The Bedroom Killer

by Taylor Waters

  Uniformed cops were everywhere, inside and out, and John caught sight of Andy, inside the hospital pointing and yelling orders at the cops to take up positions at the doors to keep the bystanders and reporters out of the hospital. He stopped a brief moment and watched as Megan was pushed by, then he locked eyes with John, and Andy passed on his fears through that one brief look.

  Yeah, thought John, I'm scared too.

  They took the gurney through the inner double doors to Operating Room One. John ran past, pushed through the surgery prep door, and stopped dead. Keating stood at the sink, washing off the antibacterial soap. Next to him was Dr. Richard Freeman, the hospital's chief cardiovascular surgeon. They would go in together—in case Megan had damage to her heart or parts nearby. Freeman would take the lead, with Keating assisting.

  A surgical assistant helped Keating snap on his gloves and tied his surgical mask.

  "You have a tube inside?" Keating said.

  John nodded. "Left upper chest, between three and four. It might be her heart."

  Keating nodded. "We'll know soon enough." His tilted his head to examine John's clothing, then he said, "Clean yourself up and get scrubbed. I want you in there." Then Keating pushed his body against the swinging door and disappeared.

  John looked down at his hands and shirt, covered in Megan's blood, then moved over to the scrub sink. Minutes later, he was scrubbed and walking into the operating room.

  CHAPTER 86

  The image on the twenty-seven-inch backlit LED high-resolution iMac screen showed two figures, Detective Gerald Bell and Dr. John Randall, standing six feet apart in the abandoned warehouse office, partially obscured by shadows. Jackie held the mouse in her right hand, dragging it quickly left and right, her right index finger tapping here and there. Behind her stood Marcus and Morry, each watching intently as Jackie worked the video editing program. She was a master.

  "What's this supposed to be back here?" she asked, pointing the mouse at a shadow behind who they all knew was Detective Bell.

  "That's Dr. Randall."

  "Is he hiding?" asked Jackie.

  "No," said Marcus, "that's where he was standing when I got there. I think he came in from the other side. I know it looks like he's hiding, but he's not. It's the angle from where I was shooting. God, I wish there were more light."

  "Let me work on that," said Jackie.

  She clicked more tabs. Shades and shadows changed. Some brightened. Layers peeled away. She hit play—the video started and they all heard Detective Bell speaking.

  "Turn it up!" shouted Morry, "I can't hear it."

  Jackie clicked and the image froze.

  "Hold on," she said and she stood and leaned behind her iMac. A moment later, she came up with a cable and plugged it into the side of the console. She sat down and hit play. Bell's voice boomed out of two speakers hanging on the wall facing them. She clicked the mouse, pausing the video, and turned back to face Morry and Marcus.

  "Better?"

  "Much better," said Morry.

  Jackie swung around and hit play again. They heard Bell's voice.

  "Do it. Shoot him."

  Morry raised his hand, "Stop."

  Jackie clicked the mouse and the screen froze.

  "What?" Marcus asked, exasperated by the delays and Morry's questions. Morry said, "Did he say shoot him?"

  "Yeah, can you believe that?" said Marcus. "He was telling Detective Ash to kill Isaac Graham. Just shoot him right there."

  All Morry did was nod and say, "Hmmm. Okay, let's go."

  Jackie clicked again and out of the wall speakers they heard… "What? There you are. What are you saying to her? Maybe you are a part of this thing after all. Yeah, that's it, I found you here—with Graham. I could make this work. You're crazy. Megan, read him his rights. Who the fuck are you to give orders? I'm the only one who gives orders here! You have the right to—No! Leave her alone, Gerald. Gerald? We're on first names now, Doc? You think you can step into my world, take my girl, and I'm just going to look the other way? She's not your girl. Oh but she is. Very much so. I took her under my wing when her husband died. I supported her. I gave her strength. I breathed life back into her. She's a great cop and a great detective and she works for me, and only me. There's no room for you, Doc. No room."

  "Wait. Stop it there!" shouted Morry.

