CHAPTER 64
She called and told him she needed to talk to him at her place first thing in the morning. He arrived at seven, holding a small French roast from The Coffee Bean. His favorite. He didn't bother to bring her one, and he didn't bother to knock.
He never did.
He didn't figure this would be a chat session anyway
—even though she said she'd wanted to talk. Maybe it would start out as a talk—but he would make sure it didn't end with talk. They'd have to hurry though, they both needed to get to the department. There were still a ton of leads to run down on the latest victim and she was going to have to get her shit together and help the team. This was a hiccup, he knew. A bit too intense right now. Once they caught this guy, things would change and she would settle down. She could take some time off and go see her sister. Maybe he'd go to see his.
Maybe.
He stepped into the kitchen to find her leaning against the sink counter. On the round table between them was a small stack of papers. A pen sat on the stack.
"How you feeling
?" he asked.
"Tired
," she said.
He nodded, and she watched as he set his cup on the table, hesitating as he stared at the papers
. The way his eyes narrowed, she knew that he understood the reason for the meeting.
"But I'll feel a lot better once you sign those papers."
He lifted the pages, a total of five, and flipped though each one, casually examining the contents and reading some of the passages. Two were official department forms, and three were double-spaced typed pages to go with the two department forms. He looked back up at her and let them slip through his fingers, some floating to the tabletop and others landing on the kitchen tile.
"I thought we'd already discussed
this," he said.
"I don't remember a discussion
," she said.
"Why change what we've got?"
"What exactly do we have?"
"Magic."
"It doesn't feel like magic."
"That's because someone has fucked with your head."
"Yeah, and he's standing right in front of me."
"Oh no, he's out there
. The Bedroom Killer. Dr. John Randall."
"John is not
the killer."
"John is not
the killer," he said, mocking her.
"Just sign them
. Please."
He moved a step toward her
, but that was the move she was expecting. She reached her hand from behind her and pointed her Glock at his face.
His hands went up and he said, "Whoa, look who's talking now."
"Pick up the pen and sign."
"You know I can't do that."
"Sure you can. Just do it."
"They'll never believe you."
"Let me worry about that."
He took another step closer
. Her triceps tightened and her finger slipped onto the trigger. But her arms were getting tired. Everything about her was tired. He kept moving forward. She slid backward along the counter, keeping the distance between them.
"Sign them
. Please."
"No."
She slid back as far as she could until she hit the center of the counter and all she could do now was slid sideways. He kept moving forward, his arms still raised. She closed her eyes, her lips trembling.
"Please."
He closed the distance between them and lowered his left hand, closing it over hers, and gently eased the gun from her hand. He set the gun down on the counter to his right and returned his gaze to her, but she had turned away, crying. That was all right with him, as long as she learned her place. But just to make sure, he pushed her forward, onto the counter, and reached around and unsnapped her pants.
Ten minutes later he was finished
. He stood behind her, closing his belt, and adjusting his shirt. He looked over at her. She hadn't moved.
"Get dressed
. We have to go," he said.
She didn't move
. The phone rang, its sound waves penetrating her bones, breaking each one from the inside out. She had to have a phone, both a cell and a land line, but the sound of the ring never seemed to bring joy, only some form of pain. But the last month was different. John was calling, or texting, and she began to enjoy hearing it again. But she wasn't sure where she and John stood anymore. She was slowly going crazy, and she knew it. She must get the papers signed. It was her only way out.
The ringing continued.
"You going to answer that?"
"No."
It rang a fifth time, then the machine kicked in.
"This is Megan, leave a message."
She knew the voice. He knew the voice. It came from the speaker at a higher pitch than normal. There was excitement. The room suddenly changed. She grabbed her pants. Zipped them up. Snapped the snaps. He pulled his pen, wrote with a shaking hand. She grabbed her gun off the counter, shoved it into the shoulder holster. She grabbed her purse. He threw the front door open and she followed him out. They were in such a hurry that neither of them heard the last thing Andy said.
"
…his name is Isaac Graham."
CHAPTER 65
John stared at the photos, his mind reeling with the incomprehension of the situation. How could he let this happen? He had come to like Marcus, and now this. He could grab the photos and rip them to shreds, but he knew Marcus still had the negatives.
"Who took these?"
"I did," said Marcus. Then he added, "Look, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but you have to admit, something's going on here. I just want to know if it has anything to do with the Bedroom Killer case."
"No
," John said, and he looked away from the photos and over at Marcus, sitting in a chair at John's kitchen table. The living room was still a mess when he arrived, and Marcus noted the books and map pieces strewn about the room. He took note and would wait until the right moment to ask about them. For now, he'd just walked in, stepped over everything, laid the photos out on the kitchen table, and sat down.
"So did you know them before
…" Marcus trailed off.
John waited, but he knew where Marcus was going.
"No. I'd never met either one of them before."
He looked at the photo of h
imself and Megan outside the Greenwood Library. It was the same night they had first made love. It seemed so long ago. So much had happened in the following weeks that he had a hard time believing it himself. They met. They made love. They talked about the killer. They made love some more. They met with the mothers of the young girls—and they made love.
