“Oh he’s still here.” Randy came to the table. “We were hoping you would have covered the bill by now. We can go for another walk.” He smiled at Paige who returned it.
“I was considering making a run for it.” I smiled too, although I had to force it and its appearance didn’t showcase for long. “So how was it?” I asked the question of Paige. “I hope he treated you right.”
Paige remained standing. “Fine. We should really get going. I’m okay to drive.”
I got up and extended a hand to Randy who pulled me into a hug. He felt the need to explain the affection again. “Bro hug.”
“Well, that’s how you guys started the night so it seems fitting you would end it the same way.” She extended a hand to Randy. “Nice getting to know you.”
When they shook hands their connection lingered. Their eyes matched.
“Early morning.” I pulled out forty bucks to go towards the bill and set it on the table.
“Yeah, we better go.” Paige didn’t even glance at me. She slipped her hand out of Randy’s and backed away.
“Good luck with the case you’re working on.”
“Thanks.”
Our backs already to him, I waved a hand over my head.
By the time we reached the hotel it was just after midnight. I was tired and ready to crawl into bed, but what I wanted even more was to feel needed. Paige talked about Randy most of the drive, how he was a real decent guy, maybe just a little confused about his direction in life, but otherwise stellar—her word, not mine. Although I loved the guy like a brother, jealousy interfered with my vision.
On the drive to the hotel, I had leaned back on the headrest and inhaled Paige’s perfume. It hadn’t changed since we were sleeping together. Nostalgia transported me to the past, to the afternoons we’d slip away to a hotel room where we’d make love and spent afterward fall asleep in each other’s arms. I remembered waking to her perfume and the smell of her. I remembered the showers we took together and how the soapsuds lathered on her skin.
“It was fun tonight,” she said, as we both stood in the hotel hallway. Both of our rooms were on the tenth floor next to each other.
“Yeah.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
As she was in front of me I realized again how small she was in comparison to me. I recalled how when we had hugged her head dropped at the height of my collarbone. “Like what?”
“Like you don’t mean it.”
“No it was good to see him.”
“He is a great guy.” Paige smiled.
“He’s alright.”
“He’s alright? I thought you guys were best friends?” Her eyes pried mine.
“Anyway I’m tired.”
“Don’t change the subject again.” Anger flashed in her eyes.
“I’m not trying to. I’m tired. I’m calling it a night.”
“What aren’t you saying, Brandon? Why don’t you get it out?”
“Night, Paige.”
Her hand came out and pulled on my forearm. “Don’t leave like this.”
“Like what?”
“You’re that stubborn?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking—”
“You’re jealous.”
I did my best to conjure a sarcastic laugh. “Of what?”
Seconds passed. Her eyes locked to mine. “You can be such an ass.”
“You can be such a b—”
“Don’t even say it, Brandon. You don’t have the right to say who I like, who I see, who I sleep with. You understand that? Because if you don’t you better start.” She walked to her room, slid her passkey through the lock, and cracked the door open. She turned to me before slipping inside. “You have no right.” She slammed the door behind her.
I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. My fist rose and knocked on her door. She cracked it open enough so that I had access to enter her room. I put my hands on her neck, tilted it back, and kissed her. I became intoxicated by her taste, her smell. She let me maneuver her as if she were moldable clay, as if she had waited for this moment.
“Brandon,” my name was carried on a hushed whisper, a partial moan.
I took her mouth with the hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten for days. I made love to her tongue, to her lips, to her neck. I wanted her, but as I kept indulging in the forbidden, Deb’s face haunted my thoughts. I pulled back, jagged breaths escaping. I swallowed deeply, bit on my lip, trying to sedate the insatiable hunger that couldn’t be satisfied. I ran my hands down her arms and held her hands. Her eyes were misted with tears and narrowed with a sexual craving. They weren’t the eyes of a stranger but the eyes of a known lover.
“I’m sorry, but—”
“I,” she swallowed deeply, her breath uneven. “I understand.”
I took her mouth again before pulling back.
“I love you, Brandon.”
I swept a hand through her hair. “I know you do.” I couldn’t speak the words in return even if I wondered if they were true on my behalf as well. “I’ll see you in the morning?” The statement came out with the arched curve of a question.
She nodded and closed the door slowly behind me, leaving me alone in the hallway.
CHAPTER 33
The banging on the door pulled me from a dream where Deb was crying and telling me she took back everything she had said. Deb lifted her shirt and there were slice marks in her torso. My breathing was rushed from the dream transformed nightmare.
The knocking on the door repeated. “Open up.”
I got up from the bed and nearly tripped and fell flat onto the hotel carpet when my foot got wrapped up in the comforter that lay spread on the floor. I undid the chain and opened the door.
“What took you so long? We have to go.” It was Paige, and she was already dressed.
I turned around to look at the clock on the nightstand. In my fuzzy state I seemed to have forgotten it was not visible from the door. “What time is it?”
“Six. Get dressed.” She glanced down at my boxer shorts and smiled. “Do you own a six-pack of the plaid ones?”
