He’d given the weird new vet tech a hundred bucks to try to get hired on so that he’d have someone on the inside over at the mortuary, and while he didn’t know how trustworthy the young hipster was, it certainly seemed like his loyalty could be bought. He’d get daily reports from the guy, and either the kid would find something incriminating, or the vet would have to take matters into his own hands. He rather relished the idea of setting the mild-mannered mortician up, but for now, he’d bide his time.
Bradley’s cat still hadn’t come back, and his paranoia whispered that it had to have been Tim who’d come and taken the animal. Inexplicably, a chill crept down the veterinarian’s spine as he sat in his chair in the darkened living room. He hadn’t heard or seen anything out of the ordinary, but he had the strange sensation that he was no longer alone. He sat up straighter in his chair, listening, waiting, and just as he was about to turn around, he was caught up in a chokehold.
It was the oddest thing, the arm that circled his neck was thick and strong, yet smelled somehow feminine. He remembered thinking that perhaps he wasn’t Tim’s first victim of the evening. Perhaps there had been a woman who died first.
**
Susannah had been frustrated at Tanner’s reaction to her gift, very frustrated. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. She’d thought that he’d been much like she had as a younger woman, but that was probably wishful thinking. How crazy was it that she thought she might finally have found a human being who actually understood her. No one understood her…ever. Part of her reluctance to kill her husband was the fact that, while he didn’t know about her “interesting” hobby, and couldn’t even begin to understand her, he seemed to accept her, for better or worse. That was something that she’d never experienced before, and she was in no hurry to give it up. Hopefully he hadn’t seen anything when he visited the basement that made him suspicious, she’d really hate to have to end him.
Now, Tanner, on the other hand…if he even suspected what she did for fun, he’d have to be eliminated. She’d enjoyed his company for a period of time, but if he couldn’t be trusted, she had ways of taking care of such issues. She wouldn’t let him experience terror, and would make sure that he felt no pain if she had to kill him, but she would do it without a second thought if she deemed it necessary.
The more she thought about how stupid she’d been in trusting another human, even slightly, the angrier she became at herself. She knew better. She couldn’t afford the luxury of friends. People were selfish, people had agendas, people didn’t understand. They never had and they never would. She chopped and seared and diced and sautéed, working herself into a frenzy, so that, by the time she left Le Chateau, she had to do something to blow off some steam, or she’d just snap. She didn’t want to accidentally kill her husband because she was worked up.
Dr. Dobbins’ time hadn’t yet arrived, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t toy with him for a bit. She’d slip into her basement, change into her “play” clothes, and pay him a visit that he wouldn’t forget. She wanted to feel his racing heart against her body, wanted to smell and taste his fear. She wanted to make him beg for mercy, and then she’d slip out into the night, to return another day.
**
Susannah dearly loved chloroform, and the fact that it was so easy to get on the internet. She particularly loved to use it when surprising a male who was bigger and/or stronger than she was, because the thrill of clamping it tightly over their nose and mouth while they struggled and fought, the whites of their eyes revealing their terror, gave her a tremendous rush of adrenalin, and an almost god-like sense of power. When they finally succumbed, she could do with them as she pleased.
Bradley Dobbins was mildly fit. He went to the gym a few times a week to run on the treadmill, or ride an exercise bike while he caught up on email and social media. He did little to develop his muscles and upper body strength, however, which meant that, though he had a bit of stamina, his struggles were no match for the powerfully-built woman who held him from behind. Susannah smiled behind her nylon ski mask, content to know that Dobbins had neither seen her face, nor guessed her identity.
She wanted to humiliate the arrogant veterinarian, as well as terrify him, so once he had fallen into a deep, chloroform-induced sleep, she turned him over, and eased his workout pants down below his buttocks. Taking out her scalpel, she scored perhaps the most satisfying leaves of the Fall season.
“Sit on this Dr. Dobbins,” she murmured with a smile, tucking her latest trophies into a plastic bag.
The vet’s blood had made quite a mess on his Persian rug, which was a shame, the rug was quite lovely and undoubtedly valuable, but Susannah shook off that pesky bit of remorse. From Bradley’s medicine cabinet she took a roll of gauze and some surgical tape, binding his fresh wounds to minimize damage to the carpet, and left him lying there, face down, with a bandage on each cheek, giving new meaning to the phrase “butt-hurt.”
With adrenalin still tingling her nerve endings, she left the McMansion feeling much better. It hadn’t been a kill, but she’d put an obnoxious jerk in his place, and delighted at the thought that he’d be jumping at shadows for weeks after this incident. She loved that he’d be paranoid now, loved that he’d be scared and angry and carry his negative emotions around with him like a festering disease. Even though it’d make eventually killing him more difficult, now that he’d be watchful, she chuckled, knowing that she was in control, she called all the shots, she decided whether he lived or died, and whether he’d be able to sit comfortably. He thought that he held the power, and perhaps over innocent animals, he did, but she held the power over him, and that was the thought that kept her warm as she slipped out of the gated community and into the night.
