He felt an incredible weariness taking hold of him, his body battered and bruised, blood flowing from his mouth and chest. For a long moment he was still, eyes fixed on the head laying next to him, blue eyes open and then like a man in a dream, he walked out, dragging his naked body, reaching for the phone on the kitchen counter and dialing 911. When he got an answer, he said a few words through clenched teeth and then the phone clattered on the counter and he was going down on his face, darkness taking hold of him.
CHAPTER 26
Cook Co. Hospital Chicago February 13, 1995
8:00 am
Holt Lambert and Detective Thompson made their way into the hospital room, a file in Lambert’s hand. They opened the door without knocking, their eyes taking in the sleeping form of their friend, Josh Turner. Lambert took of his coat off, approached the bed and sat on the edge, shaking Turner gently by his shoulder.
“Wake up…wake up Josh.”
Blue eyes snapped open, unfocused and the body moved as if to get up. Holt restrained him with a hand, smiling softly.
“It’s just us…relax…relax”, Holt said and the body slumped back. Turner’s jaw was wired shut and the face was covered with red and purple bruises, his chest covered with bandages. He fixed his eyes on the men in the room and Holt could see that the eyes were haunted. He had been one of the first men into the apartment when the call was dispatched. He had been going home when the dispatcher gave the call of officer needing assistance, then Josh’s number and he had raced to the address wondering what the hell Turner was involved in. He and several uniformed officers had broken down the door after repeated attempts to get some one to open the damn thing. They had found Turner down in a puddle of his own blood, a nasty cut to his chest, his ribs broken as well as his jaw. And then they had found the woman in the room, her severed head to one side. By the time they were finished with the room and the apartment, it was clear to all that the cop killer was now dead. They had pieced the story slowly with Turner’s help, Holt and Thompson shaking their heads when it was over.
“We know you can’t talk very good…” Holt started, “so I thought we’d bring you the report before we turn it in to Assistant Chief Crawley”.
Turner’s head move in the affirmative and Holt started talking.
“After your call, we searched the apartment completely. Found three badges plus yours in that wooden box. Also found a piece of yellow paper. It had the names of Dunbar and Moore and a date, written on it, both names scratched with a pen, possibly after they were murdered by her”. He stopped for a moment, glancing at Turner, continuing softly; “The test on the axe revealed it was the same weapon used on Dunbar and Moore…and almost you. We know that the weapon used on the other two officers was different, but we have that weapon as you well know”. He cleared his throat, shuffling papers. “The SUV was found in the garage and we found traces of blood on the carpet inside the vehicle, on the floorboard and the steering wheel. The blood was tested and a preliminary report tells us that some of the blood belongs to Moore and the other two officers killed last. There was no trace of Dunbar’s blood in her SUV, but we found traces of his DNA on the gloves found in her closet. The SUV belongs to her as confirmed by vehicle registration. Also the carpet fibers and the dye color are consistent with the ones found in the apartment, as well as the household oil that you provided”. He paused then, his eyes glancing at Turner who was listening to him, eyes fixed on the report.
“We found…we found this diary inside the wooden box. I read the contents and I thought you might want to…want to read it before you turn it in for evidence”, saying that, he reached inside a plastic bag, his hand coming out with the diary. He offered it to Turner who hesitated briefly and then reached for it. Holt and Thompson exchanged a few more words with him and then they were gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the diary. He held it in his hands, turning the small book over and over, his mind a jumble of thoughts about the woman he had killed. If he was to be truthful to himself, he had to admit that a part of him had cared for her, was beginning to have feelings for her. And now he had her life in his hands, her innermost thoughts and he wondered if he really wanted to get into that now, if he wanted to discover her true self. He sighed deeply, feeling the pain in his chest, reliving the fight, her death. He shook his head, bewildered at the thoughts in his mind concerning a killer.
He looked at the diary again and then he opened it slowly, his eyes focusing on the small, beautiful handwriting. Slowly, he began to read, turning the pages, until the last entry came into view. He closed the book and his eyes, thinking of a beautiful woman with long, blond hair and mischievous eyes, a killer that didn’t have to be.
He sighed deeply, drifting off to sleep, while outside, the wind whispered softly.
(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' Page 16
