The Bedroom Killer

by Taylor Waters

  Megan, what do you think?

  Bell, would you care to elaborate on your gun at my head?

  Carrie, shall we confess our mutual attraction?

  Who wants to go first?

  "You'll ruin lives if you publish these photos," John said. Then added, "You know that don't you? Is that what you want?"

  "I just want the story. I don't have to publish these," said Marcus, waving his right arm across the table with a flourish. He leaned forward, and gazed into John's eyes. "What's the story John? Huh? Why does Detective Bell have a gun to your head?" He chuckled. "I have to admit my hand was shaking so bad I had to take a big breath and hold it just to get my hands to keep still, otherwise this photo wouldn't exist."

  He watched John's eyes…always watch the eyes, Morry told him.

  "I swear to God, I thought he was going to shoot you."

  "You were following me?"

  Marcus nodded.

  "All this time?"

  "Yeah," said Marcus.

  "Karen Sharp's house?"

  Marcus nodded again. "I couldn't get close enough to take a picture because her dog started barking."

  John nodded. He knew that Karen had bought a very large dog shortly after Rachel was murdered.

  "I was going to try to take a picture through the window."

  John cocked his head to one side and asked, "Isn't that illegal?"

  Marcus nodded, "I think so. Not sure, really. Anyway, I just hung out in my car across the street and down one house. You know how boring it is to watch a house for two hours with nothing happening? I couldn't get a picture when you came out because I was too far away and it was dark, anyway."

  They looked at one another, neither one knowing what to say next. John still wondered what he was going to say, and Marcus wondered what question to ask next. Then his eyes wandered to the living room —and the mess on the floor.

  Now was the time.

  "Why do you have all those books and papers all over the floor?"

  John shook his head, trying to comprehend the question. What books? They were just talking about Karen Sharp and the meeting with the moms. Then it hit him. John swung around as if someone had snuck up on him, only to find nothing there but the messy floor outside the kitchen entryway.

  "Oh…"

  "I recognize some of those books," said Marcus. "Were you working with Detective Ash?"

  John finally needed to sit, so he pulled out the chair and sat down, rubbing his hands across his eyes and suddenly feeling so tired that if he put his head down, he just might sleep for two days straight.

  "Were you…"

  "Off-the-record," John said.

  Marcus leaned back. What did Morry say when he was packing up the photos and heading out the door?

  Take what you can get, boy…on or off. We'll work out the details later.

  Marcus sighed heavily, as if he was really taking one for the team.

  "Okay. Off-the-record."

  John needed a drink. But he knew that was the wrong thing to do. Just watch what you say about Megan. "I was working the case." Marcus grabbed at his chest pocket for his notepad. John shifted, his eyes boring into Marcus, reminding him that this was off the record.

  So close, he thought.

  "With Detective Ash?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And Detective Bell?"

  "No. Not with Detective Bell."

  "How did this come about?"

  John's eyes looked through Marcus, flashing back to the day in his hallway, and Megan's hand on his thigh. And what she wrote on her card…I believe you.

  And the way she looked at him sometimes when they weren't talking, just looking into each other's eyes. He loved those eyes.

  "It started the day they searched my house," John said.

  He took the next forty-five minutes detailing everything that had happened between him and Megan, minus the sex, and minus the bookstore revelation. He didn't know how much Marcus believed, but he didn't care. He figured that Marcus knew something was being left out since John sidestepped a few questions. But Marcus didn't push. When he was finished, John leaned back in his chair and felt an enormous sense of relief. He would have liked to mention the sex and maybe he could have with Danny, but again, Danny was still a professional surgeon in every way. He just wouldn't understand the craziness of the whole thing. John could see Marcus reviewing questions in his head, trying to keep the story going…but it was pretty much spent for now. The only question that was really left to ask was, how will it all end?

  And that's when John's phone beeped. John immediately stood and moved to the counter, where his cell phone laid in a wicker basket along with his keys, next to the house phone. The only person who had been texting him recently had been Megan. He wondered if she was okay. Just as he grabbed it from the basket, Marcus's cell phone rang, blasting a ringtone of a Paramore song. Marcus dug the phone from his pocket, hit the button, and said, "Hello."

  John stood very still, reading the words from Megan. A sudden chill shot through his body.

  "You sure!?" shouted Marcus.

  John turned to see Marcus grabbing the photos with both hands, his cell phone cradled between his shoulder and chin.

  "Absolutely sure?" he asked the caller again.

  John knew what Marcus was hearing. Megan told him that the all newspapers and reporters monitor the police scanners at all times. The news was out.

  Marcus slapped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket.

  "I gotta go," he said, and he turned and leaped over the stack of books in the living room, yanked open the front door, and dashed out, leaving John behind.

  John grabbed his keys from the basket and rushed out the door behind Marcus thinking to himself…

  So this is how it all ends.

  CHAPTER 66

  Bell drove down Hawthorne Boulevard, his blue lights flashing, weaving past the slower cars who didn't hear his siren. He was uncharacteristically quiet. Focused. He was planning how to save the day, and because of this he wasn't paying attention to Megan, who was turned to one side typing out a text message to John.

