The Surgeon

by David Beers

  Director Waverly left, and the three men stood alone in the crime scene.

  "You two ... lied."

  Luke, eyes still on the dead, said, "We're a team. It won't matter in the end, as long as we catch the guy."

  Christian loved the picture behind his psychiatrist. It gave him the ability to keep his head up but not have to look at her. He stared at it now, trying to decide whether to discuss the case. He wasn't here to work on work, but on himself—yet ... he couldn't let the crime scene from yesterday go.

  "It wasn't like the others," he said.

  "What wasn't?" Melissa asked.

  "The murder."

  Melissa was quiet from her chair. Christian could see her, despite not actually looking at her, and he knew she wanted him to continue without prompting.

  "I don't know why it was different, though, and that's what bothers me."

  "You'll have to be a bit more descriptive, Christian."

  "This is how you're helping me today, huh? By making me express myself in ways that people understand?"

  "People understand you just fine. I'm not concerned with whether they do or don't, though. What I'm trying to do is make you work on the things you don't want to work on, because my job is to help you reach your potential."

  "Most people would say I've far surpassed my potential given my age."

  "Maybe theirs," Melissa said, "but not yours. Now go on, describe to me what's bothering you."

  He sighed and finally met her eyes. "For one, apparently the man that was murdered had a problem with one of my partners years ago. You've seen the news; one of the victims was an FBI agent. That right there is different. The second thing, I guess, is that there were two people present. He did a lot of violence toward the wife, but the man got off fairly easy. He only slit his throat."

  "Easy ... if you don't consider the horror of watching your wife's mutilation," Melissa said.

  "True," Christian said. "I didn't think about that. But why would he make the man watch? That's even more of an issue, because it creates an unnecessary risk—you basically are leaving the possibility of someone escaping and stopping you." He shook his head. "No, the killer wouldn't have had two people there. And if he did, he would have killed the man first."

  "How do you know he didn't?"

  "Blood patterns. The woman's blood spilled first."

  Melissa grimaced.

  "Sorry," he said. "We can talk about something else."

  "No, it's fine ... So are you thinking there's a copycat?"

  "That doesn't feel right either because of the eyes. They were taken with the exact same precision as before. No difference. That's my guy. There's something with him and eyes that I don't fully understand, but there's not another serial killer with that kind of skill."

  "Well, Christian, it's either there are two killers with that skill, or your guy did it."

  Christian felt unsatisfied, to say the least. He couldn't remember the last time something had bothered him this badly, but then again, he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been able to solve something.

  He sat at his desk across the floor from Tommy's office. The light was on inside, though the blinds had been drawn. The rest of the floor was almost empty and the janitorial staff had begun their rounds.

  Luke walked out of his office and caught Christian's eye. He started over.

  What happened in that house yesterday? he wondered. What was that itch you shoved away?

  "Burning the midnight oil?" Luke asked as he arrived at Christian's desk.

  "I'm getting hungry, but yeah, I'll be working late."

  "Want to get something to eat? I'd ask Tommy, but he's worshipping at his altar of Workaholism right now. We can go back to my place after, if you'd like. Work some there. I need some space from this office if I'm going to think effectively."

  Christian's eyes narrowed, slightly, as something shot up in his mind. He couldn't see it fully, though, like a flare that flamed out before it really started burning.

  "Everything okay?" Luke asked.

  "Yeah. Yeah. Sure, I'll grab dinner with you. How late are you wanting to work?"

  "The way Tommy and I look at this is, if the killer isn't sleeping, we aren't either."

  "You're not too worried about gaining weight, I take it?" Luke said.

  "I'm not sure I can."

  The two sat in Luke's basement. They weren't near the whiteboards, but sitting in the leather chairs that faced the television, which was turned off.

  "Have you ever seen a dead body before this case?"

  Christian shook his head and took a sip of the coffee Luke had made when they first arrived. He was full from the five egg omelet he'd eaten, and needed the coffee to help wake him up.

  "What do you think of it?" Luke asked. "The bodies. Does it make you feel anything?"

  Christian blinked a couple of times. "I'm not sure I see them like you and Tommy. To me, I see the man behind it all. I feel pity for him, I think. He's someone who's hurt a lot."

  "Does that mean he's guiltless?"

  "No, of course not," Christian said, looking into his coffee mug. "It doesn't mean we can't understand him some, though."

  The two were quiet as Luke took a sip from his own mug.

  "How did you make so much money?" Christian asked.

  Luke smiled and looked around the basement. "Well, I'm in my forties, and before the FBI, I did pretty well in the private sector. Did well in academia, too."

  "This is your third career, then?"

  Luke nodded.

  "Do you think you'll have another one?"

  "I don't know. I'm not motivated by money. I never have been."

  "So what does motivate you?" Christian asked. He felt something here and it was different than what he felt when he spoke with other people. Even his mother or Melissa. An energy seemed to float in the room, and Christian didn't know if it sprung from himself or Luke, but it was there.

  "Can't you tell yet?"

  "I haven't given much thought to you. I'm preoccupied I guess."

