by Tim Kizer
“Oh, yeah, you could be right.” Norris nodded. “This guy is probably pissed off that Kathy survived.”
“Where do you think they moved her?” Richard lined up his shot and sunk the two ball into a pocket.
Norris shrugged. “Maybe to another hospital, just like you said.”
“Can you find out where she is?”
“Sure. I’ll ask Fred tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Steve.”
“No problem.” He patted Richard on the shoulder. "Don’t forget to talk to a lawyer about the fingerprints. I would do it tonight if I were you. I’m serious."
4.
Richard spent the next day waiting for Norris’s call. He was going to head to the place Kathy was held as soon as the detective gave him its address.
He placed his cellphone on the coffee table in the living room. Every time he left the living room, he took the cell with him, not wanting to risk missing the call. To kill time, he rehearsed his conversation with Kathy. He had to take into account the possibility that the police would eavesdrop on them.
First, he would ask how she was feeling. He would buy her flowers to show how much he cared about her.
Second, he would mention the knife, in a casual manner. Tell her about the fingerprints. How would she react to the news about the fingerprints? Would she get scared? Start to panic? Anyway, he wanted this information to make a profound impact on Kathy, to shock her. He needed her to feel the urge to act.
Third, he would tell Kathy that he would probably be arrested pretty soon because of the fingerprints on the knife. Arrested and prosecuted.
Just imagine how furious she would be!
5.
The landline phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, Richard grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear.
"Steve?" he said excitedly.
It was not Detective Norris.
"Richard, you’re the best!" Doris Logan exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”
Richard was surprised to hear Mary’s mother’s voice. He was positive that the Logans were going to leave him alone now that Mary was officially dead.
Admittedly, he was pleased by Doris’s compliment.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I want to thank you for the money."
"What money?"
"The money you sent me. I just received your money order.”
The money order? Richard creased his forehead. He hadn’t sent Doris any money orders.
"Don't mention it," he said.
"Four thousand dollars. Richard, I don’t know how to thank you."
"You’re welcome, Doris. I'm happy that you're happy."
Could he have forgotten that he had sent Doris the money?
Theoretically, yes.
“You’re such a great guy. To tell you the truth, when we buried Mary, I thought that... Well, never mind."
She thanked him again and then hung up.
Someone had sent Doris four thousand dollars, using his name as a sender, that was the most plausible explanation he could think of right now. Some idiot had given away four grand and let Richard Brower get all the credit.
Who had sent the money? Why?
What did it matter anyway? Doris Logan was not his relative anymore; he shouldn’t waste his time thinking about it.
Norris didn't call that day.
6.
Richard was on pins and needles all day on Saturday. To keep himself from panicking, he started making a list of possible reasons why Norris was silent.
Most likely, the detective hadn't met with Pryor yet. Or maybe Pryor had refused to tell him where Kathy had been moved. The latter scared Richard; he did not want to think about it.
There was no reason to believe that Pryor hadn't told Norris the address. He and Norris were coworkers, and coworkers usually shared information with each other. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, and all that.
At a quarter to seven in the evening, Richard went to Alexander’s. He hoped he would meet Norris there, but, unfortunately, the detective did not show up. After dinner, he spent an hour at The Roger Lounge.
Later that night, Richard decided to call Norris. He wondered why he hadn't done it before. He dialed the detective's number, listened to the ringing until the voicemail greeting came on, and then hung up. Five minutes later, he called Norris again. The result was the same as before: no one answered the phone. Richard did not leave a message on the voicemail this time, either.
7.
On Sunday, Richard drove to Norris's place. The house was empty. The detective’s neighbor said that the Norrises must have gone out of town. He ventured a guess that they might be at their cabin in Idaho. Richard's heart contracted with anxiety. Now he would have to wait at least until Monday to find out Kathy’s whereabouts. He might be arrested by then. Pryor must be chomping at the bit to slap handcuffs on his wrists.
But it was not over yet. He would have an opportunity to talk to Kathy during his trial. Yes, there had to be a way for him to get in touch with her during the trial.
He felt some relief. He had found a straw to grasp at when things went really bad.
8.
How had a person felt who had awoken in a cabin of a sinking Titanic, roused by screams coming from the deck? What thoughts had passed through that person’s mind when he or she realized that the ship was going down? How had that person felt when the propellers rose out of the water?
Richard believed he knew how that person had felt, what dreadful thoughts had filled his or her head. These dreadful thoughts entered his mind soon after he noticed that a knife had disappeared from the kitchen.
Yes, one knife was gone! He’d had six of them before, and now there were only five left. He searched the entire kitchen but didn't find it.
The knife had been stolen. As soon as Richard realized that, the truth dawned upon him. He finally figured out what had happened.
They had stolen the knife and then put it under the bushes near the place where Kathy had been attacked. Planted evidence, that was what it was called.
Richard wanted to know if the serial killer was behind this. He was feeling like a passenger on a sinking ship—doomed, horrified, and helpless.
