The Butcher (20 page)

The pain would come later. Right now, Sam was so mad she could stab them both.

Striding toward the bedroom, she pushed the door open before she could overthink it.

And got an eyeful, all right.

Matt was on the bed, but he wasn't naked. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that had been pulled down to his knees. His erect penis was in one hand, and he appeared to be alone.

Yes, totally and completely alone . . . unless the two people having sex in the porn movie on the wall-mounted TV counted.

“Holy fuck!” Matt shrieked, his face a mask of shock and horror at the sight of her. Scrambling, he pulled his shorts up over his erection, swearing when the elastic band snagged his penis. Grabbing the remote, he thrust it toward the TV in an attempt to stop the movie, but all he managed to do was hit the fast-forward button. The two people having sex onscreen were now on warp speed, and if Sam hadn't been so surprised by the entire thing, she might have laughed.

Her boyfriend's face was a flaming shade of red that Sam couldn't recall ever having seen before. He glared at her, chest heaving. “What the fuck? What are you . . . how the hell did you get in? Why didn't you call first? Oh Jesus Christ.”

He was almost shaking from embarrassment. His legs were jammed together on the bed, and he sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression a blend of guilt and indignation as he continued to glare at her.

Sam bit her lip. The relief she was now feeling was so palpable she thought she might crumple. As she tried to figure out what to say to her boyfriend, the DVD decided to resume regular play again. Onscreen, the girl with the big fake boobs looked up at the man mounted on top of her and moaned, “Yeah, harder! Fuck me! Just like that! Harder!”

Matt finally managed to mute the sound, staring at her, and Sam spoke into the strained silence.

“Oops.”

Because really, what else could she say?

Edward's new family physician didn't look old enough to drink, let alone prescribe medication, and he eyed the young doctor suspiciously as the man took his blood pressure. He supposed the doctor seemed proficient enough, and so far was quite amiable, at least as far as doctors went. “I didn't realize Dr. Kleinberg retired. Nobody told me,” he said, feeling grumpy.

“Sorry about that. They should have sent you a letter.” Dr. Brian Ross unstrapped the blood pressure cuff from Edward's arm. “Did you move recently?”

“Yep. Old folks' home. Sweetbay Village.”

“I'm familiar with Sweetbay,” Ross said. “Don't see a lot of patients from there, though. Don't they have their own doctors?”

“That's the problem,” Edward said, shifting his weight a little. He was sitting on the patient table, feeling exposed and chilly in the thin green smock they had made him wear for the appointment. “They have a few different doctors that rotate in and out. Hard to see the same person twice, and I'm
not fond of inconsistency. Plus they only see patients on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And today is Monday.” Ross grinned. Picking up his iPad, he made a few notes, then grabbed his stethoscope. “I'm going to listen to your heart now.”

“What happened to my folder?” Edward asked.

Holding up a finger, Ross pressed the stethoscope against Edward's chest and listened for a few moments. Nodding, he said, “What's a folder? Some archaic thing? Everything I need to know about you is in the computer now. Welcome to the year 2014.”

Edward grunted. “I don't trust those tablet things. Hit one wrong key and next thing you know, everything's gone.”

“That's the beauty of it. The iPad has no keys.” Ross laughed. “But I get what you're saying, and my grandfather would share the same sentiment. He thinks computers and the Internet are everything that's wrong with the world nowadays. He still writes letters. By hand. I can't even imagine.” The doctor shuddered as he typed a few more notes into his tablet. “Your heart sounds good, by the way. Nice and strong. You seem to be in great shape for eighty years old. Do you still exercise?”

“I walk a lot. And if my hands and hip aren't bothering me I'll play a little tennis, do a few sit-ups, that kind of thing.”

“That's more than what I do,” Ross said with a grin. “Keep it up. Whatever you're doing, it's working. You have the blood pressure of a man half your age. Wish mine was as good.”

“I've always had good blood pressure.” Edward was pleased at the compliment. “I don't let things get to me, know what I'm talking about? Stress is not healthy. I've never been one to stress.”

