Murder Book

by Weber, Frank F. ;

  “Please don’t apologize. It isn’t too soon. It’s just not the right time. We both know there’ll be no peace for your family until Mandy’s case is solved.” I sighed and told him, “I wish you were here right now. I have never told any man I wanted to have a family with him before . . .”

  I SETTLED INTO BED, feeling like a child with the covers pulled up to my chin. I tried to fall asleep on my back, so I could still open my eyes and see around the room, but it wasn’t working. I finally resigned to flipping onto my stomach, as this is how I slept best. My long day of work started to take its toll, and soon I was drifting in and out of a light sleep. Again, I heard the creak of floorboards, and I tried to tell myself it was an old house, and old houses creak. Listening intently, I smelled something that was both unpleasant and familiar at the same time. Then I tensed as the realization came to me. It was the stench of stale booze on a man after he had been out drinking. Adrenaline coursed through me like electricity. I started to lift my head, but instantly, a strong hand grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed me face-first into my pillow. Before I could move, his weight crushed down on me. I attempted to scream, but something fabric was shoved roughly into my mouth.

  His body pressed heavily into my back, and his toxic breath was in my ear. “Do you feel that? That’s what my life’s like,” he growled. “Suffocating pressure.”

  It felt like my hair was being ripped from the roots, but I had no intention of giving up. I elbowed him in the ribs, then swung my arms, hoping to rock him off of me. I tried to say, “Go to hell,” but my voice was muffled by the cloth gag. It had quickly absorbed any moisture I had in my mouth and felt glued to my tongue. It was too hard to work on spitting it out and fighting at the same time, so I focused on fighting.

  My thin night pants tore as he yanked them and my underwear down.

  I managed to keep them at my knees by twisting my hips. I prepared to fight any attempts to turn me over. It was stifling, and I couldn’t get out from underneath him. This wasn’t only a fight to avoid the brutal rape of my body. This was a fight for my life.

  He punched me between my shoulder blades with a crushing thud that rocked my body. As I gasped, he whispered in my ear, “I like it rough, so keep on fighting.”

  With adrenaline-fueled rage, I swung my arms back.

  Unfortunately, he had anticipated this. In one quick motion, he grabbed both of my wrists behind my back and bound them together with some sort of plastic that bit into my skin.

  With his full weight on top of me, he drove me face-first into the bed. My hands were effectively cuffed. I tried to scream, “No!” but this just forced the cloth further down my throat, and I began to choke. Using my tongue, and aided by my gag reflex, I managed to dislodge it from my throat and back into my mouth. With my arms now immobilized, I could only use my abdominal muscles to wriggle back and forth. I had to be more calculated in my effort to escape. I attempted to work my way to the side of the bed, but he was so heavy and so strong. Still, I kept inching toward the side of the bed, like a caterpillar, a little at a time. It was my only chance.

  He breathed heavily against my cheek from behind, filling my nostrils with the nauseating stench of sour alcohol.

  The cell phone on my night stand began ringing, but I couldn’t move my arms to reach it. I knew it was Jon. If I could just touch it, he would know I was in trouble. I’d hit it with my face if I had to. I amped up my efforts, urgently straining toward it, ring after painstaking ring. The phone was now fewer than two feet away from me, but it could have just as well been on the moon. It must have rung ten times, but ultimately, it went silent.

  Once the phone stopped ringing, my attacker let up on the pressure for a second as he pulled his pants off. I had managed to work my head off the side of the bed. I dug my foot into the mattress and used it to pry hard enough to push our bodies over the edge of the bed, rocking him off as we fell. I heard the satisfying crack of his head against the nightstand. Thank God for sharp hardwood corners. The gag in my mouth came loose with the fall and I was able to spit it out. I had a fleeting moment of victory and screamed as I slid away and rocked myself to my feet.

