All The Dead Girls

by Tim Kizer

  So he had no alibi.

  Richard let out a quiet groan.

  Why didn't Pryor arrest him?

  The detective must hope that he would start panicking, become hysterical, and make the wrong move. Pryor was probably waiting for him to try to skip town. And when he did, the police would pounce on him. They would mobilize their resources; they would turn their pursuit of him into a national story. The entire country would see Detective Pryor catch the notorious ear-chopping maniac.

  A freeway chase, a standoff, a fire exchange, and finally, the capture of the murderer—all of it broadcast live on TV.

  No, ladies and gentlemen, he was not going to give them this pleasure, he would not run away.

  Pryor had asked him if he was planning to leave town. This shifty motherfucker was working him! He was collecting information!

  Pryor must have put him under surveillance to monitor his every step.

  Richard stuck his head out of the window and scanned the street for a police surveillance car. There were no strange vehicles within a hundred feet, but it meant nothing. The cops were good at hiding their presence.

  Chances were the police were tapping his phones.

  Was Pryor going to search his house? The detective must need evidence of his sexual depravity: photos, exotic sex toys, inflatable sex dolls, women's underwear, and whatever else psychos might keep in their homes.

  Richard went to the bathroom and washed his sweaty face and chest with cold water.

  What was he going to do now? He had to do something, he couldn't just sit on his hands. He needed a plan.

  Maybe he should tell Kathy about his situation and ask her to help him?

  It was a good idea. Kathy loved him, trusted him blindly. She would help him, he had no doubt about it. She had worked in the law enforcement system for many years; she might know someone who could make Pryor get off of his back. Or she might know someone who could make the knife disappear—that would work, too.

  Make the knife disappear? It sounded too unrealistic.

  How could Kathy help him?

  Richard shut his eyes, stretched his legs out, and crossed them at the ankles. The sounds coming from the TV merged into a monotonous murmur.

  Kathy was the victim here. She could say that she had seen the attacker's face and that it wasn’t Richard Brower who had knifed her. There was no better proof of his innocence.

  So, Kathy must change the statement she had given to the cops. It wouldn't look kosher, but the police would have no choice but to accept the amendment. Richard smiled. Tomorrow he would visit Kathy in the hospital and ask her to change her statement.

  But what about his fingerprints on the knife? He would have to find some explanation for them.

  He could say that he had indeed picked up the knife dropped by the attacker and that he had forgotten doing it because he had been in shock. He had read that emotional stress could cause amnesia, so it was not a bullshit excuse. And there was nothing unusual about him suddenly remembering that he had touched the knife. The cops may have doubts about this explanation, but he didn’t care. After Kathy declared that it wasn’t him who had stabbed her, no jury in the world would convict him.

  3.

  He had spoken to Brower's sister personally, and he was proud of his performance. He was a humble person, he hated to brag, but when he did a masterful job, it was a sin to be silent about it.

  That bitch craved love, he realized that as soon as he looked into her eyes. There was hope in Laura’s eyes; she still believed her soulmate was out there somewhere. She was trying to hide that hope because she didn't want people to know what she felt when she saw a man.

  "Unrequited love can kill," he told Laura one beautiful May night. "But if you know how to handle it, it won't hurt you."

  He pushed the right button. Laura Brower, a thirty-seven-year-old spinster, was an expert at unrequited love. She had fallen in love over and over, and her objects of affection had never reciprocated. Why? Steven couldn’t understand that since Laura was easy on the eyes and fairly smart. She gave those men her heart, but received nothing in return. Perhaps she was trying to date men that were way out of her league, who knows.

  "It’s all about perspective," he went on. "We consider those we love the most remarkable, the most perfect people in the world. Irreplaceable people. We think so because we’re in love. Love blinds us. And we believe that life has no meaning without them.”

  Yes, Laura knew very well what he was talking about. She had not wanted to live when the most beautiful boy in her school had torn up her note in which she declared her love for him. It had happened when she was in the eighth grade.

  "But it's not true,” Steven continued. “We can live without them. No one is irreplaceable. I’m not saying anything new here, I’m sure you’ve heard that before. The trick is to accept it and remember it at all times. The man that broke your heart isn’t perfect. He’s not irreplaceable. Your life was fine before you met him, and there’s no reason for it not to be fine after he leaves. It’s pointless to cry over him.”

  He kissed Laura on the cheek.

  "In order to avoid a broken heart, you should not give your love to a specific man, Laura. Do not dedicate your life to a specific man. Let your love be broad, directed not at some particular man, but at the entire male gender. Try it, and you’ll feel liberated, you’ll be at ease. No more senseless suffering. No more pain. You want sex? You’ll have as much sex as you desire. Brothers and sisters must help each other. They’ll help you, too."

  To some people, his reasoning might seem stupid, unconvincing, but he disagreed with that point of view. He believed that his arguments were no worse than all those concoctions in the Bible, which were based on an odd postulate: you must love God; otherwise, you’ll go to hell. And they also said that God loves us.

  Then he moved on to other issues Laura was interested in.