“So tell me about Sweetbay Village,” Ross said, putting aside his iPad. “We were thinking of sending my wife's mother there, but my eyes
almost fell out of my head when I found out how damned expensive it is. You think it's worth the money? Mind you, it's either that or she lives with us, and I'm not sure you can put a price on the freedom of not having your mother-in-law move in. She's just, how do I put it . . . a difficult woman. If she moves in, I'm going to need blood pressure medication for sure. Do you like it there?”

Dr. Ross had to be the chattiest doctor Edward had ever met with. And yep, just a kid. He'd learn soon enough, as all doctors did, that time was money.

“It's fine.” Edward waved a hand. “Food's pretty good and there's lots of stuff to do. I wasn't crazy about moving out of my house, but my hip had been bothering me and I took a fall, scared my grandson. You ever heard of Matthew Shank? He's a chef here in Seattle, owns a restaurant called Adobo. Lots of his recipes are from his grandmother, may God rest her soul.”

“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Shank. I've heard of Adobo, been meaning to stop in. I heard the food is terrific.” Ross smiled again. “How does the grandson of the chief of police end up a chef, anyway?”

“Call me the Chief, everybody does.” Edward felt a tingle of pleasure at the recognition. The doctor might be young, but he obviously wasn't ignorant. “And that's a question for Matthew, though I can say he never really expressed an interest in following in my footsteps. He was very close to his grandmother. I used to worry he might be a pansy, because you know, a little boy in an apron, following his grandmother around in the kitchen? A bit queer, right? But I'm told cooking is a perfectly acceptable male profession nowadays. Plus he's always liked girls, thank sweet Jesus.”

Ross laughed out loud. “Well, I can say that ladies do love a man who can cook. I'm pretty good in the kitchen myself, and a good home-cooked meal never fails to win me bonus points with the wife.”

“If you want to keep your marriage intact, I recommend sending
the mother-in-law someplace that isn't your house. Sweetbay Village is as good as it gets.”

“I appreciate the recommendation.”

“You're welcome. How old are you, anyway?”

“I'll be thirty next month.”

“Christ. I got whiskey on my shelf that's older than you.”

“I have to confess, I was looking forward to meeting you when I saw your name on my schedule this morning. I'm kind of a fan.” Ross leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You were a guest lecturer for one of my psychology classes.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “That so? Which college?”

“Puget Sound State.”

“What was the professor's name again?” Edward frowned, trying to remember. “Pretty little thing. Chinese, I think, but not fresh off the boat, spoke perfect English.”

Ross chuckled and shook his head. “Dr. Tao. Sheila Tao.”

“That's it,” Edward said. “I remember her well. She hounded me for a year to come and guest lecture, but public speaking was never my thing. Finally gave in, though. She was fascinated with the psychology of serial killers.”

“Aren't we all?”

“And to think she almost got killed by one herself.”

“I read about that,” Ross said. “That was a messed-up story.”

“That's what happens when you fuck with crazy.”

“You were great, by the way.” The doctor smiled. “Your presentation, I mean. It was cool to hear about Rufus Wedge from the perspective of the cop who caught him. And killed him. That ever keep you awake at night?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“You also talked about the other serial killers from the area, like Ted Bundy, Robert Lee Yates, Ethan Wolfe, et cetera. I think you even nicknamed the Northwest ‘Butcherville.' I always thought that'd make a cool name for a book or something.”

“You have a good memory,” Edward said, impressed. “And hopefully it does. My grandson's girlfriend is an author, and she's writing a book about Rufus Wedge.
Butcherville
is actually the title she's using.”

Ross glanced up at the clock. “Wish we had more time. God knows I could talk about this stuff all day.” He reached for his iPad and swiped the screen. “So. Back to the boring medical crap. You appear to be in good health, and your prostate looks good, but we'll see if the lab tests show anything in your blood. You mentioned the arthritis in your hip. How bad is the pain? Your file says that you've been offered prescriptions for pain meds in the past, but have always declined.”