  Jackie clicked and the image froze. Morry stepped around Jackie's chair and leaned in staring at the bottom left corner of the screen. He pointed his finger and said, "That thing there just moved."

  Marcus said, "That's Isaac Graham. Remember. I said he was on the floor."

  "Well how the hell can you see him down there? There's no light. What kinda camera operator are you anyway?"

  Marcus threw his hands up. "Jeez, have you been listening to anything I've said. It's not like I could just stand up and ask everyone to hold on a minute while I turn on some lights. I did the best I could."

  "Ladies, please," Jackie said.

  Mentor and student seemed ready to come to blows, but it was just nerves. They each knew they had something incredible, and they couldn't wait to figure out exactly what it was. Even though Marcus was there to film most of it, and he knew how it all ended, he wasn't there from the very beginning.

  He wanted Morry to tell him what he had. To decide just how best to present it. Sitting through the darkened video, trying to understand what was being said by whom and why it was being said was key to their story, knowing that might help tie together the photos of John and John's off-the-record confession. They were like little kids on Christmas day, and each time they opened the big box, they found another box inside. The frustration was palpable. They were sitting on the story of the year, one that was bound to go national. Morry said it before. Pulitzer. Sure as shit.

  Marcus could taste it.

  CHAPTER 87

  The room was cool and brightly lit. The walls were painted a bright white and the floor was a polished concrete. Large floor drains were fitted on two sides of the operating table. Ventilators and heart machines buzzed and pinged along the walls. A portable X-ray machine sat behind them, the film showing on a screen mounted on the nearby wall. John recognized Dr. Peters, the anesthesiologist. She sat at the head of the table, watching monitors, listening, and looking for any change in Megan's breathing pattern or skin complexion. Megan was under, a breathing tube down her throat. An IV was taped to the back of her right hand, with the tube leading up to a one-liter bag of plasma hanging from a pole. Five surgical assistants and residents surrounded Keating, who stood on Megan's left side, peering down, enlarging the original cut. They retracted the ribs so the opening was large enough to peer inside. Keating had on a pair of microscope glasses, which allowed him to see the most minute areas inside the work area. She was going to have one hell of a scar, thought John.

  If she lived.

  They had a Cell Saver going, taking the blood coming out of the chest tube, sending it through a filter, and then reintroducing it into Megan through a separate IV in her arm. John stepped around the end of the group and inched his way to the table. An assistant sidestepped and let him in. Some heads turned. The question they were all thinking—Is he back?

  Keating sensed his presence and without looking up said, "Good work with the tube, John. In a moving ambulance. Not easy." Keating handed off a tool and grabbed another that was waiting for him and pushed it into Megan's chest, his elbows twisting and swinging as he worked the tool.

  "Clamp that off right there, John," he said and looked up. John stared at him, then down at the clamp, held by one of the surgical techs.

  "Hurry John, we don't have a lot of time."

  John reached for the clamp, turned it into place, and closed it down on a piece of muscle, holding it back and away from the area Keating was working on. Keating leaned in and stared into Megan.

  "There it is," Keating said. His hand went out. "C-clamp." A clamp was slapped into his hand. He pushed it inside Megan, twisted, and gripped the h
andle closed. It locked. His hand came back out and he said, "Number four needle."

  Then the bells went off.

  "Heart rate's dropping, hemorrhagic shock!" warned Dr. Peters.

  "Almost there," said Keating, "Pull the cart just in case!"

  "Step back, Dr. Randall."

  John felt his body pushed backward without knowing who had actually pushed him. The crash cart was rolled over from the far wall and they placed it where John had just stood. He felt his adrenaline rise. He wanted to help. But he knew he would just get in the way. They were a team, and they knew what they were doing.

  "Juice it up but hold it until I say so. I'm very close!" shouted Keating.

  John felt his blood pressure jump, his heart pumping hard.

  Not again.

  Not now.

  Not Megan.

