Kill the Next One

by Federico Axat

  A hundred yards on, Ted was still in some sort of dream state, suddenly bowing his head and apparently following invisible tracks. Laura tried talking to him, but she got only monosyllabic answers and decided to leave it. One thing was clear: this path possessed some special importance for Ted, and walking along it appeared to be helping him understand why. Laura took advantage of the situation and pulled out her cell phone to check for a signal.

  Only one bar.

  At times Ted looked like one of those mediums on TV. He would stop, look around, look down, as if he were expecting a revelation that would show him the right way.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Ted had stopped. He was chewing his thumbnail, staring at the trees.

  “I remember a bicycle,” he said cryptically.

  “You used to ride a bike on this path?”

  “No, not me. I don’t even own one.”

  Laura asked no more questions. She was thrilled, however, because this recollection of a bicycle, however insignificant or unimportant it might turn out to be, was something new. The first thing filtering through. It could be the start of everything.

  “What color is the bike, Ted?”

  “Red,” he said, almost without thinking.

  As soon as he said it out loud, he weighed the new information.

  “A red bicycle,” he said, nodding slowly again and again.

  He looked down. Then he moved off in silence.

  All three of them walked along a narrow path that at this point had all but disappeared. They had to push branches aside and dodge fallen trees until they came across an abandoned dirt road. It was overgrown with weeds. And there they saw it, to one side, barely visible through the yellow weeds. The ruins of a red bicycle. It was missing a wheel, and rust had attacked it mercilessly, but here and there the original paint was visible.

  “The abandoned bike,” Ted said as he drew near. He stared at it.

  “Ted, this is fantastic!”

  “So it seems,” he said without enthusiasm.

  “Cheer up.” Laura put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Lee looked on disapprovingly but didn’t stop her; he walked over to the bicycle and looked at it with one raised eyebrow.

  “The bike’s here because it had an accident. The frame is bent. The missing wheel must be around somewhere.”

  The word “accident” floated around them.

  “Do you know anything about this, Ted?” Laura asked.

  “I don’t think so. I—I only saw it lying here.”

  On the other side of the road was more wooded land. Ted hesitated for a second.

  “We can take a shortcut through the woods,” he said robotically. “Or keep to the road and go around the long way. Either way will work, and we’ll come to the same place.”

  Filtrations.

  “Where will we come to, Ted?” Laura asked, her voice trembling.

  “To the truth,” he said.

  And he started walking along that dusty road, dragging his feet and the chain that linked them. He kept his hands against his thighs. Laura and Lee couldn’t see his face, which was lucky, because at this moment it was beginning to transform under the weight of a new revelation.

  They had walked nearly a mile and a half by the time they arrived.

  67

  Present day

  Marcus couldn’t remember ever feeling as happy as he did that Saturday. He even thought about going jogging. On that day he felt capable of anything.

  When he was heading to pick up the newspaper from his front stoop, he stopped and held the doorknob for a second, smiling like a fool, reminding himself that in just a few hours he would open this door and find Laura on the other side.

  And remember what you have to do…

  At lunch he felt an urge to call her, but he restrained himself. He had talked to Bob, his friend on the Boston police force, who had assured him that he’d take a look that very day at the murder cases starting in 1993.

  He spent the morning shopping. First he took off for the supermarket to buy everything he’d need for his special sauce. Marcus wasn’t a great cook; his diet consisted mainly of frozen microwave meals, pizza, and Chinese takeout, though he had a few dishes that he’d learned to make passably well. Linguini with wild mushrooms and onions was his specialty. But before hitting the grocery store, he stopped by the mall and spent a small fortune on new clothes. He’d been postponing this shopping trip for weeks, but if ever there was a perfect day for sprucing up his wardrobe, this was it.

  Marcus got back home around midday, carrying a dozen shopping bags. He had everything he’d need. When he shut the door, again he got that sensation of vertigo. Marcus smiled. He had a few hours to fill before he started making the sauce, so he decided to go to his home theater and watch a couple of the films on his list. He set a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Before the first kernel had time to pop, he was interrupted by the insistently ringing doorbell.

  He went to the window and saw Bob at the front door. He was holding a folder in his right hand. Why hadn’t he called first?

  He opened the door. Fate was pulling another fast one on him. When he opened this door, the woman of his life was supposed to be standing there, not a cop with an actor’s name.

  “Bob. What a surprise. Did you find something?”

  “Yes.”

  Something that disturbed him—that much was clear from his face.

  “Come on in, please.”

  They turned into the living room. A barrage of popping corn could be heard in the kitchen.

  As they were about to sit, Bob turned and looked his friend in the eye.

  “Did you know that McKay is the brother of Edward Blaine, the guy they accused of killing his girlfriend?”

  Marcus froze.

  “I did not know that.”

