Bone Deep jb-5

by David Wiltse

  And there was no doubt that Karen was involved in exactly that kind of relationship with Kom. He knew Enrico's restaurant where Kom had lunch with the "very attractive" brunette. It was two blocks away from Karen's office at the Bureau. He knew the blue business suit she wore, and he had to make an effort not to visualize the holding of hands and the farewell kiss.

  26

  The Marriott had all the elegance of a good hotel with the convenience of a motel and Denise had to wait for a moment in the parking lot to convince herself that she was in the right place. It was so fancy, so expensive. Through the glass doors that fronted on the circular entry drive, she could see a huge brass chandelier in the lobby. The doorman wore a uniform-n, as did the bellboys who scampered out to take the bags from an arriving Mercedes-Benz.

  She wondered if she had come to the right establishment-did Lyle know what he was getting them into? He had told her that he would reimburse her and she knew that he would, but even so, the cost of the room seemed soreckless. Neither one of them could afford it. She had not liked the motels they had gone to before, they were small and cramped and ugly, if not squalid at least determinedly plain, but that had seemed appropriate somehow. Not that she was ashamed of the time she spent with Lyle, it was beautiful, they had convinced each other time and again that it was.

  But still, she could not ever stop thinking that it was wrong because Lyle was still living with his wife even though they were no longer married. She could handle a certain amount of guilt for that, but she could never completely deny it, no matter how crazy Lyle's wife was, no matter how much Lyle needed Denise or how much Denise needed him. As a result, the drabness of their previous meeting places had seemed appropriate, one slight intrusion of the outer world into their personal bliss. Maybe it even made their union more beautiful by comparison.

  Maybe it was her conscience's way of squaring things, of saying to Denise, you can have that but you can't have everything, you don't deserve everything. Not that she needed a reminder. Denise had never expected much, and was always aware that she didn't deserve more than life had given her. Lyle was an astounding, illuminating, utterly undeserved gift. No one deserved such a blessing in her life, least of all her. But oh, she was grateful.

  The size of the lobby intimidated her, as did the rather frosty young woman with the slight accent who awaited her at the registration desk.

  Denise was certain that the woman knew what she was there for, that her wanton indecency showed in her inappropriate clothing-she should have chosen her linen sundress with the cap sleeves-in the look on her face, in the blush that ran to the roots of her hair. Denise carried a suitcase, but it had nothing in it besides the teddy she had purchased from Victoria's Secret for this occasion and her makeup kit and her toothbrush. It didn't feel right in her hand and she could tell by the glance the woman gave it that it didn't convince her, either.

  She paid for the night in advance, in cash, as Lyle had told her to do, and signed the name Mrs. Marjorie Fanedean, which she and Lyle had made up together, giggling. She almost forgot and signed her own name and she was certain that the clerk had noticed her hesitation with a knowing glance.

  A bellboy took her bag, although Denise would have preferred to carry it herself and she was sure that he knew it was almost empty. He was an older man and didn't leer at her, not openly anyway, but she knew that he would talk about her with the other employees. In the motels where they had met before, the opinions of the help didn't seem to matter. She seldom saw anyone other than the person who checked her in-there was no nonsense about signing registers, no pretense that any luggage was involved-and he or she was always so blatantly indifferent that after her first time-renting a room, she had not given it much thought. This was different, Denise felt sinful amidst all this luxury.

  The room was so splendid that Denise went over it, detail by detail. She wanted to be able to appreciate it and reremember it, from the plush blackout curtains with their patterm of tea roses to the little motorized brush in the bathroom for shining shoes. Lyle had hinted that he wanted the room in the Marriott for a special reason and now that she saw how elegant it all was, she knew there was only one reason grand enough to justify it. Lyle was going to tell her that he would leave his wife and marry her. She had almost not dared to think of it before now, although it had always been in the back of her mind, scratching to come to the forefront. Now the realization that her dream was about to come true overwhelmed her and she sank to the bed and wept.

