All The Dead Girls

by Tim Kizer

  He only had to wait a few minutes before a young Hispanic man, who was exiting Susie’s apartment house, let him inside. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and stood before the door to the prostitute’s apartment for a few seconds, wondering if Susie was home. He could smell marijuana smoke in the hallway.

  Was she alone? Hopefully, she was. If not, he would apologize and come later.

  Richard pressed the doorbell button.

  There was no answer. Richard pressed the button again and strained his ears, but heard nothing. Then he turned the handle and pushed the door. He hadn’t expected the door to open, he did it just for the hell of it.

  The door was unlocked. Now Richard had no doubt that Susie was home; these days, only an idiot would leave his apartment without locking it, and Susie was not an idiot. He walked inside, shut the door, and, after quickly scanning the front hall, headed for the living room. The apartment was very quiet. The prostitute was probably taking a nap.

  "Susie," he called as he entered the living room.

  He was right: Susie was home. And she was not busy. In fact, she was never going to be busy again. Susie was dead.

  She was lying on her back on the floor, naked, her arms stretched along the sides of her body, her eyes open. There was a bleeding wound under her left breast. The killer must have aimed at Susie’s heart. The carpet underneath the prostitute’s body was covered with blood. Richard felt a hard lump in his throat; a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He had seen a lot of dead bodies, including dead women. He had killed people. Nevertheless, at this moment, he could barely breathe, his lungs gripped by shock and horror. He had not anticipated this, you know. He could have imagined seeing three men fucking Susie in every hole, Susie defecating on a guy’s face, Susie lashing a guy with a whip, but not a dead Susie with her ears cut off.

  The killer (who else could it have been?) had chopped off Susie’s ears. Richard bent over the prostitute to get a better look at her head, and saw that eyes hadn't deceived him: both of the woman’s ears were gone. Richard scanned the room for the ears, but found no sign of them. It appeared that the killer had taken the ears with him (or her; the killer could be a woman) as a souvenir. Richard grimaced with revulsion. So much blood had been spilled. A sea of blood.

  He stepped back from the body hurriedly, worried that his shoes might get stained with blood. Then he scrutinized his shoes and his hands. Fortunately, he was clean.

  Richard wiped his forehead with his palm and licked his lips, which were as dry as parchment.

  A naked woman in a pool of blood. It looked surreal, like a painting by Salvador Dali.

  “Susie," a woman’s voice called.

  Richard started and sharply turned to the door.

  "Susie, are you home?"

  The voice was coming from the front hall. The woman had entered the apartment and was headed for the bedroom.

  Without hesitation, Richard dashed to the window. The window was wide open. Like in a dream, he climbed upon the sill and leaped to the ground. On the way down he thought he was lucky that Susie lived on the second floor and not on the fourth. He bent his knees to soften the impact. He landed on his feet and hands, and managed to keep his balance; he felt no pain, probably thanks to adrenaline. Clenching his teeth, he stood up and ran toward the street.

  8.

  He was sincerely sorry for Susie. She had a seed of decency in her.

  CHAPTER 10

  1.

  In the far right corner of Detective Norris's desk stood a small table fan, which was slowly oscillating from side to side, humming quietly, blowing air at the clean-shaven cop’s torso. There was an expression of intense concentration on Norris’s face.

  "How do you do, Mister Brower?" the detective said in an affable voice, shaking Richard's hand.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Richard eased onto the chair.

  "You’re right on time," Norris went on. "I like that. Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

  "Sure."

  Norris lowered his eyes and scanned the sheet of paper lying in front of him.

  "I appreciate you coming here, Mister Brower,” he finally said. “First of all, I’d like to tell you that our conversation is not being recorded." He smiled. "So please relax, sit back, and just pretend you’re talking to an old friend, okay?"

  “Sure, Mister Norris. I’m ready to answer all your questions."

  “Call me Steve.”

  “I can certainly do that.” Richard drew his eyebrows together to maintain an air of solemnity.

  "I know you’re in a very tough situation right now. I'm really sorry about your wife. No one is prepared to deal with something like this."

  "Thank you." Richard heaved a sigh. His cheeks began to redden.

  "As I understand, it’s been nine days since your wife went missing. And you still have no idea where she could be, do you?"

  "No idea. I'm beginning to think something terrible happened to her. Sometimes I wonder if she’s dead." Richard furrowed his forehead. “That’s the most frustrating part—the not knowing whether or not she’s alive.”

  "I understand you very well, Richard.” Norris leaned forward and laced his hands together on the desk. “I see several possibilities. First, your wife was kidnapped for ransom. Are you a wealthy man?"

  A gloomy smile touched Richard’s lips.

  "No, not at all,” he replied. “I’m doing fairly well, but I’m not rich. If someone did kidnap Mary for ransom—well, they made a mistake."

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I trade stocks.”

  “Stocks? You must be very smart. I personally think that the stock market is a casino.”

  “It’s not that far from the truth.”