  Bedroom Killer identified. Driving to his home now. 4669 Grace Lane.

  She hit send and lowered the phone. She flipped it to vibrate in case John called back, and casually raised her head, only to find Bell staring right at her. He turned back to face the street, knowing exactly what she had just done, thinking…

  Let him come.

  * * *

  The house was empty. They'd watched it for an hour before Detectives Bell and Ash arrived. They waited for the Lead Detective's signal, and then stormed the house. After checking each room—they called it clear. Another team had checked the garage, but it was empty too. A police cruiser drove Lindsey to the house from the station. Bell, Megan, Andy, and Kennedy ushered in, and surrounded, Lindsey. Andy showed Bell and Megan the photos of the victims that she had brought to him. Lindsey led them to the garage, showed them where she had peeked in the window the night before, then took them inside and pulled the key from its hiding place and opened the chest. Nothing else of interest seemed to be inside, but they closed and locked the chest and took it away as evidence anyway.

  "Where else could he be?" asked Bell.

  "He's either at the shop or at Smoot's Pool Hall," said Lindsey.

  "Smoot's," Megan said.

  "About ten miles down Highway 28. Just beyond the rail yard."

  "I know where it is," Bell said in an indignant tone that seemed to say keep your mouth shut. Andy noticed this and looked to Megan to see her reaction, but there wasn't one.

  Maybe she was just used to it.

  He hoped they got the guy today and maybe she could take a break. He was really surprised to see her get out of Bell's car when they arrived, but at the same time, not.

  "We've had a team at the shop since the time we started here—they haven't seen him, but he could be inside," said Kennedy.

  "Let's go," Bell said.

>   They moved from Isaac's home into a phalanx of cop cars and undercover cruisers, and then made their way to the industrial area of town to Isaac's Auto Shop. They went through the same moves as before. Everyone got into place, Bell gave the order, cops moved in with guns drawn, shouting Isaac's name. Six mechanics and the counter girl all dropped to the floor with their hands above their heads. They heard shouts of, He's not here from more than one of the people on the floor, but they checked every room anyway.

  "Goddammit?" said Bell, "I'm fucking tired of being shit on. I want this guy and I want him fucking today!”

  Everyone seemed to take two steps backward as Bell spewed his obscenities. Everyone except Megan. Again, Andy noticed and wondered what in the world she could be thinking. She was there, but she wasn't there.

  "Kennedy—keep a team here and then meet us at the pool hall."

  A team stayed behind, hiding out inside the shop's office and in cars parked near the shop, while the others drove off to the last place they knew the Bedroom Killer might be.

  CHAPTER 67

  When they got outside his house, John asked Marcus if he could ride along with him. At first, Marcus didn't think it was a good idea, but then he heard Morry's voice in his head shouting, Hey Dingleberry, he's your number one source—of course you want him along.

  They compared notes along the way, but there wasn't much. All John had was the killer's address. He tried to picture his wall map, with the pushpins. He'd looked at it so many times and although the name Grace Lane rang a bell, he couldn't remember where on the map he'd seen it. Marcus punched the address into the GPS mounted on his dashboard and the little machine droned out direction that took them right to Grace Lane—less than six miles from John's house.

  "Six miles," John said. "All this time, he was just six miles away."

  "Right off Hawthorne," added Marcus. "I drive Hawthorne every day."

  "Everyone does," John said.

  But as soon as they got to the end of the street, there was nowhere to go. The street was blocked by cop cars. All they could do was park, stand outside, and try to see what was happening—but it was too far away. John looked ahead and saw the Channel 9 van. A young woman was doing a stand-up on the opposite corner. He shot a text to Megan but it wasn't returned, which didn't surprise him. She was busy. Through all of the excitement, John had never considered that maybe Megan wouldn't be here. She was so mentally out of it when he helped her get home from the last killing. Maybe she had heard the news from her home and sent the text to let him know. But then, why not call? Because they were done, that's why. She said she wasn't sure about their future—the breakup phone message. Or maybe he was reading too much into it. John flipped his phone open and called Megan and, as if she were reading his mind, she answered by saying, "I'm here, but I can't talk now." Then she clicked off. That was all John needed to hear. She was back in the game. This was the end, or something close to it, and she deserved to be the one to arrest the guy. She had told him many times that all she wanted was to put the cuffs on this guy and strangle him herself. Or walk him into the police station.

  "Hey!" Marcus shouted. "I'll be right back."

  John watched as Marcus walked across the street to the Channel 9 van and spoke to the cameraman who had his camera trained on the street. He noticed a red-haired woman standing to one side talking on a cell phone as Marcus looked at her while he talked with the cameraman. The red-haired woman hung up her cell phone and approached Marcus. A moment later Marcus returned.

  "Who's that?" John asked.

  "Sabrina Clark. Channel 9," said Marcus.

  "What'd you find out?"

  "Not much. Seems to be activity at the house, but they haven't seen anyone getting dragged out in handcuffs."

  John wondered if he should tell Marcus that he knew Megan was down the street, but he decided otherwise. He did not want to get into another discussion about Megan right now. They both leaned against Marcus's car and looked down the street.

