in and of itself, but she believed every word that came out of his mouth. She was impressed that he was a doctor, but she wasn't too concerned that he was on disability, considering the circumstances that led to it. And she felt like she had to protect him from Numbnuts.

"Doc."

Bell motioned for John to step inside. John entered and Bell followed behind, then Megan. A forensics team stepped in right behind her. The CSI team, consisting of three technicians, the same ones handling all the other killings, went to work without needing to be told what to do. Sometimes the techs were the ones who broke the case. It wasn't advertised in the nightly news—
CSI Tech Breaks Major Case
—but it was known to happen. A comment or observation pointed out to the detective, some follow up, one thing leads to another, and a suspect is found.

"Why don't you wait here by the front door
?" Bell asked.

John nodded and sat in a recliner by the door
.

Megan
went into the kitchen. She noted the dirty dishes in the sink and reminded herself the last time John was here, he left with no intention of returning. Maybe he was a messy guy or maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe she'd have a chance to find out.

Bell
read the book titles on the shelf as Megan rounded the kitchen and came back into the living room. She made her way back toward John.

"What do you do in your spare time, John?"

"I read."

"What do you read?"

"Nonfiction, mostly."

"Like what?"

John nodded toward his bookshelf. Megan turned and scanned the titles including
The Intimate Lives of the Founding Fathers
by Thomas Fleming and
Lincoln and McClellan
by John Waugh,
The Federalists Papers
by Thomas Jefferson.

"American History," she said.

"Mostly. Biographies, too. I like to know what people have done in the past."

But Megan didn't want to talk history
—of any sort. All she wanted to listen to was John's voice. She couldn't help it. There was something about his voice. It was pleasing.

"And you like to save lives."

John's eyes squinted. "Are you mocking me?"

"No
. Not at all. I just… I once thought about being a doctor myself," she lied. "I think it's noble. I admire it. I admire you."

She winced, then threw a nervous smile at John
. She was going too fast. Her compulsion had kicked in. But it was so damn exciting. Making the first move. Waiting for them to catch her drift.  

But not now, you idiot.

"Detective," Bell called from the hallway entrance, appearing as if he'd been watching the two of them speak, which of course he had.

"Coming
." Megan walked toward Bell, swinging her hips a little more than usual, but eying Bell as she did it, almost defying him not to notice. But he was looking beyond her at John.

"Doc, I'm going to need you to come here
, too."

John join
ed them in the hallway. Bell stood outside a bedroom door facing the back entrance.

"Doc, this one's locked
. You have the key?"

John star
ed at the door, his eyes seemed to float away as if he were no longer with them. Megan thought about John standing behind her—almost too much to bear. It was the worst time, the worst place, but that's how her lust always was. That's what made her addiction so exciting and so debilitating all at once. As she kept her focus on Bell, Megan slowly reached her right hand behind her, palm open, fingers curled, like she was palming a baseball, or in this case, getting ready to cup John Randall's crotch in her hand. She wanted to caress it until he got hard, then she could turn around and drop to her knees.

What would he do
? Would he jerk away? Would he wonder what this crazy homicide detective was doing right in the middle of her investigation?

And she could do it right in front of
Numbnuts. But before Megan could reach back far enough, John came around her, fishing into his pockets and pulling out his key ring. He found the key and handed it to Bell. But as he did, he brushed up against Megan's left shoulder as he leaned forward. She didn't make any effort to move away. In fact, she moved her left hand so it scraped against his right thigh and rested it, palm open, on the back of his upper thigh for a split second. She pressed down gently to make sure he knew it was there, then she pulled it away. She was sure he'd felt it.

Bell inserted
the key into the lock. John turned  to leave.

"Where are you going?" Bell
asked.

Megan
's eyes followed John. He turned back, glanced at Megan first…

Yes, he felt it
. Her breathing increased and a slight smile crossed her face.

Returning his gaze to Bell he said,
"I don't want to go in there,"

"Hold on.
" Bell pulled his radio, depressed the button, and was about to speak, but Detective Anderson stepped into the hallway. Bell dropped the radio from his lips. "Take him outside and stay with him."

Andy nodded.

"Dr. Randall." Andy motioned toward the living room.

John walk
ed out with Andy. When Megan swung around, she faced Bell, who stared right into her eyes. She responded with a
bring it on
stare of her own. He finally blinked and moved to the door.

***

The detective led John into the living room, where he walked to the front window and peered through the curtains at the line of cop cars parked in the street. John glanced at the neighborhood. How many neighbors were on the phone talking to other neighbors, or other family members, wondering why there were so many cops around? Maybe there were some long distance phone calls across the United States in his honor.

Grandma, you'll never guess what
's happening right here on our street.

From behind him
, the detective said, "So you once lived at the house where—"

"Yes," John said, cutting him off. He turned to face the detective, who nodded and turned away, staring out into the street at nothing in particular.

A
crashing noise came from the hallway.

"Stay here
." The detective bolted for the hallway and came to a stop at the bedroom door. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but the door stood tight.

John didn't leave the living room, but he could see down the hall.

"Are you all right in there?" the detective asked.

The
deadbolt flipped, and the door opened. Detective Ash brushed past him.

"Boxes fell
," Detective Bell said as he entered the hallway. "You find anything outside or in the garage?"

"No, sir
. Nothing. Why…"

Of course, t
hey found nothing that would indicate John was in any way involved with the series of killings. No rope, no duct tape, no souvenirs.
No kidding.

After the techs had finished and packed up
, Detective Bell said good-bye to two of the detectives, then he and Detective Ash joined John on the front porch. Detective Bell handed his card to John. "You can reach me at that number if you think of anything else."

John took the card, and Detective Bell walked away. Detective Ash stepped up with her card in hand. John reached for it and, just as he did, she pulled it back.

"I believe you," she said, a smile
on her face.

John nodded.

"Thanks," he said.

"Call me if you ever want to talk about history
… Or anything else." She pushed the card out again.

John took it
as he looked down at her bright-green eyes. She finally turned and proceeded down the sidewalk, her hips swaying with each step.