“Well, I'm not declining this time. Go ahead and write it up. Be generous.”

“Really.” Ross's eyebrows shot up. Consulting his tablet, he said, “Are you aware that there's a note in your file that says—and I'll read it to you word for word—‘Do not offer this patient pain meds as he will bite your head off.' ” He turned the tablet around so Edward could see it.

Edward saw the notation and chuckled. “I may have done that once or twice. I've got my pride, you know. But I would definitely like some now. The hip is bothering me more than usual, and it's beginning to interfere with my—” He stopped himself. He'd almost said
plans
. “My quality of life,” he finished. “I need to be able to get around quickly, and I need to be able to bend and twist and lift things.”

“I can certainly appreciate that, and I have a couple of different ones I'll let you try. One will reduce inflammation and take the edge
off, and the other is a pretty good painkiller for the days when it's extra bad.” The doctor tapped on his iPad, then looked up again. “Is there anything else we can address while you're here?”

“Yes.” Edward cleared his throat. “I'd also like a prescription for Viagra.”

Ross didn't miss a beat. “Don't see why not. I assume you're sexually active?”

“Not yet, but I plan to be.”

“Good to know that age doesn't kill the urge,” the doctor said with a grin. “Is she cute?”

“Of course she is, and so is her friend.”

Brian Ross laughed. “That's awesome. Okay, I'll fax your prescriptions over to the Village pharmacy. In fact, I can do that from my iPad right now. Unless . . .” He paused. “Unless you want to pick up them up at the pharmacy downstairs?”

“That would be good,” Edward said. “I'll just grab them on my way out. Everybody knows who I am at the Village, and I don't need anybody knowing my private business.”

“Understandable, though you have nothing to be ashamed of. I know guys my age who use Viagra.” Another few taps on the iPad, and then Ross stood up. “All set. You can go ahead and get dressed, Chief. Let me know if you have concerns about any of the drugs. The painkillers can cause stomach upset, but the most common side effect for Viagra is a wicked headache. Hopefully that won't happen to you. If it does, let me know. We have other options, though Viagra does tend to be the most effective.”

Edward maneuvered off the table slowly. The younger man offered him a hand but he ignored it. “You'd be surprised at the goings-on at Sweetbay Village, son. There's more sex going on there than a college dorm.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.” Edward winked. “But it's close. Lots of widows and widowers looking for a bump and tickle.”

“Huh.” A thoughtful look passed over the doctor's face. “Maybe we
should
send my mother-in-law there. What better way than sex to remove the stick out of her butt?” Ross shuddered. “That's an unpleasant thought. Mind you, she's pretty good-looking for seventy years old. You interested?”

“Not even a little bit.”

*   *   *

The prescription would take thirty minutes to fill, but that was no problem. At his age, all Edward had was time, and he settled into a chair near the pharmacist's counter with his pager in his lap. He picked up the newspaper in front of him, interested to see if there'd been any updates on the homicide investigation of the teen found dead in Marysville.

Jamie
. He couldn't help but smile when he thought of her. What a delicious little thing she'd been, with her bleached blond hair and black roots, the cubic zirconia nose stud, the way she'd cried once she finally figured out she was going to die, so wonderfully lithe and squirmy.

They always cried. And they always squirmed.

He just wished he'd been able to penetrate her. He'd been forced to use a tree branch, which could be fun sometimes, but he'd been hoping to
feel
her, goddammit. And his eighty-year-old equipment had failed.

Skimming through the newspaper, he saw that the media reports had nothing new to add from the day before. So far no mention had been made of the missing hand on Jamie Chavez, and Edward assumed there wouldn't be, at least for a while until they figured out what it meant. Marysville PD had obviously elected to keep that tidbit under wraps, perhaps to avoid premature comparison to the Butcher. Police had to be careful about what information they released nowadays,
what with all that social media crap and things going “viral.” It was important to manage the flow of information, and to reassure the public that everything was under control. Like ducks on the water, it was all smooth sailing on top and paddling like mad underneath. He was certain Marysville PD was scrambling to make sense of the crime.