  “Same father. Different mother,” Bob said as he took a seat. “But that’s not why I came here. I could have told you that much over the phone.”

  Marcus sat down.

  68

  1994

  The MSU campus awoke to the news of the murder. A student, it was rumored at first, had been found dead near the library. University authorities asked students to remain in their dorms and apartments if possible, and all academic activities were suspended. The news dominated the local media. Every television set in the Box was turned on, though the most current information came from the campus itself. When the TV news was still reporting that the victim was a student whose name had not yet been revealed, students already knew this wasn’t so. The dead man was Thomas Tyler, a prominent professor of English literature who had taught at MSU for nearly a decade. His identification was delayed by the fact that he was inexplicably wearing a varsity hoodie and cap over his usual clothes, confusing the two young women who discovered his body that Friday morning.

  Contradictory rumors flew around the Box. A guy on the fifth floor, Mark Manganiello, known to all as Marman, became the principal source of reliable facts. His girlfriend lived just a couple of doors down from Jules Loughlin, one of the girls who found the body. According to Marman, the professor’s body was lying facedown, which was why they didn’t recognize him. At first they thought he was a student sleeping off a binge or whatever, but when they got closer they saw the puddle of blood around the body. His throat had been slit. During those anxious early hours, it was also rumored that the motive for the murder had been to steal an expensive gold cigarette lighter that Tyler always carried.

  When the victim’s identity was revealed at last, the news programs focused on the mystery that was attracting everybody’s interest: Why had the professor been hiding his professorial clothes under a student hoodie? Thomas Tyler was fifty-one, married, with two teenage daughters. Production crews staked out his house, hoping to get a glimpse of his family.

  MSU attracted a considerable amount of national media attention. The hoodie was what didn’t fit. But there was something else, a rumor that was already running wild through
all the dorms and that the police had possibly already heard. And if the police knew, it was reasonable to assume that some reporter had heard it, too. It seemed that Tyler was having an affair with a student. This was the sort of detail that would add an irresistible pinch of spice to the story as it came before a national audience.

  Ted was returning from the sixth floor, where the poker party had become a favorite way for many students to kill time, when Justin approached him with a wild, stunned look in his eyes. Ted became alarmed and all but shoved him into 503 and shut the door to their room behind them.

  “What’s wrong, Justin? You can’t walk around campus looking like that. Not on a day like this.”

  “Sorry, sorry, but I can’t take it anymore, Ted.” Justin was pacing back and forth.

  “Sit down for a second.”

  Justin sat on his bed.

  “You haven’t done anything,” Ted said, looking at him closely. “Have you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “So why do you look so worried? There’s no reason to walk around looking like that.”

  “You haven’t talked to Marman, have you?”

  “No. I just came from the sixth floor.”

  “The girl that Tyler was having an affair with…was Georgia.”

  Ted raised an eyebrow, but didn’t lose his cool.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I just told you: Marman. You don’t look too surprised.”

  Ted sat on his bed.

  “I’m thinking it through,” he admitted. “The police will come and question me. Don’t sweat it. Everything’ll be okay.”

  “Did you…know about this? The affair, I mean.”

  “No. Things weren’t going well between us. Maybe we had technically broken off—I don’t know. But that doesn’t make much difference. The police will still want to question me. Chill, Justin. And stop looking like that. We have to act normal.”

  “The thing is…Ted, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Justin glanced at the closed door as if someone might barge in at any moment and catch him in the middle of talking. He swallowed.

  “I knew about Georgia and the professor, Ted. I saw them together behind the library. More than once. Several times. If I didn’t say anything to you, it was because—”

  “Justin, stop right there. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. The problem is whether the police will think you told me.”

  “They shouldn’t.”

  “And you shouldn’t tell them, either.” Ted was looking hard at his friend.

  “I wasn’t planning to tell them, Ted. But tons of students have seen me hanging out in back of the library at night. And if I keep my mouth shut, it could look worse.”

  Ted stood up and strode around the room. Thinking out loud, he said, “Your seeing them certainly does complicate things.”

  He then fell silent for some time.

  “Where were you yesterday?” Ted suddenly asked his roommate.

  “Studying in the commons until ten thirty.”

  “So you have an alibi.”

  “I don’t know. How can we be sure when he was killed?”

  “The guy was wearing his hoodie and cap, and the only reason for that was if he was with…Georgia. When did you see them together?”

  “Never after eight.”

  “There you go. Besides, she can confirm it.”

  “What if they also hooked up later but I just never saw them?”

  “Justin, I can’t see Georgia walking around campus by herself so late at night. Most likely this was just like the other times. She left and the guy stayed there awhile, walking around a little to throw off anybody who might have seen them, before getting in his car and leaving. That’s what happened. But before he reached his car, he was assaulted and killed. And you were studying in the commons, with lots of witnesses. You didn’t leave at any time?”