  "You know," said Marcus, "sometimes this can be a boring job when all you're doing is research in a library or on some database trying to find information…but this," he opened his arms to indicate the army of cop cars, "this is exciting as hell."

  "Is that why you became a reporter?" John asked.

  "I didn't think I would be any good making up stories as a novelist, so the next best thing would be to report the facts."

  "But you're a dying breed, right? Isn't the Internet taking away business?"

  Marcus nodded. "Yeah, kinda scares me, but I try not to think about it. They cut a lot of the older staff at the paper, people who deserved to be there more than me."

  With that comment, John witnessed a certain compassion in Marcus. It was a skill John had developed over the years from treating people and listening to others speak of his patience with praise. He wasn't entirely sure if it was from his time working at Greenwood Memorial or something he learned from his mother, who would always say, Everyone has some compassion somewhere. Of course she had never met a sociopath in her lifetime, so maybe she didn't know better.

  "I'm lucky though," said Marcus. "There's a guy at the paper named Morry—he's taught me a bunch. He's actually retired, but he comes in every day and sits at his old desk and barks orders at people just like the old days. Everyone loves him." They stood quiet for a moment, and then Marcus said, "Those photos—I really don't want to hurt you or anyone else."

  "I know," John said.

  "What will you do when this is over?"

  The questions caught John off guard. When this is over? He'd never really thought about it being over—not until Megan left the message on his machine. He imagined waking up and not having Megan to speak to, not having the killer to track down, not having much of anything to do, just like the past year of his life. He imagined that, and it scared him to death. John opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, Marcus jumped off the car and said, "They're moving."

  They followed the cops for about eight miles, stopping on a road lined with machine shops, warehouses, and auto and tire shops. A flurry of activity followed for the next ten minutes as the cops searched Isaac's Auto Shop. With their gaze fixed on the auto shop, John and Marcus watched and waited. They'd heard on the scanner that the killer was not at the house, and they were going to move in on the auto shop.

  Twenty minutes later—they were moving again.

  CHAPTER 68

  Bell drove. Megan stared forward. Andy and Kennedy followed behind in an unmarked cruiser and behind them a snaking line of nine police cars. Marcus and John were a half mile back, following the Channel 9 van. Marcus explained as they drove that the news vans were totally plugged in, and if there were choppers in the air—which there were—then so long as they followed the van, they would end up right where the cops were heading. The van turned onto the on-ramp for Highway 28 and three miles later drove past the Greenwood City rail yard.

  "I used to play in there when I was a kid," Marcus said.

  "What do you do in a rail yard?"

  "Are you kidding, what can't you do? Every train car is a mountain, or a fort, or a cave hiding a monster, or a super-agent hideout."

  John watched Marcus as he peered at his former playground, but when Marcus turned ahead—he slammed on his brakes.

  "Shit!"

  John lurched forward and shot his hand to brace himself against the dashboard, the shoulder strap digging into his right shoulder. The Channel 9 van had stopped on the highway and Marcus came within inches of slamming into it. With his heart pumping at light speed he looked over at John and said, "Sorry about that." He threw the car in reverse and turned the wheel to the right pulling the car over so John could see past the van.

  "What can you see?" Marcus asked.

  John leaned to his right and said, "Everyone's getting off the highway."

  "We're close," said Marcus.

  They followed the van off the highway and onto a frontage road lined with tall eucalyptus trees on each sid
e. The road ran parallel to the highway, and the tall trees blocked the setting sun, which would normally make it seem more ominous if not for the parade of police cars and news vans moving together down the road. They didn't drive for very long before every car began pulling over and parking on the right shoulder of the road. Marcus and John could see that the road ahead curved to the left and they had no idea why they were stopping.

  "Wait here. I'll see what's up." Marcus opened his door and walked to the guy driving the Channel 9 van.

  John watched Marcus talk with the driver then glanced behind him to see three other cars pulled over. As he did so, John noticed the envelope laying on the backseat. He reached behind, grabbed the envelope, laid it in his lap, and pulled the stack of photos out. He thumbed through them like he was shuffling cards, finally stopping at the first one showing him and Megan outside his house—the day they first met. He pulled out his phone, punched Megan's name, and sent her a text.

  You okay?

  A moment later his phone beeped and he saw her name, reading the one word answer.

  Yes.

  He smiled as he closed his phone and pulled out the photo of Bell holding him down with his gun at his temple. It pissed him off again. He slid the photos back into the envelope, and tossed the envelope into the backseat. When he turned around he saw Marcus walking back, and at the same time his phone beeped again. It was another message from Megan.

  Miss you.

  His heart jumped when he read the words.

  Maybe it's not over.

  But he didn't have time to dwell on it because the driver's door opened and Marcus got in. He laid the phone onto the side of his seat next to his leg and eyed Marcus with anticipation.

  "They're watching a place called Smoot's Pool Hall. We can stay here, or we can walk up about a quarter mile and watch."

  "Let's walk." John opened his door and joined Marcus on the side of the road and they walked together toward Smoot's Pool Hall.