Someone was trying to frame him. Someone had attacked Kathy and then planted his knife, which had his fingerprints, near the crime scene so the police would later find it.
They had stolen the knife from his house because they had assumed it would have his fingerprints. Very clever. And insidious.
They. Did the serial killer have an accomplice? He probably did. Maybe even more than one.
Jesus Christ. He was in big trouble. They were after him, and they were not fucking around.
Who were these people?
9.
What if Norris died? What if he got crushed by a truck or grabbed a live wire? Every day hundreds, if not thousands, of people died in accidents, and Norris, like everyone else, was not immune to them.
That night, as he lay in bed, Richard asked himself if he should simply disappear. Run away from justice. He suddenly realized that this idea had been on his mind for quite some time. It was both the easiest and the most difficult way out. The easiest because it immediately solved all his current problems. The most difficult because it created many new, possibly insurmountable, problems.
Running away would be suicide. He still had hope. He was not down and out yet.
10.
Maybe he really had attacked Kathy? Maybe he had killed those women?
There could be something wrong with his memory. He murdered Susie and forgot about it. Then he killed four more women—and forgot again. And then he forgot attacking Kathy. If that was the case, the knife found at the crime scene was not stolen. It had his fingerprints because he was the attacker.
Was it a split personality or just amnesia?
Idiot. That’s crazy talk. There’s no way you could have forgotten all this, pal. You could forget your name, your address, or what year
it is, but you would never forget murdering five people. You need to be schizophrenic to do that, and you’re not schizophrenic. You remember everything. You have a great memory. You remember that Sean cut your hand; you remember that Meg had a mole on her right shoulder. And if you killed five women and chopped off their ears, you’d remember that forever. Such memories are impossible to destroy. You also remember the avengers.
The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. For some reason Richard was sure that it was a special call. He picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
"Richard, I've been trying to call you this whole time but couldn’t find a phone."
It was Kathy.
Richard felt as though he had gotten an electric shock. He jumped up with surprise, barely suppressing a scream.
"It's you. Kathy, it’s you," he mumbled in a husky voice.
"Yes, it's me. I miss you, Richard. It’s been so long since we last met. How are you doing?"
"I’m okay. Where are you? Are you in a hospital?"
"Yes, I'm in a hospital. Wait a second."
Richard heard someone call Kathy’s name. It was probably a nurse.
"Just a moment," Kathy said in an intense whisper. A few seconds later she hung up.
Perplexed, Richard listened to the disconnect tone for a while, not wanting to believe that the call had ended. Then he laid the receiver back in the cradle and began waiting for the phone to ring again.
11.
Kathy did not call back to resume their interrupted conversation. And it did not surprise him at all.
Richard lay on the sofa, gazing at the ceiling and thinking about Kathy's call.
It was obvious that the police did not allow Kathy to use a phone.
Shit.
Dammit! Kathy had called him. He’d gotten a lucky break. He’d been so close to solving this fucking problem! He had stood at the door to freedom, and there had been only one step left to take. One little step.
Pryor had put Kathy in complete isolation. No contact with the suspect. This motherfucker must be very proud of himself.
Okay, let's stop the handwringing and calm down. He just needed to wait for Norris to come back home. Today was Monday, Norris had gone to work.
Will Pryor arrest me today? It’s certainly possible.
Tonight he would visit Norris. Hopefully, the detective would have some good news for him.
12.
Who had stolen the knife?
Could it be Bob Logan?
Why not? Since Bob was an ex-convict, it wasn’t too far-fetched to suggest that he either could pick locks or knew someone who could. He may have asked his mother to steal that knife when she was here: Richard wasn’t sure when he had last seen the knife in question.
Bob Logan was not as simple as he seemed. Wishing to destroy his brother-in-law (perhaps because he was angry that their insurance murder plot had failed; or maybe because he had never liked his sister’s husband), Bob decided to frame him. He had figured that a knife with Richard's fingerprints could be useful. Bob’s plan was to kill a woman, any woman, and leave the knife near her body. He was probably going to make it look like the work of a serial killer. After hearing about the birthday party at John Welles's house, Bob had rushed there, caught Kathy, and attempted to kill her. Kathy's death would have meant a definite life sentence for Richard Brower. Thank God, he had prevented Bob from finishing her.
This theory looked plausible. It had no contradictions or weak spots. Anger and hatred were among the most powerful drivers of human behavior.
Or maybe it was the avengers who had stolen the knife? He did not want it to be them.
He had to disappear. Now he had to skip town. He had to!
13.
Richard headed for Norris’s house right after dinner. His excitement grew by the minute, it was choking him.
He got lucky. He found Norris reading a newspaper on the patio. When the detective saw Richard, he smiled, rose from the chair, and walked to the head of the steps.
"Richard, I couldn’t wait to see you," he said, shaking Richard's hand.