  “No.”

  “Perfect. That’s what you’ll tell the police if they ask you. You often hung around the library but you never saw them there. Therefore, you never told me about them, because you didn’t know.”

  Ted put a special emphasis on those final words, pronouncing them slowly and clearly. Justin nodded. His face began to relax, but only a bit.

  “I’m not so sure. Don’t the police have lie detectors and stuff?”

  “Hey, Justin, look at me.” Ted grabbed him by the shoulders. “You will simply keep quiet about what you saw a couple of times, and you will do that only so the investigation doesn’t get diverted toward you and toward me, and they can concentrate on finding the real killer.” Justin was shaking his head. “Listen. We’re planning for a worst-case scenario. Most likely, the police already have a suspect or a solid lead, and you’re just worrying yourself unnecessarily.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Of course. And remember, you have a solid alibi. As little time as you’ve spent studying lately, it was lucky for you that you decided to have a study session just then, don’t you think?”

  For the first time, Justin showed a nervous smile.

  “Yeah, really. If I’d been wandering around campus last night, I’d be pissing myself right now.”

  “Exactly. Now you have no cause for worry. If anybody squeals to the police that you enjoy skulking around the library at night, just tell them it’s true, but you never saw them or found out about their affair. And as for last night, just describe what you did. Everything will be all right.”

  When Ted put it that way, everything seemed so easy. And why shouldn’t it be? Justin hadn’t killed Professor Tyler. Plus, he hadn’t told his roommate anything, so Ted couldn’t have done it, either.

  “How about you, Ted? Where were you last night? On the sixth floor, I suppose?”

  Ted’s expression changed.

  “Yeah, I was up on six. But I left around six o’clock.”

  A heavy silence fell over them.

  “And after that?” Justin asked in a worried tone.

  “I came down here to study. No solid alibi for me, I’m afraid.”

  Ted started laughing.

  69

  1994

  The following day it was officially acknowledged that Tyler had been having an affair with a student named Georgia McKenzie, and the attention being paid to the case went up exponentially. Coverage was constant. Two helicopters flew over the campus taking aerial footage. The university suspended classes for three days (which turned into five). The story of a married professor with a respectable family having an affair with a student was just too juicy. The most daring and least ethical journalists bandied about the theory that Georgia killed her lover in a fit of jealousy. Girl hopelessly in love with her professor loses her head when he tries to dump her.

  Attention soon enough focused on Ted.

  70

  1994

  Rumors outpaced facts around campus. Ted went to Georgia’s dorm to see her as soon as he learned that her fling with the professor had become common knowledge. She was holed up in her room, overcome by panic attacks. Ted skipped the formalities and got straight to the point: he wanted to know what she had seen that night, if anything. Georgia told him her parents were on their way with a lawyer in tow, so she didn’t have much time. He was stunned to hear her reveal, trembling and with tears in her eyes, not only that she had been with Tyler that night, but that she had witnessed the precise moment when he was killed. Ted froze. The story she falteringly told confirmed that she had been sitting with the professor on one of the benches behind the library.

  She had only agreed to meet him that one last time (she swore it was to be their last time together) in order to break up with him. The conversation hadn’t been pleasant. They got into an argument: the professor insulted her with a cutting remark (which Georgia refused to repeat to Ted) and she started crying. Tyler tried to hug her but Georgia pushed him away. After a while she stood up and threatened to do something that, according to
her, she had no intention of carrying out: if he didn’t leave her alone, she told the professor, she would tell his wife everything. Then she turned and walked away. But after a few steps she started feeling guilty, so she turned back, not to beg for his forgiveness but simply because she felt she shouldn’t have threatened Tyler like that. And that was when, from several yards away, she saw everything. A shadow jumped out of the bushes and slit the man’s throat with astonishing swiftness. Tyler fell like a stone. He didn’t even have time to scream. The murderer stood stock-still for a moment, barely an outline among the shadows, and before he left he did something odd: he bent down and searched the professor’s body. Georgia couldn’t see what it was he found, but he pocketed something. Immediately afterward he disappeared like a ghost.

  Ted followed her story in complete silence. She sat on her bed; he sat on a chair. He never tried to console her. He thought it would be a bad idea.

  “Could you see who it was?” he asked instead.

  “When he bent down, the light from the streetlamp nearly fell on his face, but no, I couldn’t tell.”

  “Are you going to let the police know about this?”

  “I don’t know, Ted. I’m so scared. Last night I came here and took a whole bunch of pills to sleep. I didn’t think Tyler could have survived—that’s why I ran off. I thought it was for the best. You can’t imagine how the blood flowed from his neck and how he fell to the ground. It was like…”

  Georgia wept convulsively. Frail and trembling, she was begging for a redemptive embrace that never came.