And then came the day at the book store, when everything changed
.
And Marcus was there
.
Like a shadow.
John wanted to kill the little twerp, and at the same time, he wanted to tell him everything. Get it all out in the open. Talk about it. See where everyone and everything stands.
Megan, what do you think
?
Bell,
would you care to elaborate on your gun at my head?
Carrie, shall we confess our mutual attraction
?
Who wants to go first
?
"You'll ruin lives if you publish these photos,
" John said. Then added, "You know that don't you? Is that what you want?"
"I just want the story
. I don't have to publish these," said Marcus, waving his right arm across the table with a flourish. He leaned forward, and gazed into John's eyes. "What's the story John? Huh? Why does Detective Bell have a gun to your head?" He chuckled. "I have to admit my hand was shaking so bad I had to take a big breath and hold it just to get my hands to keep still, otherwise this photo wouldn't exist."
H
e watched John's eyes…
always watch the eyes
, Morry told him.
"I swear to
God, I thought he was going to shoot you."
"You were following me?"
Marcus nodded.
"All this time?"
"Yeah," said Marcus.
"Karen Sharp's house?"
Marcus nodded again. "I couldn't get close enough to take a picture because her dog started barking."
John nodded
. He knew that Karen had bought a very large dog shortly after Rachel was murdered.
"I was going to try to take a picture through the window.
"
John cocked his head to one side and asked, "Isn't that illegal?"
Marcus nodded, "I think so. Not sure, really. Anyway, I just hung out in my car across the street and down one house. You know how boring it is to watch a house for two hours with nothing happening? I couldn't get a picture when you came out because I was too far away and it was dark, anyway."
They looked at one another, neither one knowing what to say next
. John still wondered what he was going to say, and Marcus wondered what question to ask next. Then his eyes wandered to the living room —and the mess on the floor.
Now was the time.
"Why do you have all those books and papers all over the floor?"
John shook his head, trying to comprehend
the question. What books? They were just talking about Karen Sharp and the meeting with the moms. Then it hit him. John swung around as if someone had snuck up on him, only to find nothing there but the messy floor outside the kitchen entryway.
"Oh
…"
"I recognize some of those books," said Marcus
. "Were you working with Detective Ash?"
John finally needed to sit, so he pulled out the chair and sat down, rubbing his hands across his eyes and suddenly feeling so tired that if he put his head down
, he just might sleep for two days straight.
"Were you
…"
"Off
-the-record," John said.
Marcus leaned back
. What did Morry say when he was packing up the photos and heading out the door?
Take what you can get
, boy…on or off. We'll work out the details later.
Marcus sighed heavily, as if he was really taking one for the team.
"Okay. Off-the-record."
John needed a drink
. But he knew that was the wrong thing to do.
Just watch what you say about Megan.
"I was working the case." Marcus grabbed at his chest pocket for his notepad. John shifted, his eyes boring into Marcus, reminding him that this was off the record.
So close
, he thought.
"With Detective Ash
?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And Detective Bell?"
"No
. Not with Detective Bell."
"How did this come about?"
John's eyes looked through Marcus, flashing back to the day in his hallway, and Megan's hand on his thigh. And what she wrote on her card…
I believe you.
And the way she looked at him sometimes when they weren't talking, just looking into each other
's eyes. He loved those eyes.
"It started the day they searched my house
," John said.
He
took the next forty-five minutes detailing everything that had happened between him and Megan, minus the sex, and minus the bookstore revelation. He didn't know how much Marcus believed, but he didn't care. He figured that Marcus knew something was being left out since John sidestepped a few questions. But Marcus didn't push. When he was finished, John leaned back in his chair and felt an enormous sense of relief. He would have liked to mention the sex and maybe he could have with Danny, but again, Danny was still a professional surgeon in every way. He just wouldn't understand the craziness of the whole thing. John could see Marcus reviewing questions in his head, trying to keep the story going…but it was pretty much spent for now. The only question that was really left to ask was,
how will it all end?
And that's when John's phone beeped
. John immediately stood and moved to the counter, where his cell phone laid in a wicker basket along with his keys, next to the house phone. The only person who had been texting him recently had been Megan. He wondered if she was okay. Just as he grabbed it from the basket, Marcus's cell phone rang, blasting a ringtone of a Paramore song. Marcus dug the phone from his pocket, hit the button, and said, "Hello."
John stood very still, reading the words from Megan
. A sudden chill shot through his body.
"You sure
!?" shouted Marcus.
John turned to see Marcus grabbing the photos with both hands, his cell
phone cradled between his shoulder and chin.
"Absolutely sure
?" he asked the caller again.
John knew what
Marcus was hearing. Megan told him that the all newspapers and reporters monitor the police scanners at all times. The news was out.
Marcus slapped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket.
"I gotta go," he said, and he turned and leaped over the stack of books in the living room, yanked open the front door, and dashed out, leaving John behind.
John grabbed his keys from the basket and rushed out the door behind Marcus thinking to himself
…
So
this
is how it all ends.