The Serial Killer's Wife

by Robert Swartwood

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Relax,” Julia said. “It’s not loaded.”

  “I don’t care. She doesn’t need a gun.”

  “Yes, she does. She’ll need to check it in once you two arrive. Without one it might raise suspicions.”

  Bradford maintained his grip around Julia’s wrist for another couple of seconds, and then let go. It was clear he wasn’t happy about the situation but knew it wasn’t worth fighting.

  Elizabeth took the proffered (and unloaded) weapon and, without thinking, said, “Thank you.”

  Julia looked like she might just say You’re welcome but caught herself and turned back around. She opened her door and stepped out.

  Elizabeth got out, too. She took a moment to stretch her legs and clip the holstered gun onto her belt. “What are you going to do?”

  “Get something to drink. Maybe a latte. You know, try to relax.”

  Julia Hogan even attempted a smile, but her eyes carried a worry that couldn’t be hidden.

  Elizabeth slid into the front passenger seat. Julia shut the door and walked around the front of the car to David Bradford’s side. He rolled down his window.

  “Good luck,” Julia said. She went to step away but Bradford reached out and grabbed her arm and pulled her down to kiss her deeply on the lips.

  Leaning back, Bradford said, “We’ll be back soon.”

  • • •

  THE ENTIRE DRIVE there she had been feeling nervous—or something close to nervous—but now in the front passenger seat, the prison less than a mile away, she had begun to shake. Her breathing increased. She tried to hide both things but David Bradford caught them.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t screw this up.”

  “I won’t.”

  But then when they came around a bend in the road and the prison appeared she wondered if that was true. More importantly, though, she wondered if she would even be able to go through with this. Five years ago she had decided to take her son and leave her old life behind. Leave Eddie behind. She had never wanted to see him or even think of him again. He was a monster. He had destroyed their lives. He could rot in a metal box for all she cared. Or no. She had wished worse for him. Some kind of torture. Maybe starvation. Something medieval, definitely.

  And now ... now she was coming to see him.

  As they approached the prison gates, Bradford said, “You need to relax.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”

  But it wasn’t that easy. Not for her. And it didn’t make sense, because after everything she had been through from the very start of this, when she received that first phone call, she had managed to fight through all her worries and doubts and fears. But this was different, and she knew it.

  “I think I might throw up,” she whispered. The temperature in the car had suddenly risen. Her forehead had begun to perspire.

  They were on the drive leading into the prison. The walls were only yards away. David Bradford was already going at a slow speed, and now stopped.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Turning back around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to fuck this up.”

  In the back of her throat she could taste bile rising but managed to fight it back down.

  “No, I won’t,” she managed.

  He stared at her, studying her face. After a moment, he smiled. “Who am I kidding? At this point, we’re both fucked.” He pressed his foot back down on the gas and drove them through the gates.

  • • •

  THE WARDEN’S NAME was Henry Banks. He was a short man with gray hair and thin glasses. He met them right after they’d shown their IDs and checked in their weapons and walked through the metal detectors. He stood with his penny loafers pointing straight out and his hands clasped in front of him.

  “Special Agent David Bradford,” he said with a nod and held out his hand. “It’s been a while.”

  “Yes it has.” Bradford gestured to Elizabeth. “This is Special Agent Julia Hogan.”

  “Pleasure,” Henry Banks said, shaking her hand, too. “Are you with ViCAP?”

  She hesitated, not knowing what to say, but it didn’t matter. Bradford answered for her.

  “She’s not.”

  Henry took his hand back from her and returned to the hands-clasped-in-front-of-him pose. He said to Bradford, “And from what I understand, neither are you. So what exactly are you two doing here?”

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. She tasted that bile again in the back of her throat. Everything so far had not been going smoothly, but it had been progressing, and here they were so close to getting what they had come for. Except for this man. This man asking a very simple and direct question.

  “Why the third degree?” Bradford asked kindly.

  “Because while I may be the warden of this facility, I am still a state employee and I always need to watch my step. The way the economy is, I can’t afford to lose my pension.”

  “Nobody ever said you would.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “You were kicked out of ViCAP five years ago. From what I heard, you were reassigned to be some desk jockey in Oregon. And that, as I’m sure you know, is not close to this prison at all.”

  Despite the sudden tension, Bradford managed to keep the kind tone in his voice. “Call my SAC. He’ll confirm the reason for my visit.”

  “Maybe I already did contact him.”

  “No you didn’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Bradford sighed and gave Elizabeth an irritated glance. “Listen,” he said to the warden, “haven’t you been watching the news? Elizabeth Piccioni has resurfaced. She’s a person of interest in a number of strange murders that have occurred over the past forty-eight hours.”

  “So what”—Henry Banks grinned—“you think The Monk will give you an idea where she is?”

  “Is that what they’re calling him now?” Elizabeth asked before she could stop herself.