  When she finished her cry she went to the bathroom to repair herself and to put on the teddy in preparation for Lyle's arrival.

  On the day of the planned surprise party for Becker, Dr. Stanley Kom drove from his office to Norwalk Hospital, where he was scheduled to perform an operation. The doctors' parking lot was merely a special section of the main lot and as he walked across the street to the front entrance, he could see the Toyota tentatively poke its nose past the stop sign at the base of the hill and start a slow climb toward the lot.

  Kom paused inside the hospital doors to make sure that the Toyota took up an observation position with a view of both the entrance and Kom's car.

  Kom greeted the ladies at the reception desk heartily and spoke a bit longer than politeness required to the security guard who loitered by the elevators, making certain that his presence was noted by as many people as possible. He chatted amiably with nurses and doctors in the surgical ward and even offered a rueful smile to Nurse Reilly, his one hospital mistake.

  Years ago, shortly after arriving in Clamden, he had had an affair with Reilly and had learned of the foolishness of fouling one's own nest. If she had been bitter or vindictive, she could have made his life difficult. Fortunately for him, Reilly was a woman of experience who had been unimpressed by his fledgling attempts at sex and happy enough to end the relationship, but her continuing presence in his professional life was a constant reminder of the need for caution. After Reilly he had begun his campaign of deceit. Occasionally he toyed with the idea of spending another night with Reilly to demonstrate what he hadlearned in the intervening years, but wisdom always prevailed. With his own office staff and in the hospital, Kom was friendly but never so much as flirtatious. He performed arthroscopic surgery on his patient's knee, repairing the torn cartilage of an overzealous basketball player, working, as always, briskly, efficiently. Following the operation, Kom placed his slightly bloodied surgical gown and gloves in the appropriate hamper. They would be taken from there and burned in the hospital's massive incinerator, thus eliminating any chance of future contamination by a patient's blood, fluids, or viruses.

  Kom advised the nurse at the floor desk that he would be visiting his patients in the hospital, of whom there were several, and he did indeed visit two of them. From the window of the second patient's room he saw that the Toyota was still in place in the front lot; then he left the hospital by the back entrance that led from the basement. The walk to the Pathmark Mall took two minutes. From there he ordered a cab and then called Denise to find out her room number. The cab ride to the Stamford Marriott lasted fifteen minutes.

  Kom-tapped on Denise's door twenty-five minutes after leaving surgery.

  He carried with him a shopping bag from the Pathmark Mall. Denise greeted him in her purple teddy and Kom noted to himself that she didn't have the legs for it even as he swept her into his arms.

  "I have something for you," he said, when they had finally ended their first embrace. He took a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Denise's eyes widened with anticipation.

  "What…?"

  "Open it," he said, grinning at her.

  "Oh, Lyle," she said, her lip quivering.

  In the box was a small gold wristwatch with a dial.

  "It was all I could afford," Kom said. In fact it had been rather difficult to find. Stem-wound dial watches had become a thing of the past-but it was what he needed. "Put it on," he said.

  "It's so beautiful," she said, trying to hide th
e trace of disappointment in her voice by smiling broadly and laying her head to his chest. For a brief, paralyzing moment she had thought it would be an engagement ring.

  "Well, put it on," he said, chuckling. "Let's see how it looks on you."

  "You put it on me," she said, holding the watch in her hand. He hesitated, not touching the watch, "I can't, my fingers are too clumsy.

  Put it on, I want to see it on you."

  "You big silly," she said. "Your fingers are magical." She kissed his fingertips, but then she removed her own digital timepiece and put the new watch on her wrist by herself She held it up as if it were a diamond bracelet. "It's so sweet of you," she said. "You have to set the time and wind it," he said.

  "I don't want time to start," she said. "I want this day to last forever."

  "Come on," he cajoled. "We have to make sure it works, don't we?"