"Where’s Kathy?" Richard’s stomach was turning over with nervousness.
Norris put his arm around his shoulders and took him inside the house.
"Would you like something to drink?” the detective asked.
“Did you find out where Kathy is?”
“No, I’m still working on it."
"What?" Richard entire body broke out in a sweat.
"I haven’t had a chance to talk to Pryor. He’s never at his desk.”
“Why?”
“It’s a complex case, which requires a lot of legwork. You can’t catch a killer, sitting in the office, you know.”
"Can you call his cellphone?"
"I’d rather talk to him in person. You see, I don’t know the guy very well. If I ask for a favor over the phone, he might get pissed off.”
Norris gestured Richard to sit down at the dining table and said loudly, "Toni, come look who’s here."
A few seconds later, a young woman in a long red silk robe appeared in the room.
"Let’s eat. I'm starving." Norris turned his face to Richard. “Are you hungry?”
Before Richard could reply, the woman shook his hand and said, "Toni.”
"Richard," Richard muttered.
“Nice to meet you, Richard,” the woman said.
"Believe it or not, I had a feeling you would come," Norris said. "We’re having stuffed peppers tonight. You’re going to love them. Toni makes great stuffed peppers."
After a hesitation, Richard asked, "So about Pryor? Did you talk to him?"
"Pryor?” Norris put his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I promise you I'll catch him tomorrow morning and get the address. Don't worry, Richard. Everything’s going to be fine."
CHAPTER 29
1.
Maybe Bob Logan was one of them? Maybe it was Bob who had stolen the knife from his house.
He must run. This time luck might turn her back on him.
I’m getting too old for this shit, Richard thought.
What was he waiting for? He had already made the decision to get out of Washington.
He would leave the state after he cleared his name with the police. If he skipped town without fixing this problem, the cops would decide that he was the one who had attacked Kathy, and would launch a manhunt for him.
He should act now. The first thing he had to do was obtain the address of the place where Kathy was held. In order for this to happen, Norris had to talk to Pryor. According to Norris, Pryor was difficult to catch. Here’s what he would do: he would help Norris get in touch with Pryor. He would call Pryor at home and ask him to call Norris. It wasn’t a brilliant idea, but it was better than nothing.
By the way, why not ask Pryor directly for the address? There was a chance, though small, that the detective would tell him where Kathy was held.
Finding Pryor's home phone number proved to be not as hard as he had feared. According to the people search website Richard checked, there was only one Fred Pryor who was the right age in the entire Seattle-Bellevue-Everett area. It cost Richard $4.95 to get the phone number since it was not listed in the white pages.
Rocking in his chair, Richard dialed the number from his cellphone. The call was answered after two rings.
"Hello," a woman’s voice said.
"Can I talk to Fred?"
"Just a moment." Richard heard a knock: the woman put the receiver on the table and went to call Fred. This surprised Richard. A hard-working detective was sitting at home in the middle of a weekday? Maybe it was the wrong Fred Pryor?
It was about half a minute before Richard heard Pryor’s voice.
"Here's Pryor."
"Good afternoon, Mister Pryor. It's Richard Brower."
"Oh, Richard. How are you doing?"
The detective didn’t sound irritated.
"I hate to disturb you—"
"No, it’s okay, you didn't disturb
me," Pryor interrupted him. "I've been sitting home for five days now. I sprained my damn ankle playing basketball.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
So Pryor had been home for the past five days? It looked like Norris had been lying to him.
Richard clenched his teeth with anger. Son of a bitch!
“I’m all right now. I'm going back to work tomorrow."
"I'm glad to hear that. I just wanted to ask how your investigation was going."
Richard suddenly found that his heart had begun to pound rapidly.
Why had Norris lied to him about Pryor? Had he even tried to contact Pryor?
"Investigation? We've made some progress. I’d say prospects are good."
"That's great." Richard squeezed the phone. "Thanks for the update. Again, I apologize for calling you at home, Mister Pryor. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Richard hung up, slowly rose from the chair.
‘I've been sitting home for five days now.’
Maybe Norris didn’t know that Pryor had sprained his ankle? Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.
He should tell Norris that Pryor was home. And he would do that in person so he could see the expression on the detective’s face.
2.
When the doorbell rang, Richard was in the master bedroom, getting ready for the visit to Norris. On the way to the entrance hall he wondered who it could be.
They came to arrest me, he thought, approaching the front door.
It was Norris.
"Hello, Richard." The detective shook Richard’s hand. "Good thing I caught you at home."
"What happened?"
The look of seriousness on Norris’s face and the gravity in his voice made Richard prick up his ears.
"We got that psycho. Two hours ago."
After a short silence, Richard replied, "Congratulations, Steve. How did you do that?"
"I'll tell you in the car. I hope you don't mind coming with me."
"Where?"
"To the sheriff’s department. The thing is that this man demands to meet with you, Richard."
Richard froze. "What does he want from me? How does he know me?"