CHAPTER 28
* * *
The Spider and the Fly
Tanner stood beside Tim, watching raptly as the mortician placed plastic caps under Abigail Sorenson’s newly crafted eyelids, so that her eyes wouldn’t appear sunken.
“Do you do that for everyone?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb his somewhat taciturn boss.
“Anyone who is having a viewing. Family members find sunken eyes to be rather disconcerting,” he commented dryly, moving on to the next eye.
“She looks like she’s just sleeping.”
“That’s the goal. This way they can remember her as she was.”
“You’re actually an artist,” the young man remarked.
Tim, always uncomfortable with compliments, let that one pass.
“I do art too,” Tanner offered, again getting no response from his introverted boss. “I can bring something in to show you sometime.”
“If you’d like,” Tim muttered, hoping that his reply would make his assistant stop talking.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Cut off a two foot length of that black thread, and hand me that packet of sterilized needles,” Tim gestured with his head, while gently closing Abigail’s eyelid.
“Okay,” Tanner nodded, glad to be allowed to participate, even in a small way. “What’s it for?”
“Mouth work is next.”
“Oh.” The young man swallowed, wondering what that might mean, then glanced at his watch, irritated to see that it was time to head to Le Chateau for the dinner hour. “I gotta go.”
“Okay,” was the distracted reply, as the mortician threaded his needle.
Tanner trotted up the stairs, only to come charging right back down.
“Mr. Eckels, sorry to bother you, but the sheriff is on his way in, and he doesn’t look happy.
Tim sighed and pulled his needle through Abigail’s fragile flesh, holding it up in the air and staring at his assistant.
“Alright, when you see him on your way out, tell him I’ll be right up,” the mortician frowned.
If he never saw Arlen Bemis again, it would be too soon. He carefully laid the needle down on the table next to Abigail’s head, snapped off his rubber gloves, and trudged up the stairs to find
a decidedly agitated sheriff pacing the foyer.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Eckels,” Bemis said, without preamble. “I was willing to pass Brad’s rantings off as paranoia, but this time you’ve gone too far. I don’t know how you did it, I don’t know why you did it, but I’m gonna nail you to the wall on this one, you sick bastard,” he fumed.
“As usual, Sheriff, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tim sighed.
“It’s hard for newcomers to fit in sometimes, but most folks usually try. You never did. You don’t go out, you don’t meet people, you’re weird and quiet and maybe that’s just the way that you keep people at a distance. And why would you want to do that, I wonder?”
“Is being an introvert a crime these days?” the mortician quipped, pushing his coke bottle glasses up his nose.
“Don’t get smart with me boy, you’ve got some explaining to do, and you better start talkin,” Arlen ordered.
“Anything in particular that you want me to talk about?”
“You can start with explaining where the hell you were, and what you were doing about nine o’clock last night.”
Tim thought for a moment. He’d been staying away from home because he wasn’t quite ready to sit in the same room with Susannah for any length of time, and he wondered if what the sheriff wanted to talk with him about had anything to do with what he suspected was his wife’s hobby.
“I was at Billy Brew at nine o’clock.”
“What were you doing there? You don’t strike me as the type of guy who hangs out at a bar,” the sheriff raised a skeptical brow.
“I went there for dinner, and after dinner I had dessert and then I stayed for a while to watch some television. There was a marathon on of my favorite true crime show.”
“Lemme get this straight…your wife is a frickin’ chef at a four-star restaurant, and you went to Billy Brew for dinner? Can you prove that you were there?”
“I have the receipt in my wallet. They usually put time stamps on such things,” the mortician reached for his wallet, opened it, flipped through half a dozen receipts, and found the one from Billy Brew, handing it to the sheriff.
“Where did you go after this,” Arlen growled, seeing the time stamp that said 10:30.
“I went to the grocery store and did some shopping, then I went home.”
“I’m sure you have the receipt for that too.”
“Of course, I always keep them until I can record them,” Tim replied, innocently, which seemed to infuriate the sheriff. He pulled out the grocery receipt and handed it over.
“Who the hell is that organized?” Arlen muttered, looking at the receipt.
“I am,” the mortician shrugged.
“Shut up, Eckels. I’ve had just about enough of that mouth,” the sheriff glared at him, tucking both receipts into his shirt pocket. He looked as though he was about to follow up his rude directive with a comment when suddenly he fixated on something behind the mortician.
“What the hell is that?” he growled, pushing past Tim and heading for a pew-like bench that graced one wall of the foyer. Once there, he picked up a garment and held it carefully. “Whose is this?” he demanded.
Tim raised his eyebrows.
“I have no idea.”
“Is it yours?”
“No.”
“I’m taking it into evidence.”
“Evidence? Evidence of what?” Tim was baffled.
“What kind of relationship do you have with Dr. Bradley Dobbins?”
“I don’t have any kind of relationship with him. We only met once, when he came in here.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because he ran into my wife at Le Chateau.”
