CHAPTER 78
Just as John took the step, Bell did something that for thirteen years had always worked for him. It was one of two signals to Megan that began not long after Russell's death, when he indeed took her under his wing and consoled her, slowly gaining her confidence. Back then he spent much of his time off talking to her and letting her cry on his shoulder. Then one night he got her drunk, which wasn't hard because she had started drinking more after Russell's death…and he made his move. After that night, she was in his control. She gave herself over to him. Did what he said, no questions asked. The sex started out like anything else. But Bell wanted to experiment more and more, and he still had his hidden camera in the basement. Then, one night, he brought the camera out and set it up right in front of her. Megan stayed quiet as he worked to get it just right, as she tended to do during these
sessions
— a word Megan used to identify her time with Bell. Up until then, she had no idea that he had been filming the two of them. Up until then, she had no idea he had filmed Russell and her on the night, two years before, when they came back to his house after drinks at the bar. Once the camera was set up and the lighting just so, Bell turned to Megan and did the same thing that night that he was about to do now. And for so many years—that's all it took to control her.
The signal.
But over time his hold on her began to wane, changing dramatically one day when Megan called an electrician to come to her place to install a new bathroom fixture. His name was Nick. He was twenty-eight years old, and he was cute. He reminded her of Russell. It took him less than an hour to pull out the old fixture and install the new one, and Megan watched him work throughout the whole process. He was quick to smile and he oozed personality. Something Bell didn't have. He talked with her while he worked, asking considerate questions, listening to her answers, and before he finished, she decided she wanted him. Four hours after he finished installing the light, he was pulling on his pants, packing up his gear, and heading home, leaving a very satiated Megan behind. The next day, she felt more alive than ever, and she found herself looking around her house for other things to fix or remodel. Six months later, she had four men on rotation.
But she learned how to hide it
all from Bell, because she was still under his spell. But he was wearing on her. Not long after that, she began taking pills to help her sleep. Then some to help her stay awake. The years went by and she survived by focusing on her job, but all the while living three lives. The hardened detective, the whorish Bad Girl who slept with whoever could take her mind off Bell and her life without Russell, and the little girl who gave herself over to Bell. And through it all, there was always the signal. The one that told Megan,
you're mine
. The signal that said, you will do what I say or I just might pull out all those video tapes and leak them onto the Internet, or worse, pass one around the office—or mail one anonymously to your mother-in-law to let her see her dead son doing the dirty deed.
It was a threat she'd heard more than once
. He backed it up once by uploading a short clip of the two of them to a web site and showing it to her online. Although it wasn't apparent who was in the clip because of the lighting and the angle of the shot, she knew it was her and Bell…and it scared her to death.
And because of that one short video clip, Megan never disobeyed him again.
Ever.
Until now.
With John and Andy standing each
to one side of them and the Bedroom Killer lying on the floor just ten feet away…Bell looked into Megan's eyes, his arms spread out wide to show he meant her no harm, and prepared to give the signal. He looked straight into her dark-brown eyes until he knew he had her undivided attention.
Then
…he smiled.
A
wide, ugly, hyena smile.
It had to be
the strangest thing John and Andy had ever seen. Because Gerald never smiled unless he wanted Megan to perform some sex act on him. That was always her signal to begin. But now, the sight of his smile sent shock waves through Megan, like the compression wave of a roadside bomb…and it brought her mind to a sharp focus. In a flash, Megan holstered her gun, reached up and grabbed Bell by his shirt collar, and brought her right knee up into his groin like a New York City Rockette kicking her heels up high during a "New York, New York" finale. The room echoed from the sound of her knee connecting with his package, and they all jumped as a whoosh of air left Bell's abdomen, dropping him like a dead cow on the slaughterhouse floor. But Megan wasn't finished. She took a step back and slammed the toe of her right foot into his ribs. She did it over and over again, shouting, "I hate…you…you fucking…pig…you don't…deserve…"
Before Megan could finish her soliloquy
, Andy's sharp ears caught the footsteps of other officers approaching and shouted to John, "Get her out of here."
John rushed in, grabbing Megan from behind
. He was doing his best to control her, but she wrestled free and got two more kicks in before John dragged her away. She continued fighting.
"Megan
. Megan, no. It's me. John."
She kept screaming
, "I hate you, you filthy pig! I fucking hate you!”
Then
as quickly as it began, it stopped. Megan relaxed, her heart pounding. But it was really just the beginning. John's medical training told him she was on the verge of really losing it. Just as it happened two days prior, an honest to God nervous breakdown was starting. She crumbled into John's arms, trembling and sobbing. He held her up, trying to get her to walk on her own.