  Norris cracked a smile. "So nobody has contacted with a demand for ransom?"

  Richard shook his head. "No, nobody has contacted me. I would have told you if they had." He cleared his throat. “If it turns out that Mary’s been kidnapped, I’ll give everything I have to save her.”

  "I see.” Norris gave Richard an examining look. “Kidnappers typically tell their victims to stay away from the police. It might seem like a smart thing to do, but I assure you it’s not. You should always inform the police when a loved one is kidnapped.” He paused. “Always.”

  “I agree with you.” Richard nodded.

  After a short silence, Norris said, "Another possibility is that your wife left you."

  "What do you mean ‘left me’? Are you saying my wife doesn’t love me anymore?”

  “No. It may have nothing to do with love. Women leave their husbands for all sorts of reasons.”

  “That’s impossible. I don’t think she could have left me.”

  "I'm just throwing out ideas, that’s all. I have to consider all possibilities in order to find your wife."

  "I understand."

  "So you’re absolutely sure she couldn't have left you?"

  Richard stroked his chin pensively, and replied, “I don’t think she had a reason to do it."

  Norris made a humming sound as he considered Richard’s words, and then glanced at his notes. “Lisa Chapman, your wife’s brother’s girlfriend, told me that Mary had called her two days after going missing. What do you think about it?”

  Richard shrugged. “I’m not sure what to make of it, to be honest with you.”

  “At the least, it might mean that your wife was alive two days after disappearing.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I find it interesting that she called from a payphone. Why do you think she didn’t use her cell?”

  “I don’t know.”

  "Okay. Let's see." Norris looked in his notes, and said, "Tell me about your relationship with Mary. For example, have you had any fights with her in the last couple of months?" The detective fixed his eyes on Richard.

  Richard had a feeling that the detective was setting up a trap. He was amused by the fact that Norris was so easy to read.

  "No, we’v
e never had a fight. We love each other.”

  Richard had almost used the verb ‘love’ in the past tense. Would Norris have noticed this slip of the tongue? Would he have paid any attention to it?

  "Well, even people who love each other argue every now and then.”

  “I think every marriage is different.”

  Norris spent a few moments digesting his answer, and then said, “Have you ever been to a marriage counselor?”

  “No.”

  “What about the intimacy part? Would you say that Mary was satisfied?”

  “Are you talking about sex?”

  “Yes.” Norris nodded.

  “What does it have to do with Mary’s disappearance?”

  "I apologize if I offended you, Richard. I’m just trying to figure out why your wife would have wanted to leave you."

  Richard hesitated, and replied, "If you must know, we’re both satisfied as far as sex is concerned.”

  "Great. I guess it’s not about sex then."

  Richard decided not to comment.

  “Do you think your wife is capable of cheating on you?”

  “No, I don’t think she is. I trust Mary.”

  “I see.” Norris started tapping his fingers on the desk. “So you’re sure that she doesn’t have a lover?"

  Richard found it encouraging that Norris kept talking about Mary in the present tense: it meant that the detective believed she was alive.

  “I’d be very surprised if she did,” he said.

  "Very often the husband is the last to know. It happens all the time, Richard. You trust someone, and then it turns out that she’s been sleeping with your best friend.”

  “I don’t want to speculate.”

  “It’s a real possibility, if you ask me. Maybe she met someone younger, or someone with a lot of money. You know what they say: money can’t buy you love but it can sure rent the hell out of it.”

  It was apparent that the detective was resisting the urge to laugh at his own joke.

  “I’m not saying I’m God’s gift, but… I believe Mary is happy with me.”

  "But you’re not one hundred percent sure, are you?”

  After a pause, Richard said, “You could be right.”

  "How long have you been married?"

  "About three years."

  "That's interesting. Three years together and not one fight.” Norris stared at the sheet of paper in front of him for a few seconds, and then continued, "If Mary is with her lover, it’s possible that she left town. She may have even left the state."

  Needless to say, these words were music to Richard’s ears.

  He propped his chin on his fist and pretended to be absorbed in thought.

  “I realize it hurts your feelings, but I have to consider every plausible scenario,” Norris added.

  “Why didn’t she tell me anything?”

  “Perhaps she wanted to spare your feelings. Breakups are painful, even to men.” The detective rested his elbows on the desk and peered at Richard. “One more thing. If your wife did run away with another guy, chances are it will take her a while to come back. As a matter of fact, you might never find her."

  Richard frowned. “Are you going to stop looking for Mary?”

  “We don’t look for runaway wives. But you can always hire a private investigator.”

  Richard breathed a heavy sigh. “So you think I might never find her?” He gave Norris a pleading look.

  "If Mary changes her name or moves to another country, it will take a lot of time and resources to track her down. The question you’ll have to ask yourself is: should I look for a woman that doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”

  "I understand.” Richard licked his lips. “So is this your working theory?”

  “Not yet. It’s too early to draw any conclusions.”

  “Do you have other theories?”