Instinct wanted me to reply, you can find out if you want, but reality was until I knew for certain Deb was gone, I was a married man. “I’ll be out in five.” I inched the door closed with Paige being pushed backward into the hallway.
I only had time to turn around and Paige banged on the door again. I didn’t open the door but yelled out to her, “Five minutes.”
And I was impressed that I had adhered to the time limit I gave myself. Five minutes later I opened the door dressed, armed, and ready to go. Paige wasn’t as impressed. She was leaning against the far side of the hall. She pushed off with a foot when I came out.
“I need to tell you something. I should have told you yesterday.”
“Sounds like a confessional.”
She waved a hand. Her cheeks flushed a light hue. “It has nothing to do with last night. All the same I’d like to forget any of that happened.”
The flash that fired through her eyes disclosed her pain. She didn’t forget, nor did she want to. “Sure.”
“I should have told you yesterday,” she paused. “Jack’s here.”
“What—”
“Kid, you’re up. Good thing we’ve got work to do.”
My head snapped to face down the hall. Jack and Zachery were walking toward us.
Was this still part of my sleeping cycle? Was I having a continuing nightmare?
Paige leaned into me and whispered, “I should have told you yesterday.”
“You knew?”
She nodded, and her eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “He told me when I took the call at the hospital.”
“You knew,” I repeated.
“You were going through something bad yesterday. You needed time to wind down.”
We held eye contact until the other two reached us.
“Paige, good morning,” Jack said.
“Morning.” She dragged her eyes from
mine to look at Jack.
“Pending.” That seemed to suffice for Zachery’s greeting.
“Why do you look like a deer in headlights, Kid? I’m sure Paige told you we’d be coming.”
“Yeah, of course.” The latter two words took a while to form. She did tell me but only after I knew.
“We’re going to put this animal behind bars where he belongs. I understand local PD is guarding him.” Jack patted his shirt pocket for his beloved pack of cigarettes.
My throat was dry of moisture.
“You alright, Pending? You look a little peaked.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Zachery laughed. “You don’t do mornings very well.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, alright then. Let’s go.” Jack led the way down the hall, Zachery beside him, Paige and I trailing behind. “You two haven’t forgotten how to hustle I hope.”
“No, boss we’re coming.” Paige hit me in the forearm and we quickened our pace.
My brain didn’t want to wake up. “You don’t think it would be too much to get a cup of coffee to go?”
“In the car.”
“You rented another—”
“We might be the government Kid, but we still have a budget. I got a set of extra keys for the Cruze.”
“When did you get in? How?”
“Save the questions for Robinson, Slingshot.”
Sarasota’s finest was posted outside Peter Robinson’s room. The officer’s head leaned forward, his triple chin resting on his chest. Jack slapped his arm.
The officer let out a few snorts and jolted awake. “I’m watching him.”
“Looks like you’re doing a great job.”
The officer smiled at Jack, stood, and extended a hand. “I’m Officer Benson.”
“You’ve been here all night?”
“Uh huh.” The head nodded rapidly, the extra weight the man carried jiggling with the movement.
“By yourself?”
The smile faded on the officer. He finally seemed to pick up on Jack’s sarcasm. “Yes.”
“No one else—” Jack glanced up and down the hospital corridor both ways, “—to sit with you.”
“No.”
“You better hope he’s in there.” Jack left the officer standing there, gasping for a full breath.
Zachery, Paige, and I followed behind Jack. Peter Robinson was asleep with his mouth open. Feathered snores reverberated up his throat.
Officer Benson stood in the doorway.
“Good news for you because not only do you get to keep your job, you won’t have to go to prison.”
Benson put a hand to his chest and nodded.
Jack smacked his hands together, and Robinson woke with an outburst. “What the fuc—” His words died as he looked at all of us.
Jack held up his creds. “Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper.”
Robinson appeared dazed, his eyes jumping to each of us.
Jack motioned for Zachery to dismiss Benson into the hallway.
The door clicked shut, and Robinson struggled to sit up. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t help kill twenty-one people?”
Robinson’s eyes watered and he swallowed forcibly, causing his Adam’s apple to heave. “Kill? Twenty-one?”
Jack fanned a bunch of the crime scene photos on the bed including one of Anna Knowles, the first victim in Sarasota.
“Brilliant, actually.” Jack paced around the end of the bed and came up on the man’s left side. “You have a masterful mind.”
“I—” A hand flattened over his mouth. Seconds passed. “I couldn’t kill nobody.”
“You beat your wife.”
“Now that damned bitch she deserved—” His words stopped there.
“Did they deserve it too?”
“You’re twistin’ my words outta order.”
“Where were you earlier this week?”
“Whatcha mean? I was at my shop where I always am. Who’s lookin’ after it now?” Robinson appealed to me. I must have struck him as the weakest of everyone.
“You don’t worry about your shop,” Jack said.