  CHAPTER 88

  Keating quickly stitched up the small artery, closing off the blood loss. In minutes, the blood that was being drained from Megan's chest cavity and reintroduced was enough to stabilize her blood pressure. Keating pulled clamps and the retracting clamp, and then eased her ribs back together, massaging the skin back into place. He stepped back and handed the stitching needle to John without saying a word. Megan was breathing on her own now, and her pulse was steady. John looked across at the nurse and attendants, each one watching him. They were people he knew, not closely—but he'd come to know faces, by meeting other doctors and nurses at parties, in the cafeteria, or at formal hospital functions. They knew his story. They too had been watching the news, getting snippets here and there as they worked their shift, assuming today would be just another normal day in OR. Then word spread of the shooting and they heard John was coming in too. As John stood there with the threaded needle in his hand, they each knew what this moment meant. It showed in a couple of the women's eyes. A slight squinting. They were tearing up and smiling under their masks.

  John lowered his gaze, inserted the needle, and began stitching up Megan. He threaded the last stitch, tied it off, and began to ask for scissors, but found them already waiting for him in an outstretched hand. He cut the thread, and asked them to finish up with a number three bandage. Keating nodded to the others and everyone slowly moved out of the room. John stepped to the head of the bed and looked down at Megan. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her hair was messed up, and a bit of drool had run down her cheek. It didn't matter to him. He reached his hand up and pushed her hair back, leaned down, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then he brought his mouth to her ear, and whispered, "I love you."

  CHAPTER 89

  Keating pulled his face mask down. "Good work. The next twenty-four hours will be key. I'll be checking on her in recovery every hour. She should make a full recovery." Keating waited a moment, then added, "John, she wouldn't have made it."

  "I'm glad it was you," John said.

  Keating raised an eyebrow.

  John said, "I mean it." Keating nodded back, patted John on the shoulder, then turned to go when John added, "I'll wait for you and we'll go tell everyone."

  Keating stopped, turned, and shook his head, saying, "You tell 'em." Then he turned back and pushed through the scrub room door.

  Danny and Carrie were waiting for John in the long hallway just outside the operating room. Carrie gave him a hug. Danny shook his hand. John didn't know how to respond. He kept thinking that she shouldn't have been shot at all and Bell shouldn't be dead. He should have done something sooner inside the warehouse. But then he heard Megan's voice in his head.

  Don't beat yourself up. That's what she would say.

  You can't fix everything.

  So he stopped. He didn't think back. He asked himself, What do you have to do now? What can you do to look outward instead of inward?

  "John…"

  John heard Danny's voice and looked up.

  "Everybody's waiting out there,—and there's an Internal Affairs guy that wants to speak to you."

  John nodded. "Thanks. Both of you."

  Then he moved past Danny and Carrie, came around a corner, and walked down the emergency room hallway. Other doctors and attendants were there, tending to other patients. They stopped moving and watched him pass. John stopped and peered into Room Four, where Detective Bell had arrested him.

  It was empty.

  He continued walking and heard someone say, "Good work, Dr. Randall." But he didn't stop, nor did he look back. He kept walking until he came to the double doors, where he stopped. He looked at his watch—1:45 a.m. He could hear voices on the other side. There was no use waiting. He punched the red button on the wall, the double doors opened toward him, and the room exploded with sound.

  CHAPTER 90

  What he saw on the other side stunned him. The emergency waiting room was crammed with police. Uniformed officers, plainclothes, men and women in suits, ties loosened. Reporters.

  Someone yelled, "There he is!"

  Immediately the flashes came as the reporters rushed forward. The police quickly built a wall around John. Someone yelled for quiet. All faces were trained on John, No wonder Keating didn't want to come out here. John scanned the group. He saw Mayor Messina and Sabrina Clark. But where was Marcus? Why wouldn't Marcus be here? John expected Marcus to be right up front. He felt a bit let down. Wouldn't Marcus want to be here?

  "John?"

  John's head turned to his far right and there was Andy. His face looked like he'd aged ten years. The bags under his eyes were darker.