  I had walls both behind me and to my right, and my bed was on my left. The silhouette of a man rose to block my exit. As my hands were still tied behind my back, I was afraid to risk rolling across the bed. I shouted, “Clay, why are you doing this?” Before he could respond, I kicked into his groin as hard as I could, driving his bare testicles into his body. A hard right punch blasted my jaw as my kick landed. I crashed backwards, and the back of my head smacked hard against the bedframe.

  I was nauseated at this point, and lying on my back on the floor. My hands were pinned to the floor beneath my hips. My legs were spread and when I attempted to will them back together, they didn’t move. I wasn’t completely unconscious, but felt woozy, and no longer had the strength to fight or cry out. I was now a silent observer of the unfolding scene. An odd memory of my psychology coursework reminded me that my cerebellum had been jolted. It took time for the muscle control to come back. I was done. The fight was all out of me, and it wouldn’t come back in time to help me. I was defeated.

  The monster-like man loomed over me in the darkness like a prize fighter who had KO’d his opponent. He hesitated for a moment and then took advantage of my stunned state. He staggered as he reached down and pulled my pajama pants and underwear the rest of the way off and kicked my feet further apart. He held his hand against his head, then looked at it. He must have been bleeding from the wound. I could hear low, guttural swearing and groans of pain. He seemed to be in a similar state of disorientation. After steadying himself, he reached down, then pulled my night shirt over my face, baring my breasts.

  I thought it was just as well. I didn’t want to see him, anyway. And then my stomach heaved. I began to vomit violently into my shirt. I shook my head, trying to get my shirt off my face so I wouldn’t choke in my own vomit. My body convulsed as I threw up, turning me on my side.

  The dark shadow was still looming over me. For God’s sake, how could he still be aroused? I could feel him ogling my body. Tears scorched paths down my cheeks. It took all my energy to simply weep, “No.”

  With his foot, he rolled me over on my stomach, grumbling, “You can choke in your own puke.” He put his foot to the back of my head and ground my face into it, gagging me. Finally, the pressure lifted from the back of my head, and he stepped away. I pulled my filthy face up, gasping for air.

  Involuntarily, I curled into a fetal position. I could only envision the skull-faced monster from my nightmares. He was rubbing his groin. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the pain or if he was getting ready for an attack. My eyelids were getting heavy, so I closed my eyes, anticipating rape would occur at any moment. Instead, I heard his departing footsteps, and, with relief, heard the door as he left the house.

  I WASN’T SURE HOW LONG I’d been lying in the darkness, but the next thing I remember was a harsh blast of light as the room was illuminated.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  PANTHERA

  8:50 P.M.

  MONDAY, APRIL 14

  PIERZ

  FUCKING FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. I had to get out of that damn house just to stop oozing DNA all over. I run through the woods to the ravine where I hid my vehicle. The steep sides of the gorge surrounding my vehicle prevent anyone from seeing me, but also make it impossible to see toward the farmhouse. My balls feel like they were squeezed in a vice, and I need to stop this bleeding. Okay, think. I should have found a cloth wrap in the house, but I couldn’t afford to take the chance I’d pass out.

  I need to collect my thoughts for a minute. I was too excited about tonight. I thought with the zip tie, I could take care of Serena with my bare hands. The shots I took to calm down were a mistake. It slowed my reaction time. I should have brought the gun just in case. She got so damn lucky—the phone buzzing when she had almost given up, the fall stunning me long enough to giv
e her a free kick. Fucking bitch. I should have killed her the last time I was with her. I close my eyes and lean my head against the driver’s side window. This is bad . . .

  It hurts to smile, but I can’t help myself when the answer finally comes to me. Serena was about to pass out when I left. She’s still tied, so she can’t call anyone. And she’s still alone in the middle of nowhere. I have a solution for the DNA. I have a canister of gas in the back of the truck. I’ll torch the fucking place, starting with her body and her bedroom. Now I’m feeling a bit of a rush. The predator circles back on his prey. Victory stolen from the hands of defeat! If I’m too sore to perform, I could still shove something up her, just for the fun of it. A great predator is never out of the game.

  9:15 P.M.