  "The meaning of life—I believe that life is about having pleasures. As many pleasures as possible for as long as possible. Everyone lives by this rule, they’re just afraid to admit it. I’m not afraid to admit it. We’re not afraid.

  "Envy? Envy is normal. Envy is good. As a matter of fact, envy is the engine of progress. It makes people use their brains and hands to outdo those they envy. Envy is important, you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

  He had done a great job with Laura. She had fallen into his hand like a ripe apple.

  He was a smart guy, that was a fact. Yes, he was a lowly detective in a shitty sheriff’s department, but it was just a cover, which he could change whenever he wanted.

  But he digressed. It was time to get moving. This bastard had just entered the restaurant.

  4.

  Richard arrived at Alexander’s at half past seven. When he stuck his fork into a piece of steak, he heard someone call his name. He lifted his eyes and saw Steve Norris walking up to his table.

  “How are you doing?” The detective shook Richard’s hand.

  "You eat here, too." Norris eased himself onto the chair. “I'm glad to see you. By the way, I’ve been practicing quite a bit.” Norris pointed to pool tables. "I think I've made some progress."

  As the detective waited for his order, Richard thought about how he was going to tell him about the knife and Pryor.

  When the waitress brought Norris his chicken pasta, Richard said in a casual tone, "You probably heard they’d found that psycho’s knife."

  "You mean the guy who attacked Kathy?"

  Richard nodded.

  "Yes, I heard about it."

  Perhaps Norris didn’t know whose fingerprints were on the knife; otherwise, he wouldn't be acting so friendly.

  "Did they tell you about the fingerprints?" Richard asked.

  "No.”

  "They found my fingerprints on the handle of the knife."

  Norris’s jaw dropped. There was a long silence before the detective said, staring at Richard, “Are you serious? They found your fingerprints?"

  �
��Yes.”

  Norris shifted his eyes to his glass. He looked genuinely astonished. “Unbelievable.” He dropped his fork on the table and leaned back. “Who told you about the fingerprints?”

  "Detective Pryor. He came to my house this afternoon.”

  "This is so strange.” Norris drew his eyebrows together. “Do you know how your fingerprints got on the knife?”

  "No, I don’t.”

  "You have to come up with an explanation, Richard. You’re going to be in big trouble if you don’t.”

  "I understand."

  "Maybe you picked up this knife from the ground? Or pulled it out of a wound?"

  "Out of a wound?"

  Richard knitted his brows, pretending to be immersed in thought. He wanted to show Norris that he was unsure of his memories, that he might later change his story.

  "As far as I remember, there was no knife in Kathy’s body," he said at last. "Pryor's already asked me if I saw the knife, if I took it in my hand."

  "And you told him that you hadn’t seen it?"

  "As far as I remember, I didn't see the knife.”

  He was surprised by the spark of interest that flashed in Norris's eyes. The detective seemed to be really concerned about his situation.

  “Maybe you forgot that you saw it and picked it up? It’s easy to forget things when you’re in shock, and I’m pretty sure you were in shock at the time.”

  Norris was right. He could have forgotten that he had picked up the damn knife. It wouldn’t be the first time his memory had played a trick on him.

  What other rational explanation could there be?

  “You’re right, I was in shock,” Richard said. “I was probably confused. Maybe even scared."

  "Do you understand the implications this will have?" Norris frowned.

  "I guess they’re going to say that I stabbed Mary." Richard laughed, signaling to Norris that he found this idea ridiculous. A second later he realized that he had made a slip of the tongue, and corrected himself, “I meant Kathy. They’re going to say I stabbed Kathy.”

  "Yes, they are. And they might even pin the murders of those five women on you."

  "Would they really do that?”

  “It’s very likely.” Norris rested his elbows on the table. “Honestly, it’s not looking good for you. The knife has your fingerprints on it. You were there when she was attacked. That’s enough for a conviction, trust me.”

  "But I didn’t do it."

  “It doesn’t matter. The justice system is imperfect. You won’t be the first or the last innocent person who got convicted.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  "Yes. I know that you care about Kathy, but Pryor doesn’t know that. What is he supposed to think? Put yourself in his shoes."

  "So he thinks I want to kill Kathy?"

  "That's right. And in a couple of months you’ll be put on trial."

  "But I didn't try to kill her."

  "Prove that to the jury. You know what I think? I think you should call your lawyer. Do you have a lawyer?"

  Richard nodded uncertainly.

  "Don’t handle it on your own. You need to take it seriously, Richard. If you’re not careful, you might go to prison for many years.”

  CHAPTER 28

  1.

  Norris had promised that he would meet with Pryor and find out all the details.

  Okay, let him meet and find out. Hopefully, the case would be dead by the time he did it.

  The next morning Richard went to the hospital to visit Kathy. On the way, he stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of carnations. Unfortunately, Kathy was not in her room when he arrived there. She was not in the hallway, either. Richard found the nurses’ station and asked where Kathy had gone. The nurse said that Kathy had been transferred last night.

  "Where?"

  "To another hospital, I suppose. We didn’t ask, and they didn't tell us. Don't worry, she’s doing fine. As a matter of fact, we were about to discharge her."