  He shot Bell.

  How long ago was that?

  "John?"

  John blinked and turned back to face the crowd again. It was silent except for the television hanging on the far wall still reporting on the case.

  "Detective Ash is out of surgery, in ICU, John said. “She’s in intensive care. The next twenty-four hours will be the test.”

  That's when the crowd broke their silence and the questions began to fly. Andy pushed forward, grabbed John, and pulled him through the crowd as uniformed police created a route to the front door. Outside it was no different. John felt déjà vu as the police dragged him through a crowd of strangers and reporters and placed into the back of a police car. But this time he was not handcuffed, and the car was Andy's cruiser.

  Andy jumped in and started the car, looked back at John and said, "Sorry John, we both have a lot of questions to answer down at the station."

  CHAPTER 91

  John sat across the table from Detectives Freeman and Tonkin, each with Greenwood Police Department's Internal Affairs Division. They had grilled John for three hours, starting with the night of his attempted suicide all the way through to the car chase and shooting death of Detective Bell, with only a short bathroom break and a small breakfast of coffee and Danish.

  Freeman said, "But John, why would Detective Bell, a highly respected homicide detective, ever issue an order like that? It makes no sense."

  "He did," John said.

  "Kill him?"

  "Yes," John said.

  "Kill Isaac Graham. Not arrest him. Just kill him?"

  "Yes," John said.

  "Doesn't make sense," Freeman said again.

  "What does Andy say?" asked John.

  "Detective Anderson is being interviewed by others—so at this point I don't know what he's saying. For now, that doesn't matter. What matters is what you're saying, and it makes no sense. I've got a dead detective, John. Why do I have a dead—"

  "Ask Andy!" John yelled, smacking down his hand. "Ask Andy! Ask Andy! Ask Andy!"

  Tonkin stood and came around the desk, "Easy. Dr. Randall."

  "Ask Megan when she wakes up!" John shouted.

  "We fully intend to, John. Now, please calm down. I know this is stressful. We have to go to our bosses with what happened and why. There's got to be more to this story," said Tonkin.

  Freeman leaned forward, his finger stabbing the table, "I need a goddamned explanation that makes sense!"

  That's when the door burst open and a man leaned i
n and said, “Get out here. You need to see this.” He pointed to John and said, “And bring him.”

  The six-minute, forty-three-second video, which came to be known by all as the Bedroom Killer Video, was uploaded to the Greenwood Times website by Jackie at exactly 7:00 a.m. that morning. Morry and Marcus spent a good deal of time with the paper's senior editor, corporate attorneys, and the publisher of the Greenwood Times discussing the consequences of posting the video. Within fifteen minutes, it was picked up by the Associated Press, which took it around the world.

  They stood in the large conference room and watched the video together. When Bell fell to the ground from getting kicked in the groin, he fell in one of the two areas that were fairly well lit. So when Megan kicked Bell it was in full view. Then they all watched John run in and grab Megan, then heard Andy shout "Get her out of here!" Andy was then seen crossing the screen, right to left, cuffing and picking up Isaac Graham, and reading him his rights as they walk past the screen again, left to right. Then, in the lighted background, there's movement as Bell sat up, reached into the shadows, and came up with his gun and yelled, "Randall!" They hear Detective Anderson yell, "Look out!" Then came the six gunshots.

  A collective groan emanated around the room. But it wasn't what was said in the early portion of the film or the gunshots that truly shook John and the rest of them. It was what they saw and heard after John, Megan, and Andy left the room. The camera stayed on Bell.

  And Bell moved.

  They watched as his arm rose into the air, like a played out rock star who collapsed in a drug-induced stupor on an illuminated stage. He rolled to one side and tried to sit up. Then he fell back down. They heard him cough and say, "My house, My camera, My tape," just before he died?The video ended on the image of Bell lying on the floor. A silence filled the conference room as the crowd of investigators tried to digest what they just witnessed. Freeman turned to John and said, “Why did he say that?” John shook his head and said, “I don’t know.”