  THE BEDROOM LIGHT IS ON when I return to the house. Serena’s car is still the only car in the driveway. I can hear sirens in the distance. She must have found a way to call 911, so I have to work fast. I carry the five-gallon gas can up to her bedroom, but she is nowhere to be found. I don’t have time to search, so I douse the bed and anything I touched with gas, and light it. The huff of gas fumes ignite the bedroom, and it is soon dancing with flames. I make my way downstairs, pouring the accelerant in a trail all the way to the door, and then empty the contents in front of the exits. Go ahead and hide, Serena. The flames will still find you, and being barbecued is a hellish way to go.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  JON FREDERICK

  8:52 P.M.

  MONDAY, APRIL 14

  PIERZ

  I ARRIVED AT THE BELLS’ home a little before nine o’clock, and seeing the door banging open in the wind, sprinted into the house to Serena’s room. I bent down and hastily cut the industrial zip tie holding Serena’s wrists together. I imagined this same type of tie being used in Clay’s work. I gently laid a blanket over her, then picked her up and carefully set her on the bed. My tears joined hers when she wrapped her arms around me. I slid out my phone and dialed 911.

  Serena was now curled up in bed with a blanket snaked around her mostly bare body. Her eyes looked empty as she stared off at nothing. Her stained night shirt still hung loosely around her neck. I wanted to investigate the scene, but only Serena was deserving of my attention right now.

  I slowly unraveled the blanket from her shoulders and soothed her. “I’m going to help you take your shirt off because you threw up on it.” I went to her closet and retrieved a hooded sweatshirt. I carefully pulled her night shirt off, slipped the sweatshirt on, and found a pair of her cotton socks. “I’ll bring you a warm washcloth to wipe off your face, and a glass of water to rinse your mouth. You can just spit back into the glass. They won’t want you to wash too much because they’ll be collecting DNA.”

  After preparing the washcloth, I lightly brushed some of her matted hair out of her face and gently wiped it clean. I ended up holding her head and pouring some water in her mouth. She managed to cooperate enough to rinse. Serena breathed slowly and heavily and the dazed look in her eyes stayed, as if everything she was experiencing was now playing only on the inside.

  I decided not to touch her underwear or pajama pants, which were lying on the floor beside the bed. “I want to help you dress before the police arrive and start taking pictures, okay?” She nodded her acceptance. “Do you want jeans or sweatpants?”

  When she didn’t respond, I found a pair of underwear and sweatpants in her dresser and carefully slid them on her. She momentarily shook herself out of her shock. She frantically looked about the room, and pleaded, “Please, Jon, just get me out of here!”

  I didn’t have the callousness to deny her, even though it generally went against protocol. I helped her to her feet, and she leaned on me as I helped her to my car.

  WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL, I provided the necessary information to the nurses. Serena was in shock, but she refused to take a sedative. Shortly after 10:00 p.m., a police officer called me and told me the Bell home was burning when law enforcement arrived. I wouldn’t have minded being there to confront the arsonist, but I was damn glad I had gotten Serena out of there.

  It was past midnight after all her testing and her statement were completed. Serena was released to my care and fell asleep in my car as we left the hospital parking lot. As long as she was sleeping, I decided to drive her back to my apartment, so she wouldn’t have to deal with her parents or mine tonight. I did call her parents, and told them Serena had been assaulted, but that she was released from the hospital and I would keep her safe tonight. It was a heartbreaking conversation to have with them.

  At my apartment, Serena mumbled something about a shower, so I gently led her into the bathroom. I started the water for her, placing a clean towel and washcloth on the vanity, then helped her undress and step under the spray of water. I stood outside the tub and spoke to Serena as she showered. I told her the deadbolts were locked and she was safe. I was going to stay with her and take care of her. Her lack of response concerned me, so I cautiously slid the curtain open and asked if I could help her.

  Serena was sitting with her knees up, staring at the marks on her wrists as the shower behind her relentlessly sprayed her hair across her face. She looked at me with glazed-over eyes, clearly needing help, but unable to find a way to make the words audible. I considered my options and then removed my clothes. I grabbed a washcloth and soap and joined her, quickly depressing the shower plunger so the bath would fill directly from the tap.