  Henry Banks didn’t seem to notice her sudden break of reticence. “The man has apparently taken a vow of silence. Been that way since he came here. Nobody’s heard him speak, though occasionally we’ll get some nut job claiming they heard him whispering something.” He shook his head. “Cries for attention on their part is what it is.”

  Bradford gestured to Elizabeth again. “Agent Hogan is simply my driver today. After Elizabeth Piccioni’s sudden reappearance, I was requested to come here and try to speak to Edward.” He frowned. “I’m surprised you weren’t contacted by one of the SACs.”

  “And what—keep me in the loop?” The warden gave a dry laugh. “Hardly. Listen, like I told you on the phone I can give you a half hour with The Monk, no problem there. But you’re wasting your time. The man won’t speak for anybody.”

  Bradford shrugged. “Then what’s the harm in at least trying? If anything, I can bounce some new jokes off him. See if he cracks a smile.”

  • • •

  THE WARDEN ESCORTED them personally to the interview room. The room in question was equipped with video and audio recording devices. Bradford requested they be kept off.

  “You know,” he said, smiling, “in case I decide to do something foolish.”

  Then they were in the room, which contained just a table and three chairs. Two of the chairs were positioned on the far side of the table facing the door. These were the ones David Bradford and Elizabeth took. They sat there, neither one of them speaking (Elizabeth had begun to shake again), until a few minutes passed and the door opened and Elizabeth saw her husband for the first time in five years.

  CHAPTER 54

  TWO GUARDS ESCORTED him into the room. His arms and legs were shackled. He had on the typical prison jumpsuit. He looked surprisingly good for having been in prison for five years. His features had become more pronounced. It was clear he had be
en working out and eating less.

  One guard pulled out the chair facing Elizabeth and Bradford; the other guard shoved him down onto the chair. Then they backed away and left the room, closing the door behind them.

  “Hello, Eddie,” Bradford said. “How’s it hanging?”

  Eddie didn’t say anything. He just sat on the chair and stared at the FBI agent who had come five years before to arrest him. It wasn’t a glare, either—Elizabeth had assumed that was all he would give them at first—but a look of complete indifference. He was here, Bradford was there, and still the world turned. It was the nature of things. No sense being angry about it.

  “Or should I say, hello there, Monk. Would you prefer that instead?”

  The kind and good-natured tone in David Bradford’s voice was starting to peak. Elizabeth thought she heard a tremor in it. In the next couple of seconds, if her husband kept sitting there with his cold indifferent stare and said nothing, Bradford might lose it.

  “Eddie,” she said softly.

  This entire time he hadn’t once glanced at her. She knew this because the entire time she had been watching his eyes. Now those eyes—light brown eyes, speckled with some green, eyes she used to love staring into—shifted briefly to hers, then shifted back to continue the indifferent stare with Bradford ... and then shifted back to hers again.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. His lips parted. It looked like he was going to speak but then stopped. Cleared his throat. Tried again. Still nothing.

  “Do you need some water?” Bradford asked. “Maybe a beer?”

  Eddie ignored him. Still staring at Elizabeth, he finally managed, “Liz?”

  Her throat tightened. Her body refused to move. Finally she managed to nod, just slightly, and whispered, “Yes.”

  “You don’t need to whisper,” David Bradford said.

  That indifferent stare quickly turned into a glare, directed straight at the FBI agent. His face suffusing with color, Eddie said to her, “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to save your son,” David Bradford said coolly, knowing a verbal push was exactly what Elizabeth needed to continue. “And in the process, trying to save mine, too.” He glanced at her and nodded. “Tell him.”

  Eddie’s gaze now stayed glued on hers. His voice remained flat. “What’s happened to Thomas?”

  Now it was Elizabeth who had no voice. Her first instinct was to correct him, explain that their son’s name wasn’t Thomas anymore but Matthew. But that, she feared, would cause too much confusion. What she needed to do now was stick to the basics.

  “He doesn’t have much time. Clarence abducted him. He’s strapped a bomb around his neck, a whole thing of C-4.”

  Eddie looked like he had just been slapped. “A bomb around his neck? Clarence—” He paused. “Clarence who?”

  “Clarence Applegate.”

  He frowned again. “Clarence Applegate is doing this?”

  “He’s already killed a number of people. God, Eddie, he killed Jim last night.”

  “Jim?” The frown deepened. “No, that can’t be right. That can’t—” His eyes shifted to Bradford again, and he stopped talking. Was quiet for a couple of long seconds, and then said again in his flat voice, “So let me guess—the person doing this wants the fingers.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, nodding, feeling like they were finally making progress. “Yes, that’s exactly right. Clarence calls them your trophies. He says ...”

  But Eddie was no longer paying her any attention. His focus was back on David Bradford, just as it had been when he first entered the room. And the indifferent stare had been replaced again by the glare.

  “I’m sorry, Liz, but I can’t help you.”

  “What? But you have to!”