Andy rush
ed over to Isaac and ordered him onto his stomach, grabbed his arms together, and cuffed him. He stood him up and pushed him against the corrugated steel wall. It clanged. As he was frisking Isaac and reading him his rights for a second time, he heard the footsteps getting closer. Andy just wanted to hand Isaac off to Kennedy or whoever was about to come round the corner and then come back and deal with Bell.
But he was too late.
As Andy turned to walk Isaac to the doorway, he spotted Bell on his knees, sucking in air and reaching for his gun, which was still on the floor in front of him. Megan forgot to kick it away before she started kicking Bell.
Bell screamed, "Randall!"
"Look out!" cried Andy, shoving Isaac out the office door. Then, like an Old West gunfighter, Andy reached to his left, gripped the handle of his gun and, clearing the holster, raised it up, leveled it off, and aimed it toward Bell.
The uniformed police officers, who were less than fifty feet from the doorway, would later report seeing Isaac Graham, his hands cuffed behind him, ge
t shoved out the doorway toward them, followed by the sound of six gun shots in quick succession.
CHAPTER 79
Homicide Detective David Anderson stood prone in the firing position he'd been trained to take whenever he practiced shooting his gun.
But this wasn't practice.
He slowly returned his gun to its holster as he stared down at Gerald, lying sprawled on his back
—three gunshots wounds through the left side of his torso, and one completely through his neck. The neck wound was spilling the most blood, a new spurt with each pump of his soon to be failing heart. He was dead, or soon would be once enough blood left his body.
The uniformed officers spread out
. One called on his radio,
Shots fired
. Another, a female officer, grabbed Isaac scooting him far away from the door and hopefully away from any stray bullets that might still be coming. Crouched down and pressed tightly against the outer office wall, the others shouted from around the corner—their guns drawn.
"Detective Bell
! Detective Anderson!" they shouted. "Are you all right?"
Andy snapped to his senses, ripped his radio from its belt clip and called, "Eleven ninety
-nine. Eleven ninety-nine. Officer down." Then he released his radio button and called out, "All clear."
Three officers came in, their guns still drawn but pointed downward, slowly surveying the scene, looking
to the left, the right, and then down at Detective Bell on the floor.
"
Oh no," said one.
"Oh
, my God," said another.
The third cop pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his utility belt and snapped them on, then dropped to his knees and placed his fingers over the neck wound, stemming the flow of blood.
"What happened?" he asked, looking up at Detective Anderson.
They all stared at Andy, who was still looking down at Detective Bell, with blood pooling around his body
. Andy quietly uttered the words, "I shot him."
The three officers stared from Bell to Andy, and then Andy slowly
began to hand his gun to the officer standing closest to him.
"This is evidence," he said
.
The officer gently pushed Andy's hand back toward the holster
. "Let's leave it in the holster, Detective, and I'll take the whole thing."
Andy nodded and re-holstered his gun, clipped the strap over it, then pulled the holster assembly from his shoulder and handed the entire gun and holster to the officer.
"Andeeeeeeeee!"
Four heads turned in unison toward the call
. Andy, knowing whose voice he just heard, ran through the room first, passing Bell just where he'd died, and out the door at the other end of the room. The other three officers followed. When they came out the door and around the corner, they found John and Megan on the floor.
"Megan
! Hold on!" John said.
Andy pulled his radio again and shouted, "We have two officers shot
. Detective Ash has been shot! We need paramedics for two wounded officers!" Even as he said the words, Andy knew he only needed help for one. There was no hope for Bell. He didn't have the slightest clue how he was going to explain it all. He wasn't sure himself what he'd just witnessed. All he knew for sure was that he'd just shot and killed the man he'd called his boss for the past six years. And as he thought about it, he found that he felt very little guilt, which in a way should have made him feel enormous guilt. But it would have to wait. John was hunched over Megan, a red bloom growing on her white blouse. She'd been hit—but by who? It all happened so fast. Andy was pretty sure it was from Bell's gun. To the best of his memory, Andy saw and heard two shots from Bell, to his…what?
How many shots had he fired
?
He didn't know.
He reached for his gun to check the bullets, but found nothing but shirt where his holster used to be.
"We have to get her outside," John said as he stood, lifting Megan off the floor
. "We have to get closer to the paramedics." John walked briskly, carrying Megan back the way they had all come in.
Andy followed, turning back to the officers.
"Tape it off," he shouted.
"Where are you going?" the officer holding Andy's gun shouted.
"With Detective Ash," said Andy, and then turned and passed John to clear a way out.