  I knelt in front of her, took her face in my hands, and as I gently pushed the hair out of her eyes, I softly explained, “I’m going to start with your feet and make certain any trace of him is completely gone, and then we’ll rinse off, so you can go to bed absolutely clean tonight. If you feel like I need to clean any area a little more intensely, or a little longer, just nod your head.”

  Accepting my offer, she nodded and I went to work. Inch by inch, I soaped and cleaned her body, telling her which part I was going to wash, to warn her, as I didn’t want her to be surprised by any of my contact. It was a somber, nonsexual event, and I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. At one point, Serena tilted my head up and looked at my face, and then reassuringly patted my shoulder as if to indicate it was okay. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to comfort me, but instead I continued to bathe her in silence.

  Fortunately, Serena had left an overnight bag at my apartment. By the time I had her dried off and ready for bed, she was more lucid and ready to talk.

  Once in bed, she curled up on her side, turning her back to me, as she said, “It bothers me that they have rape kits at hospitals. That rape is so common they have a kit ready for the next victim.” Her speech was sluggish, and her voice sounded like she’d swallowed sand.

  I agreed. “I am so sorry you had to go through this. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” I felt tremendously guilty for not protecting her.

  Serena rasped, “Set the alarm for six thirty. I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  I gently placed my hand on her shoulder. She initially flinched, but then held it there when I attempted to pull it away. “Serena, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  With little emotion, Serena told me, “I’m going in to do my job. I have to finish turning in data for an audit tomorrow. I’m not going to let this jerk interfere with that. I’m going to need you to drive me, though, since my car is still in Pierz.”

  I pressed the issue, saying, “I still haven’t returned to work, so I can stay home with you.”

  “I’m going in. If I can finish the audit, I can take some time off. I won’t be able to deal with this until I finish my work. Do I need to set the alarm?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I’ll take you to work.” Then, I had to ask, “Do you think it was Clay?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know. I thought it was at first, but it didn’t seem like it at the end. It was dark. I’m not a hundred percent certain. Who else would it be?”
>
  I smoothed her hair from her cheek. “I wish I knew. Let’s try to sleep.”

  We were still for a moment, before Serena quietly asked, “You’re not going to go after Clay after I fall asleep, are you?”

  I assured her, “No, I’ll be with you every second. You’re all that matters to me.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled the blanket tight. “I’m sorry I’m not nicer. I don’t feel like being nice. I’m angry and I’m really tired. I feel terrible for my parents. They could have used the money from the sale of that house.”

  “You don’t have to be nice, and I’ll do anything you ask,” I said. “Your parents feel bad for you. They’re just glad you’re alive. Your dad said the insurance is probably worth more than the house was, anyway.” I doubted it was true, but it was nice of him to say.

  She quietly spoke into the sheet she was now holding up to her mouth. “I fought as hard as I could. If I wouldn’t have kicked him in the groin, I think he would have killed me—raped me, for sure.” Her voice was thick, as if she was on the verge of tears.

  I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Serena, you’re amazing. You fought a killer for your life, and won. Bob Marley once said, ‘You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.’ You are strong. If you want to talk, talk. If you want to close your eyes and go to sleep, go ahead. I’ll be here all night.”

  Serena snuggled back against me. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. Talk to me while I’m falling asleep. It helps to hear your voice.”

  “Okay. Is there anything you want me to talk about?”

  She was silent long enough that I thought she may have drifted off, but then she asked, “Why didn’t you marry? You once told me that more than any career, you wanted a family.”

  “Because I work all the time. I have dated, all serial monogamy. I’m not a player. But I never felt like it was the right person—until now. Plus, there’s the whole bit where I say, ‘I enjoyed talking to you, but now I’m going to work a stakeout for the next three weeks, so I won’t have time to see you. And by the way, if you haven’t heard, I was once accused of murder. But don’t worry, they never found the body.‘”