  "How can I find out where they took her?" Richard began to have a gnawing feeling in his chest. His intuition was telling him that something was wrong.

  "I don’t know. If I were you, I’d ask the police. Or you could call all the hospitals in the area. But I doubt they’ll you anything. Are you her relative?”

  “I’m a friend. Did they explain why they took her away?"

  "They’re cops, they don’t have to explain.” The nurse rocked in her chair. “Why are you so worried? I’m sure everything’s fine. Did you try calling her cellphone?”

  “I think they took it away from her.”

  Richard was getting really nervous now.

  “Well, ask the cops. They might tell you where she is.”

  2.

  Lying on the sofa, Richard turned his thoughts to Frederick Pryor. The detective seemed to consider himself a great psychologist—that was why he acted so benevolently toward Richard. Pryor was trying to gain his trust. He probably wanted to find out why Richard Brower had begun murdering women. He must be a big fan of Sigmund Freud. He must have watched ‘The Silence of The Lambs’ fifty times. How surprised Pryor would be when Kathy ruined his theory.

  Why the hell had they moved Kathy to another facility?

  Richard could not think of a plausible answer to this question.

  Maybe it was Kathy’s idea to leave the Overlake Medical Center? She had not liked the quality of service and decided to transfer to a better hospital? Nonsense. Kathy was about to be discharged, she wouldn't have cared about the quality of service now.

  Or maybe Kathy had gone to a plastic surgery clinic to remove the scars from the knife wounds?

  Why the fuck had she left the fucking hospital? And why had she switched off her cellphone?

  Was Pryor behind her transfer? What had he done that for?

  To isolate Kathy from him, a suspected serial killer. Detective Pryor must believe that Richard Brower was going to try to finish what he had started.

  Idiots! But the fact that they were idiots didn’t make him feel better. Now he had to waste time searching for Kathy.

  He didn’t even know if she was held at a hospital. They could have put her in a hotel or a police safe house.

  He didn’t know what city she was in, either.

  Richard’s stomach clenched and twisted with anxiety. He stood up and went to the bathroom.

  What if he didn't find Kathy? What if she had been moved out of state? What would he do then?

  If she had been registered under a fake name (at a hospital or a hotel), it would take him forever to locate her. If he didn’t get in touch with Kathy, he would go to prison for many years or be sentenced to death.

  Why doesn't Pryor just shoot me?

  He was in deep shit, no two ways about it!

  He was sure now that Pryor had had Kathy registered under a false name. This guy had taken everything into account. Of course he realized that Kathy would say anything to save Richard Brower from prison. He knew it, so he had hidden her from Richard Brower.

  You can't outwit the cops. They always find a way to get you.

  Richard was hot, his temples were pulsing, his palms were slick with sweat.

  Again there was darkness before him. Darkness and uncertainty.

  So what should he do? He must do something!

  3.

  At five minutes past eight, Richard headed for The Roger Lounge, hoping a visit to a bar would clear his head and calm his nerves. After driving for five blocks, he noticed that someone was following him in a blue Ford Focus. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror the rest of the way, checking if the Focus was still behind him. When it became clear that he was being shadowed, he wondered who was in the Focus. He figured that it was probably cops.

  As he walked from the parking lot to the bar, he sneaked peeks at the Focus to see if the car stopped nearby and if anyone got out of it if it did. Just as he expected, the Focus pulled into the parking lot of The Roger Lounge and nobody got out of it.<
br />
  One more proof that he wasn’t paranoid.

  Let them tail me, Richard thought. Let them sit in a cramped car for two hours while I drink cold beer and play pool.

  In the bar he met Steve Norris. They took a table and ordered drinks. After the waiter brought their beers, Richard asked, "Have you seen Detective Pryor?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  Richard was overcome by a wave of relief. How could he have forgotten about Norris! The detective would have no problem finding out where Kathy was held.

  "What did he tell you?"

  "The same thing he told you. They found the knife, and it has your fingerprints on it."

  "Did he tell you that the police had moved Kathy to another hospital yesterday?"

  "Another hospital? Why?"

  "I don’t know.” After a pause, Richard continued, “And I can’t get in touch with her. I tried her cellphone, but it looks like they took it away from her.”

  “Some hospitals don’t allow cellphones.” Norris took a sip from his glass. "That’s odd. I don’t understand."

  He rose from the chair and walked up to the cue rack.

  "I don't understand why they moved Kathy to another hospital." Norris grabbed a cue stick, chalked its tip, and stepped up to a pool table.. "What's the point?" He placed his left hand on the table, slid the cue between his thumb and forefinger, aimed, and then hit the ball. He missed the pocket. "By the way, did you decide what you’re going to do about the fingerprints situation? Have you talked to a lawyer yet?"

  "No, I haven’t talked to a lawyer." Richard picked up a cue stick. "I have a theory about why they moved Kathy to another hospital."

  "I’m all ears."

  "They probably thought the hospital she was in wasn’t safe anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Norris rested the butt of his cue on the floor.

  “They must have put Kathy someplace where that psycho can’t find her.”