Up ahead, Detective Kennedy was running toward them
. At the same time, a female voice shouted, "Detective!" Andy and Kennedy turned in unison to see the officer holding the Bedroom Killer twenty feet behind them. Andy turned and ran four quick steps and yanked Isaac from her hands.
"I got him,"
he said and quickly shoved Isaac at Kennedy, who grabbed him by the cuffed arms. Andy kept running, then stopped and yelled back at Kennedy, "He's Megan's collar. You got it?
Megan's collar.
Make sure everybody knows."
Kennedy nodded his head, his mouth slightly agape
. All he could utter was, "What happened?" But he got no answer.
Andy kept moving, passing John and shouting, "Out of the way, make room
! Get out of the way!" As though an ant hill had been kicked, blue uniforms were pouring in through the warehouse door. It seemed that all of the Greenwood Police force was there. It made sense. An 11-99 call went out.
Officer down.
There isn't a cop in the country that doesn't break every speeding law when they hear that call.
CHAPTER 80
"Is that Nurse Carrie?"
The young paramedic, his name tag said Mike, nodded yes as he held the ambulance phone to his ear to relay Megan's condition to
Greenwood Memorial's emergency room. The nearest ambulance had been parked four miles away, at a 7-Eleven. It took them a long time to find a way inside the rail yard, and even longer to work their way back to the warehouse. John—knowing that time meant everything—lifted Megan up, carried her outside, and down the long asphalt road between the warehouses to meet the ambulance. They quickly loaded her inside, and John jumped in with them. They threw a blood pressure wrap around Megan's left arm and took her pressure.
Low.
John called for fluids, and Mike the paramedic pierced Megan's right arm and hung a bag. And now the ambulance had left the rail yard and hit the city streets, trailed by a phalanx of cop cars, which quickly surrounded it, their lights flashing and sirens wailing.
"Give it to me," John demanded with an outstretched hand
. Mike didn't question it as he pushed the phone into John's hand and turned his focus back to Megan, lying bloodied and semiconscious on the gurney next to him.
"Carrie
!" John shouted, his eyes wide and his doctor's brain kicking in. "We've got one female, late thirties, gunshot wound to the upper chest, between the third and fourth rib. Bullet passed through, losing blood. BP ninety over fifty-five and dropping, pulse shallow, breathing labored. Possible hemothorax. IV fluids. ETA is…" John glanced at Mike.
"Ten minutes," said Mike.
John's heart sank. Ten minutes. Too long. He needed to get inside her now.
"Ten minutes
! Be ready," he said, then shoved the phone back to Mike. He turned back to look at Megan and noticed her pale, clammy skin. He brushed her hair back out of her eyes and whispered in her ear.
"I'm here
. I'll save you. Just hold on."
He ripped her blouse open and once again turned back to the paramedic and thrust out his hand.
"Shears!"
Mike reached into his bag and produced a pair of trauma shears
. John snatched them from his hand, and then grabbed and lifted Megan's bra at the center, swiftly cutting through the thick fabric between the cups without a hitch. The bra split in two and John pushed each half to one side, exposing Megan's breasts and revealing the half-inch bullet hole below her left breast created by Gerald’s Greenwood Police Department, Homicide Division, service-issued Glock. John remembered Bell shoving the same gun against his temple and how he'd wondered then if Bell was crazy.
He had his answer.
"
You fucking prick," he said to no one, then turned again to Mike and said, "Gimme some iodine and something to clean away the blood."
Mike quickly handed John dry gauze and another soaked in iodine
. John swiped away the blood with the dry gauze and a new dribble of deep red blood immediately flowed over the edge of the hole and leaked down Megan's side. He then swiped the whole area again with the iodine. John shook his head.
"This can't wait
. Gimme a scalpel!"
Mike pulled a scalpel from his kit and shoved it handle first toward John
. John's hand clasped around it and he lowered the scalpel just above the bullet wound and said very calmly, "Cut me a one-foot length of quarter-inch tubing and find a container. We’re going to drain her chest cavity—and tell the driver to slow down, and have him notify me whenever we approach a dip in the road."
Mike stared at John a brief moment
, then stood and moved forward to relay the message to his driver. Seconds later the ambulance began to slow, and with the ambulance siren wailing outside, at a pitch much like a referee whistle, or an air horn, or possibly a child's scream, Dr. John Randall prepared to make an incision on a patient for the first time in over a year. A patient he loved very much. It would be his first medical procedure since the night he watched his son die, when all the love and surgical knowledge that he could possibly summon…just wasn't enough. He took a deep breath, exhaled, pressed the scalpel firmly against Megan's pallid skin at a forty-five degree angle, and cut her open.