  "What about Tommy?" Luke asked. "Have you given thought to him?"

  "No, but I don't think he's as complex as you."

  "Nor as complex as you," Luke said.

  "I'm not that complex." Christian didn't like the conversation's turn, didn't want to focus on himself or how he did what he did anymore. He'd explained it enough, more than he ever had before. "Let's not talk about us. Did you want to discuss the case?"

  Luke nodded and Christian looked at him. His brown irises were small against his large black pupils, seeming to fill up most of his eye. The light above them cast shadows on his lean face, and Christian was shocked to see beauty in the man—not in any sexual sense, but just admiration. He hadn't noticed it before.

  "How are we going to catch him, Christian? I'd like to know what you think."

  Christian couldn't pull his eyes from Luke's even though he wanted to. A kind of magnetism kept him staring. "You want the truth?"

  "You seem very good at telling the truth, to a fault, many would say."

  "I'll keep seeing his crimes until I know as much about him as he does himself. He'll continue killing, most likely increasing the speed, and we'll get him then. We'll narrow down who he is until a body tells us more than he wanted."

  "What will happen to him once he's caught?" Luke said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Death penalty? Insane asylum? You think we’ll kill him in the act?"

  "I hadn't thought about it," Christian said. "What do you think?"

  "He's not insane, at least not in the form a court will accept. Does he know the difference between right and wrong? He certainly knows whether or not society deems what he is doing is right and wrong, or else he wouldn't hide it all so well. If I had to guess, though, we'll kill him before he ever goes to trial."

  "Why do you think that?" Christian said.

  "Tommy."

  Christian cocked his head slightly, confused by their pa
rtner's name. "... He's not violent in that sense ...."

  "Not usually, no, but you don't know what happened to his brother. This case holds a special place for Tommy, even if he doesn't talk about it."

  "What happened?"

  Luke looked at the television for a second. "You want me to tell you or do you want to ask him?"

  "You tell me."

  Luke paused for a few seconds. "You should know, especially with what we're dealing with. He has experience with this in a way that neither of us ever will. His brother is still considered missing, but that's just because a body never turned up. Tommy was sixteen and his brother twelve. He went to play basketball one evening and never came home. I'm surprised you didn't have a whole dossier created on both of us, to tell the truth. Surprised you don't already know this."

  Christian was too, now that he heard it from someone else's mouth. "And so you think a serial killer got his brother? You think he might see this man as a way to avenge his brother?"

  "I wouldn't go that far," Luke said, "but I don't know what will happen when he's in front of the man. Maybe something switches inside his head and the killer gets killed. Wouldn't be such a bad thing, really, would it?"

  The Uber rolled quietly over the highway and Christian sat in the back of the car. He looked out the window at the street lights passing by too fast to truly see them individually. He wasn't trying to focus on them, though, but rather thinking of the couple hours he just spent with Luke.

  It's his intelligence. That's what I'm drawn to. That's why I feel different when I'm around him.

  He didn't understand that until he was out of the man's presence. It was a feeling that he hadn't ever experienced and one he wasn't completely comfortable with either.

  And what he shared about Tommy? Is that something he should have done? Or was that something for Tommy to share when the time was right?

  Christian didn't know the answer to that question. He overshared almost constantly, and the social etiquette of others baffled him more often than not. Yet, Luke had shared something personal with him, even if it was about someone else.

  Am I looking for a friend? he wondered.

  And if he was, if he thought Luke Titan might be that person, what was the problem with it? Why even question himself about it? Couldn't he have friends, just like everyone else?

  What happened in that victim's house?

  The question rose uncalled to the top of his mind. He couldn't push it away, not forever, even if he wanted. His mind wouldn't let him. It would pester him until he faced it.

  Not right now, he thought. It's too late.

  And it was. The Uber stopped in front of his apartment, and at four in the morning, Christian finally found sleep.

  Chapter 19

  "Thanks for meeting with me again," Veronica said.

  Luke Titan sat down at the table across from her. The weather was warm outside, though not hot. Titan had requested they meet at this restaurant and that they sit outside (all through email) when she reached out to him about Presley's death.

  "Not a problem. How can I help you?"

  “Well—" Veronica paused as the waiter came over.

  "Hey, do you guys know what you'd like to drink?"

  "Just a coffee, no room for cream," Veronica said.

  "I'll take a vodka tonic. Double shot, tall glass, please," Titan said.

  "Okay, I'll be right back."

  Veronica looked across the table. "Double shot during a lunch hour? Don't you have to go back to work?"

  "My metabolism is very fast. It's a gift and a curse. I can't put on weight, but I can process alcohol quicker than most." He smiled as he spoke, and Veronica couldn't tell if it was sexy or chilling.

  "Interesting ... Are you okay with this being on the record?"

  "No. Nothing that we talk about involving an open case can be on the record. I'll talk to you about it, but it can't come out even as an anonymous source, not now, nor later—not without my permission."

  Veronica nodded, having figured that would be the case, but thought she would try none-the-less.