  When he was sure that she had handled the watch enough to place her fingerprints on it, Kom had sex with her. If she noticed that he was much quicker than usual, she made no complaint, and when he took her from behind and asked permission to squeeze her neck she complied out of regard for him even when his grip became uncomfortably tight. It was the last thought she had.

  Kom flushed the condom, then put on the surgical gloves that he took from the shopping bag. He dragged Denise's body to the bathroom and set the time on the wristwatch forward to 9:12, then slapped her arm against the tile floor until the watch broke and the hands of the dial froze into position. He put her old timepiece in his pocket to be disposed of later, then changed into a clean set of surgical clothes and took Denise into the shower. As always, he had two scalpels with him, but he needed only one, working very rapidly for a change, taking no pleasure from it.

  It would not be a job he could be proud of as a technician, but it would suffice for his purposes. He made his signature slashes at the end of each joint, and when he was finished and Denise's body parts were stowed in the double garbage bags, he carefully inspected the shower drain.

  Hairs could get caught there, including his own although he wore a surgical cap. Kom unscrewed the drain screen, carefully removed the hairs that had collected on the screen and the upper reaches of the pipe, then replaced the cover.

  He felt mildly cheated by the need to wear surgical clothes this time.

  He had missed the pleasure of having her naked flesh pressed against his skin as he worked, but with the cops sniffing after him, there was no point in giving them any tissue samples or hairs to work with.

  Kom put the soaked and bloody surgical clothes in the shopping bag, made a final tour of the room to remove any traces of himself. This time he decided to take the sheets with him, and carefully folded them inward upon themselves so they would retain any forensic niceties before putting them in his bag.

  He peeked into the hallway, then stepped out and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. Only as he was walking down the hall did he remove his gloves and add them to the shopping bag. He located Denise's car in the lot and drove it away.

  In the hospital he dumped the contents of the shopping bag into the hamper destined for the incinerator. Within an hour the sheets and gloves and clothes would be consumed in flames like all the other contaminated matter. sixty-three minutes after he had started to visit his patients Dr. Kom reappeared at the desk of the floor nurse. With a display of noting how late it was, he said goodbye and hurried off with an explanation that he was going to a surprise party for a good friend.

  He made a similarly conspicuous goodbye to the receptionist and the security guard, noted that the Toyota was still observing his car, and drove home. The Toyota stayed dutifully distant but in sight all the way back to his home in Clamden.

  As Kom and Tovah readied themselves for the dinner party, he stood behind her while she regarded her reflection in the dressing mirror.

  Their eyes met and he grinned slightly as he reached around her and allowed his hand to hover over her breast. Still ripe with lust from his truncated session with Denise, he took in his wife's long, lean body clad only in bra and panties that mimicked the emerald tint above and below her eyes.

  "We have half an hour before we have to leave," he said, his eyes returning to her face.

  "I've done my hair already," she said gently, not wishIng to discourage him.

  "We won't muss your hair," he said. With his eyes still locked on hers, he put his hand atop her bra, then watched her gasp and shiver when he teased a finger under the silk.

  With his free hand he moved around and under the shiny green silk of her panties, then around her hip and forward. She leaned against him, sighing, but when she tried to face him he turned her back toward the niirror. He took her from behind and watched her face in reflection so that she finally closed her eyes to escape him as she grimaced and panted toward a kind of peace. From then on he watched only himself, his eyes never leaving his face even as he snarled and howled to the end.

  27

  In their own bedroom, Becker and Karen were preparing for the party rather differently. Becker had refused to go.

  "You can't stay home," Karen said.

  "Sure I can. Watch."

  "Why? I told you about this party, you've had a week to gear yourself into a social mood-why now are you deciding not to go?"

  "I don't feel like it."

  "Not good enough."

  "I don't think I can muster the necessary hypocrisy tonight," Becker said. "I don't think I can pretend to give a shit that Stanley Kom is having a birthday."

  "You don't have to do anything, just sit with me and keep me company."

  "Oh, you're going to be with me, then? I didn't realize."

  "Of course I'm going to be with you. Where else would I be?"