“Don’t worry ’bout my shop? That there’s my livelihood. It helps me eat, have clothes.” The accusation of multiple murders seemed to have snapped him from his sleep-induced haze. He collected the pictures together with his one free hand. The other remained cuffed to the bed. “Get those away from me. I’ve never liked dead bodies.”
“But if they deserved it.” Jack paced a few steps back to the end of the bed. “Can anyone prove you were at your shop four days ago?”
“The cash register can. I had sales.”
“Anyone could have rung them through.” Jack pulled a cigarette from the sleeve of the pack.
“You can’t—”
Jack perched it in his lips unlit.
Robinson let out a sigh. “I work by myself.”
“That’s not what your tax returns claim.”
His dark eyes flitted around the room not fixing on anything or anyone.
“You falsified your returns. That’s a federal crime. You can go to prison, be levied with huge fines.”
He scratched at his right ear and adjusted his position on the bed. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”
Those words reminded me of Royster’s when we showed up at his home. He had said, no one was supposed to get hurt.
“What you mean is you never intended to get caught.”
“No, no, that’s not—”
“That’s exactly the truth, Mr. Robinson. But we’re not interested in your evading the tax laws.” Jack pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between the middle and index finger of his right hand. “We’re interested in why you did this.” He pointed the cigarette in the direction of the photos. Robinson picked one up. “You’re proud of those aren’t you? They deserved it after all.”
“I,” Robinson studied the one in his hand and glanced to the others that were on the bed. “They have the coinherence symbol carved in them.” He talked with his eyes back on the photo.
“You know what that is.”
Robinson looked up at Jack. “It doesn’t mean I put it there.”
Jack dragged the visitor’s chair from the corner of the room, positioned it beside Robinson’s bed, and dropped into it. “What fascinates you about the symbol?”
“No, I ain’t never said I was fascinated.” Robinson shook his head.
Jack leaned back, crossed his leg, and let his left ankle rest on his right knee. “I know very little about it. It’s religious?”
It was interesting observing Jack and how he handled Robinson. When I expected him to attack, he retreated. At this point, when I assumed he would lunge into matters, he remained quiet. His eyes never left the suspect.
This was an intimidation tactic taught to us. It was supposed to put the suspect at unease. The unrelenting eye contact was to make it harder for them to gauge the interrogator’s thoughts. The intensity of being watched with such scrutiny made the human mind question itself. An innocent party could project guilt, manifesting itself in several ways such fidgeting, facial or body language. It was up to us to discern the motivator—fear or guilt.
“Maybe I know a little about it. I’m not ignorant.”
Jack remained silent.
“It can represent many things from religious to philosophical to ideology teachings.”
“It’s fascinating how basic shapes and linear strokes can be the subject of such debate and intrigue over the centuries.” Zachery stepped forward. Robinson’s eyes went to him. “The interpretation of the symbol can virtually be endless. But the one thing always agreed upon is its simplicity and divinity of the number one. It’s purity.”
“Eleven inner points were consciously chosen in its design. Eleven represents perfection. The attributes of purity doubled in strength,” Robinson added.
“It’s time for you to answer that question, Mr. Robinso
n, why did you kill those people?” Jack resumed control over the interrogation.
“She shot me!” A pointed finger shot in Paige’s direction. “An unarmed black man.”
“The man suspected of being a serial killer.” Jack drew Robinson’s attention back to him.
“I told you. I couldn’t kill anyone. Deserving or not.”
“But you like to decide.”
“Do you not make decisions in life? Judge or condemn others for theirs? Then you and I are no different.”
I noted the reflection change in Jack’s eyes. He picked up on what I saw. There was defensiveness that resided in Peter Robinson. Along with it came pride. The fact he knew so much about the coinherence symbol indicated intelligence. All of those factors corresponded with the characteristic traits Bingham demonstrated and that his follower would need too.
“Life should be order. Instead chaos is what rules,” Robinson continued. “You have technology invented to simplify, yet we are busier than ever. Movements to save the environment that end up destroying it further.”
“You believe you have ideas that would benefit everyone?”
“I know I do.”
“Like what?”
“Oh no, I’m not sayin’ and someone else be taking the credit.”
“I’m going to ask you again.” Jack uncrossed his leg and leaned forward. “Where were you four days ago?”
“Wednesday? I told you. I’m always in my shop. I can prove it. My cameras actually work.” He looked at Paige. “And it’ll have you on camera shooting me. That should come in handy.”
Paige lifted a shoulder.
“We’re not here to talk about the shooting. We’re going to need that video footage. And our experts will verify that the date stamp hasn’t been tampered with.”
“I can assure you it hasn’t.”
Jack rose from the chair, leaving it where he had dragged it. He scooped the photos from the bed.
“You’re letting me go?” He looked to his cuffed hand. “Undo me.”
“You will be in here for a couple days. We will have police officers posted at your door. You get free, try to leave, and they’ll shoot the other shoulder.”
“And I’ll be getting’ myself a lawyer.” Robinson called out from behind us.
Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series #1) Page 25