  “Yes, I have a couple more.” The detective leaned back in his chair. “There’s a possibility that your wife’s been murdered. These days you can get killed for no reason at all, you know.”

  “That’s my biggest fear,” Richard muttered in a flat voice.

  “The good news is, no unidentified body matching Mary’s description has been found yet.”

  “The killer might have hidden the body.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But we must hope she’s alive.”

  “Yes, hope is good. Hope helps us persevere. But at the same time we need to keep in mind that your wife’s been missing for ten days.”

  “Do you think she might have been killed in some sort of accident?”

  “I doubt it. Bodies usually don’t disappear from the scene of an accident.”

  Richard silently nodded.

  But what about woodchipper accidents?

  “Theory number four: she’s been kidnapped by one of those perverts who keep women captive in dungeons.” Norris rocked his chair. “Remember that guy in Cleveland that held three women in his basement for almost ten years?”

  “Yes, I remember. This doesn’t happen very often, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s also possible that Mary lost her memory and forgot who she is and where she lives. I suppose amnesia is more preferable than a dungeon."

  Richard nodded, saying nothing.

  "And finally, I’m not ruling out that you killed your wife." Norris fell silent for a moment to see Richard's reaction. "I’ll be frank with you, Richard: when a woman goes missing, her husband is always a suspect. This case is no different.”

  Richard had watched enough crime shows to know that one of the worst things a suspect could do when accused of murder was to show no emotion. He thought they called it ‘guilty behavior.’ In a situation like this, the society expected an innocent person to be visibly indignant and upset.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Richard snarled, glaring at the detective. He rose to his feet. “I did not kill my wife. Do you hear me? I’ve never hurt Mary in my life. I have nothing to do with her disappearance." He thought of pounding his fist on the desk but figured that would be too much.

  "I’m not accusing you of anything.” Norris smiled. "I’m just putting forward conjectures, that’s all. Brainstorming is an important part of an investigation."

  "You’re simply wasting your time."

  "Maybe you’re right. Here’s how I see it: you killed your wife either for money or out of jealousy."

  "Can you be more specific, please?"

  "Sure. You could be after Mary’s money.”

  "That’s nonsense. Mary doesn't have a lot of money."

  "I know that. I also know that she doesn’t have rich relatives.” Norris began playing with his pen. “Does your wife have life insurance?”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Really? Well, then it’s not about insurance money.” The detective paused. “I have one more possible motive: jealousy. You found out that Mary had been cheating on you, and snapped. The good old crime of passion.”

  "I already told you I don’t think that Mary's cheating on me."

  "But how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Why would I lie about it?”

  “I believe it’s pretty obvious: to avoid suspicion.”

  "Does it mean you suspect me of murdering my wife?" Richard scowled.

  “No. As I said, I’m simply brainstorming here. I’m being open with you, Richard. I’m a straightforward guy, as you can see. I don’t play games, I don’t trick people. I don’t beat around the bush.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Besides, if you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”

  This of course was bullshit, and Richard wished he could bitch-slap the detective for uttering it.

  “I understand.”

  “So what was I talking about? Jealousy."

  "Mister Norris, I’m not a jealous person, and my wife knew that. I realize that you can’t force someone to love you. If Mary stopped loving me and de
cided to leave me, I wouldn’t stand in her way. "

  "You wouldn't?" Norris paused. "I spoke to Mary's brother, Robert Logan. He told me that Mary had dropped by his place that Saturday evening."

  "Does he know where Mary went?"

  Norris shook his head. "I was surprised by one detail. I found out that Mary’s brother did two years for theft."

  "He was in prison? When?"

  “He got out seven years ago.”

  “I didn’t know that. What did he steal?”

  “He stole a diamond ring from his buddy’s mother. It's an interesting fact, though it has nothing to do with your wife’s case.”

  Why had Mary never mentioned that her brother was an ex-convict? Had she thought that he would have shunned Bob because of his stint in prison?

  “Honestly, Bob strikes me as a decent person.”

  “He probably is a decent person now. I believe in second chances.” Norris looked at the calendar on his desk. “Would you mind if I came to your place and took a look at Mary's stuff?"

  "When do you want to do it?"

  “I don’t have a date in mind yet. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does Mary have her own computer?”

  “Yes, she has a laptop.”

  “Is it at your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. Do you know Mary’s email password?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I guess I’ll have to ask for a warrant. What’s her email address?”

  After writing down Mary’s email address, Norris asked, “Does she have only one email address?”

  “Yes.”

  Norris thought for a second, and said, “I’m going to look into it. Many people have several email addresses.”

  “That’s true.”

  “One more question: do you know any of Mary’s friends?”

  “I know a couple of them.”

  “I need you to give me their names. I’ll talk to them if I have time." Norris leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. "I’m going to find your wife, Mister Brower. I promise. I'll find her no matter what it takes."

  2.

  "It seems that you only live in two rooms," he heard Kathy's voice. "In the bedroom and the living room."