  "I'm never quite certain these days."

  "What does that mean?" Becker stared at her angrily for a moment, then turned away, afraid that he might lose control of himself.

  "John, what's the matter?" she said, alarmed. His look of anger had frightened her.

  Becker sat on the edge of the bed; he turned his face away from her.

  "Nothing. Just a bad mood." She stood in front of him and took his face in her hands. "What is it?"

  He did not pull his face from her grasp but he refused to meet her eyes.

  "Is it the case?" she asked. "Is it Johnny Appleseed? You have to let go of it sometimes, you know. Let it be just a job."

  She wedged his knees apart with her leg and moved between them so that her body was touching his.

  "Don't let it swallow you," she said. "Please, John. For yourself. For Jack. For me. Don't let the case devour you. Don't let it come between us."

  "The case isn't coming between us," he said.

  "Then what's wrong?"

  When he did not answer she tipped his face so that he craned upward, looking at her. "Tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that. We agreed to always tell each other everything, didn't we? Something has been wrong between us for weeks and I don't know what it is. I can't help you with it if I don't know what it is."

  Becker yearned to tell her, to pour out his suspicions and to have her explain them away as foolish imaginings, the fevered overreaction of a jealous man, but it was his conviction that she couldn't dismiss them that prevented him from speaking. If she told him he was making it all up, if she denied the meetings with Kom behind his back, there was nothing left for him to cling to, no last shred of hope that he was deluded in his mistrust. The words clogged in his throat and he could only emit an inarticulate groan. He buried his face against her bosom.

  "John," she cried, now genuinely worried. "What is it, darling'? What on earth is wrong?"

  He shook his head against her breasts and gripped her with both arms around her buttocks. He wanted to hug her so tightly she could never pull away, never leave him, never deceive him. "No,"- she said. "No, no, no." Crooning as if to a baby, she pried his hands off and knelt before him so that they were face-to-face. His tears startled her and he
turned away from her in embarrassment.

  "What…?" she breathed.

  "I'm going to kill that cocksucker," Becker said.

  "Who?" she asked, expecting him to name Johnny Appleseed.

  "Kom. Dr. Stanley Kom."

  "Why, John? What has he done?… He hasn't done anything to you, has he? Has he hurt you in some way? Just tell me, I don't understand…

  Stanley is such a gentle man. I don't see how-"

  "Fuck it, let's go," he said. Becker leapt to his feet, shrugging her hands from his knees and causing her to lose her balance and fall to the floor. She sat for a moment, stunned, and Becker took several steps toward the door before he absorbed what had happened. He looked at her on the floor, appalled at himself for having knocked her there, albut inadvertently.

  "I didn't mean…" he started, lowering a hand to pick her up, but she brushed his hand aside and scrambled to her feet, her face livid with rage. "Don't you ever do that again," she said through tight lips.

  "I didn't do any-"

  "Never again, understand? I won'ttolerate it."

  "I didn't mean to…"

  "Fine, leave it at that," she said. "Let's just go."

  "Karen, I wasn't trying to hurt you..

  "I mean it, John, I will not tolerate it. Next time I'll take your head off."

  "Oh, fuck it," he said, leading her out the door and on the way to the party at the Marriott.

  28

  Becker followed Karen across the lobby of the Marriott, feeling like a recalcitrant dog on its owner's leash. They had driven to Stamford in complete silence, each of them nursing a different account of things, each of them too angry to sue for peace. For Becker, the final straw had been Karen's defense of Stanley as a "gentle man" who had done no one any wrong. His sense of the loss of Karen's love sickened him, eviscerated him, and left him feeling as lost and hopeless as he had been as a child when his parents-those mysterious, whimsical, vindictive demigods of his youth-had locked him in the darkened cellar to await, or recover from, his punishment. His response then, his ultimate defense and salvation from an inexplicable cycle of torture and caress, had been ultimately to turn to rage, and he felt it welling up in him now to shield him once more from a pain he could neither stop nor avoid.