“Uh-huh,” the sheriff stared him down. “If this is what I think it is…you’re in big trouble, Eckels. Don’t even think about leaving town or I’ll hunt you down and throw you in jail myself, you hear? You’re a person of interest in the assault of Dr. Dobbins and the murders of Abigail Sorenson and Jorge Hernandez.”
The sheriff turned on his heel and left, leaving Tim staring after him. He loved his wife, in his own way, but he wasn’t willing to go to prison to protect her, wasn’t willing to take the fall for her heinous hobby. He had to find out if his Susannah was really a cold-blooded killer, or if her strange hobby was just that. The leaves on her tree could be made from leather, or tissue paper, or any number of things…but he had to find out for sure, and hoped that he didn’t become the next victim in the process.
CHAPTER 29
* * *
Triangle of Treachery
“Timmy, have you seen my jacket?” Susannah called, digging in the hamper as though her life depended upon it.
“What does it look like?” he trailed down the hall, with a mug of hot tea in his hand, fearing that he knew how she would answer.
“It looks like a jacket. It’s dark brown nylon, kind of silky-feeling…” she said, closing the hamper and heading for the bedroom.
Tim’s heart thumped against his chest. He knew he had to act completely normal. He had to act as if he didn’t know that the missing jacket was sitting in an evidence room.
“Doesn’t sound familiar. When did you have it last? Could you have left it at work?”
“No, I didn’t wear it to work. I may have left it in the mortuary when I went over to help you with the books, are you sure you didn’t see it in your office?”
Tim shook his head, trying desperately to hide the shaking in his hands by wrapping them around his tea mug, as though for warmth, but nothing could dissipate the chill that was currently crawling up his spine.
“No, I haven’t seen it. I’ll have to ask Tanner if he saw it.”
Susannah’s frantic motion stopped, and she slowly turned to stare at her husband.
“Tanner?” she asked, her voice dropping a couple of octaves. She drilled him with her gaze, clearly waiting for an explanation.
“Yes, he started working for me this week. Now he works with both of us,” Tim attempted to smile, his face feeling foreign.
“Why did you hire someone? We didn’t discuss this,” she demanded, her voice low.
“I didn’t know that you’d want to be a part of that decision. He does the things that I don’t like to do.”
“Like what?” her eyes narrowed.
“Like talking to people, helping them with their funeral plans, casket selection, that kind of thing. He also vacuums and takes out the trash,” Tim shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d have any reason to be involved in the hiring process.”
“How did you find him?”
“Uh…what?” Tim tried to buy some time, wondering why Susannah was making such a big deal out of this.
“How. Did. You. Find. Him?” she snipped moving closer with every word, until she was past his comfort zone, her face only a couple of feet from his.
A brief, horrific image of her stabbing him to death in his sleep flashed before his eyes, and he pretended to cough for a moment so that he could get his panic under control.
“Sorry,” he replied, breathless. “Allergies. I didn’t find him, he came in and asked for a job.”
“And you gave him one,” she spat the accusation.
“Yes.”
“Did you bother to interview him? Or run a background check?”
“No, I…” Tim began.
“You let a stranger off the street just waltz right in and start working with you, representing your company, when you don’t know anything about him.”
“He works with you and you don’t mind. You made it sound like you talk to him more than you talk to me,” the hurt and scared husband stated quietly.
“Is that what you think?” she seemed taken aback.
Tim shrugged, gazing at the floor, uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, and I’m sorry if I spoke too harshly, but do you have any idea who Tanner works for?”
“Andre?”
“No, besides Andre. Tanner
works for Bradley Dobbins, the vet.”
The hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stood up and things suddenly came sharply into focus. Of course it hadn’t been his hard-working wife who had killed two people and assaulted the veterinarian, it had to have been his new assistant. His relief was profound. Susannah’s leaves were probably just leaves, and it hadn’t been her who had taken patches of skins from the bodies that he’d prepared recently.
“That explains a lot,” he said mildly. “He must be telling the vet things that he sees here.”
“What do you mean?” she sounded alarmed.
“For some reason, the vet keeps accusing me of things. He somehow knew about the two pets that I…dealt with, and thinks that I’m out to get him. Someone attacked him last night and he swears it was me. It must’ve been Tanner.”
“The vet blames you?” Susannah murmured. “Interesting.”
“I know, it’s ridiculous,” Tim nodded. “Want some ice cream?”
“You must be feeling better,” his wife remarked.
“Much better.”
“Let’s go get ice cream then,” she smiled a strange smile and hooked her arm through his.
**
Bradley Dobbins leaned over on one hip, unable to rest his weight on the sutured areas of his lower buttocks, and casually asked Tanner about his time with Timothy Eckels.
“Well, I mean, I’m not exactly a party animal,” the young man shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. “But his life is so totally boring. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t like being around people, it seems like the only thing that he’s into is his work. That’s probably why he’s so good at it.”
“Is he that good at it?” Brad was skeptical, his mouth twisted with derision.
Tanner nodded.
The Quiet Type Page 14