  “He brought you here?” Eddie said, lifting his chin at David Bradford.

  “Yes. His son has been abducted, too.”

  “And you know this for a fact?”

  Beside her Bradford shifted in his chair. He leaned forward. Elizabeth reached out and placed a hand on his arm to keep him seated.

  “I saw a picture,” she said.

  “I’ve seen a lot of pictures. None of them ever proved anything.”

  Beneath her hand she could feel Bradford’s entire body trembling. She squeezed down on his arm to keep him in place, but he shrugged her off and shot to his feet, knocking the chair to the ground.

  “You son of a bitch! How fucking selfish are you? You’re not going to help us because my son’s life is also in danger? You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

  He came around the table, and Elizabeth was sure he was going to deck Eddie, but Bradford kept walking toward the door.

  She rose to her feet. “Where are you going?”

  “Leaving,” Bradford said simply.

  “But you can’t!” She turned to Eddie who hadn’t moved in his seat, still facing forward. “Please, Eddie. Please tell us.”

  At the door, David Bradford shook his head with disgust. He raised a fist to knock on the door but paused when Eddie spoke.

  “Do you remember when I proposed to you?” He was still facing forward, not looking at her. “We were down at the Inner Harbor, right next to the water. On the drive back we were both hungry and stopped at that Denny’s. Do you remember?”

  She just stared down at him.

  “And they had one of those crane games in the lobby. Two chances to win for a buck. So we put in a buck, and do you remember what we won?”

  “Of course,” she whispered. “A dragon.”

  “Yes.” His mouth twitched in what may have been a smile. “We called him Denny the Dragon. We decided to keep him for when we had a child. It would be the baby’s first stuffed animal.”

  At the door, David Bradford said, “Fuck this bullshit. Elizabeth, come on.”

  Eddie turned his face to look up at her. In his eyes was more sadness than she ever thought she’d see in a man convicted of six murders. “Right now he’s the answer you’re looking for. He knows.”

  “He knows what?”

  Eddie just nodded. “He knows.”

  CHAPTER 55

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” Bradford said, driving them through the prison gate. “Just what the fuck was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said quietly. She was slumped in the passenger seat, staring out through the windshield.

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”

  She looked at him sharply. “Are you crazy? You actually think I’m hiding something from you?”

  “Hmm, well let’s see. You were the one who went into hiding five years ago when your husband was arrested. Doesn’t quite make you the most reliable person in the world, does it? So come on, spill. Denny the Dragon. Just what the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated, though she wondered if that was true. She remembered the stuffed animal—a purple plush thing with black marble eyes and a large nose and a pair of green wings sprouting from its back—but she had trouble actually placing what may have happened to it.

  “A sociopath,” David Bradford murmured. “Your husband is truly a grade-A sociopath.”

  They didn’t speak the rest of the way to the strip mall. When Bradford pulled up in front of the Starbucks (he didn’t bother parking in a space), he turned in his seat to glare at her.

  “Get the fuck in the back.”

  Before she could move, though, the back door opened and Julia Hogan slid into the seat. “How’d it go?” she asked anxiously.

  “Sit up front with me,” Bradford said.

  Julia ignored him. “How did it go?”

  Bradford gritted his teeth. Sensing that neither woman was going to do as he had instructed, he shoved the car in gear and got them moving forward. Without being told to Elizabeth unclipped the gun from her belt and handed it back to Julia.

  Julia sensed the tension at once. She took the gun and sat back in her seat with a sigh. “How bad was it?”

>   “Bad enough.” Bradford glanced at Elizabeth. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

  Elizabeth just shook her head and stared out her window. Bradford cleared his throat and ran through the entire thing.

  “What Denny the Dragon knows,” Julia Hogan said in a quiet, musing tone. Despite the fact her back was to the woman, Elizabeth knew Julia was speaking to her. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bradford snorted. He said to the rearview mirror, “Do you believe that shit? I think she’s lying.”

  “I am not! Why would you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Why do geese fly south during the winter? It’s just their nature.”

  Elizabeth looked back at Julia for support, but Julia was staring out her window. She turned to Bradford and said, as slowly and calmly as she could, “I am not lying to you.”

  “Whatever.”

  Bradford dug into his pocket for his cell phone and the BlackBerry. He hadn’t turned either of them on since they left the prison and had to wait about a minute for both to power up. Immediately the BlackBerry dinged, signaling there was a new message. He ignored it and, using his own cell phone, started dialing a number.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m tired of playing games. I’m doing what I should have done in the first place.”

  “But you can’t. What about your son?”

  He gave her a look that was all at once somber. “Most likely my son is already dead, just like yours.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He nodded slowly. “I do.”

  But before he could finish dialing, the BlackBerry rang. He set his own cell phone down, picked up the BlackBerry, frowned at the screen. Hesitantly, he answered it. Listened for a couple of seconds, then glanced at her.

  “It’s for you.”

  And handed her the phone.