  "The man who accused you of poisoning him is dead. Apparently by the killer you're trying to catch. It feels like an odd coincidence, to say the least."

  It felt like more to Veronica. When she saw it on the news the previous night, a deep cold ran across her entire body, causing the hair on her arms to stand at attention. She had just spoken to John Presley a week ago, and now he and his wife were dead, her sans eyeballs.

  "I'm not sure I believe in coincidence, Ms. Lopez."

  "Would you agree that it's at least odd, then?"

  "I can definitely agree to that."

  The waiter stopped at the table, two drinks in hand. "Here ya go! Were you two wanting to eat?”

  "I'm okay," Veronica said.

  "I'll follow the lady's lead. Thank you, sir," Luke answered.

  "You don't seem very surprised or ... I don't know, perturbed about this turn of events." Titan was just as calm as he had been during their first interview, as he had been when she called him about Presley's accusations as well. Nothing shook him.

  "The surprising part is why John's wife was chosen. We're not sure yet if he knew that I had a connection to John, or if this was purely an accident. We have increased our security around agent's families associated with the case, though."

  "Purely accidental? Wouldn't that be a coincidence?" Veronica asked.

  Luke smiled again. "Touché. So, Ms. Lopez, why did you want to have this meeting? Was it to discuss the details of John's murder, because I can't tell you anymore than I already have."

  "No," she said. "I just wanted to see how you were taking it."

  "The man accused me of trying to poison him with LSD. I'm not too terribly torn up about his death, though his wife's was tragic."

  "You don't seem exactly torn up about hers, either," Veronica said.

  Titan took a sip from his glass. "The best I can do is catch her killer, Ms. Lopez. What's done is done."

  Why are you here? Veronica asked herself. What were you hoping to get out of this?

  The book was moving along well and she didn't need this conversation to keep it going. She didn't need to even consider John Presley's remarks—not really. They were ludicrous at face value, and without any evidence to back it up, what was she going to do? Put unsubstantiated, insane claims in the book?

  "I'd be willing to talk about anything else, though," Luke said. "How's the writing? I haven't kept up with the Sphere in a little while. What's the status?"

  "It's moving slower since you left." Veronica didn't know what else to say. She had come here hoping ... for what? That Luke Titan would be destroyed over the man's death? That he would share with her some insight? In ten years of reporting, she'd never done something like this—shown up so woefully unprepared and now sat awkwardly in front of him, without questions to ask. Finally she said, "You didn't do what he claimed, did you?"

  Titan actually laughed. "Of course not. I'm not a Buddhist, and I don't think John Presley deserved what happened, at least not from what he said about me, but perhaps he'd built a lot of negative karma over the years."

  "Hi, Agent Windsor?"

  "Yes."

  Veronica didn't know much about the man on the other end of the phone, only that he was new to Luke Titan's group and that she hadn't spoken to him yet. Well, that wasn't everything. She also knew this phone call had nothing to do with her book, and while her agent wouldn't tell her to stop chasing it, her agent would tell her she was stealing time which she should be putting in to the book. She knew one other thing: John Presley's death wasn't sitting well with her.

  "My name is Veronica Lopez. I'm a reporter for The Atlanta Journal and I'm writing a book focused on the multi-country project called the Sphere—at least by laymen. Are you aware of it?"

  "Yes," Windsor said. His voice sounded clipped to Veronica, as if something was cutting off his speech.

  "Luke Titan played a major rol
e in the project and so he's becoming a larger piece of my book as well. I've already spoken with your partner Thomas Phillips, as well as Dr. Titan, and I was wondering if you might have some time when the two of us could speak?"

  "About what?"

  Jesus Christ, what in the hell are you doing, Veronica? This man wants to talk to you about as much as an albino wants a day at the beach, and you don't need him for what they're paying you to do. Let him go.

  "About Dr. Titan and your experiences with him. I know that you're well educated yourself, and perhaps you could give me your thoughts on the Sphere?"

  "Can I call you back?"

  "Um," Veronica said. "Sure. Do you have my number?"

  "It's on the caller ID."

  "Okay, any idea when you'll call, just so I can clear my calendar?"

  "Give me five minutes," Windsor said.

  "Sure thing."

  The line went dead and Veronica sat in her home office holding her cellphone to her ear. She looked forward at the computer in front of her, the page open to the last prose she'd written over a week ago. Her deadline wasn't for six more months, but she couldn't really afford to not write. Yet, that's what she was doing.

  She put the phone down and stared at the last line she wrote.

  Dr. Luke Titan is more than respected in scientific circles. Some might says he's revered.

  John Presley hadn’t revered him, and now John Presley was dead.

  Veronica hadn't slept in the past twenty-four hours. She was running off of coffee and a hunch she didn't fully understand. She was tired, but also excited, because she hadn't felt like this in some years. She hadn't followed a hunch in such a long time that she almost didn't remember what one was.

  The past twenty-four hours had been spent researching. Not the Sphere, but Luke Titan himself. She knew everything the Internet had to offer, and she also knew that no one else had written a biography on the man yet—though it only seemed a matter of time before someone did, if he kept up his current pace.