Patterns of Brutality: Erter & Dobbs Book 2

by Nick Keller

  “What, baby?” she said, egging him on.

  Turning to her, he said, “I’m in love with a killer.”

  She made a cheers gesture to him, holding her glass forward, and whispered, “God, I love you.” She took a sip.

  William stepped forward. “Then, there’s Iva.”

  The glass paused between her lips. She lowered the glass dawning a grim look. “Iva—I didn’t want that. That was… not easy.”

  “But you had to do it, didn’t you?” he said with a low, cutting tone. “You broke your own pattern. Iva wasn’t young, not a starlet, not on the verge of her dreams. She took nothing from you. You didn’t even plant semen on her. The world couldn’t see her like it saw the others.” Grinning humorlessly, William concluded, “Iva was for me. She was my cue, wasn’t she? You wanted me to know. Who else would kill Iva, but you?”

  Ruthi leaned forward grinning slyly and locking him down under her gaze. This was a new Ruthi, one he’d never seen. It made him squint at her, force a swallow. She said with confident, playful words, “I knew you would see me. It was just a matter of time. I knew I had to tell you. I wanted to tell you tonight. You said you love me. That’s when I knew it was right. I know you see it. The world brought us together, William. That’s the only way it can work. By bringing people together, the right people, people who belong together. It’s the pattern of life. And you—” she grinned at him, “who better for the world to pull you toward than me?”

  William suddenly felt his nakedness like never before. She was reading him, better than he’d read her.

  Ruthi said, “Your friend is a killer, too. Bernie Dobbs—do you know about him?”

  William took a step back. He said, “He… killed a girl. It was an accident.”

  “Maybe, but still the same. Don’t you think the world wanted you two together? You’re perfect partners.” She stood with one nude hip cocked out, head tilted, eyes up, still grinning at him. Moving forward, she pursued him toward the bed like a boxer going in for the kill. “Look at your walls, William. Those portraits—those aren’t just reminders of your father’s work. They’re reminders of where you come from, of who you are, how you got here. And they want to know when you will become who you’re meant to be. Q plus X plus T plus Y equals…” she stopped immediately before him and whispered, “You.”

  He stepped back again, tried to evade, but stumbled against the bed fighting to stay upright. Those devil’s eyes still twinkled up at him, close. “You’re not complete without those portraits,” she said. “They’re so beautiful, too—so peaceful and calm.” She pressed him gently down until he dropped onto the mattress. “You need those portraits to let you know you’re not alone.” She put one knee over him straddling his lap. “You live with the dead, William,” now the other knee, “because they make you feel like you’re a part of the living.”

  “N—no,” he said. “You beat her to death. Andi Jones. You beat her to death…” She reached behind, started fondling his cock, made his eyes roll up in his head. He muttered, “Beatrice Harlow. You mutilated her.” She bit her bottom lip grinning wildly, palming his balls, playing with him. He groaned, “Candy Starr…”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “You set her on fire. Oh, God, Jesus…”

  He was reaching full hard, and she angled him toward her.

  “Dulce Dios. You killed her. And the others.”

  “Yes, lover, I killed them all. And it was…” Everything paused, her words, her hands. She finally said, “Gorgeous.” She went back to stroking, teasing, and whispered in a low sultry way, “They say Iva was found stabbed through the heart.”

  His eyes opened wide, scared.

  She said, “I didn’t do that. Did you? Did you do that, William?”

  He closed his eyes, couldn’t stare into the truth.

  “How’d it feel, baby? Did it show you everything you wanted to see?” she said with an innocent, girly voice, then sank down on him, swallowing him inside her. He moaned out.

  She made an exultant, plaintive sound and whispered, “When I found your father’s victims on your walls—it’s like everything opened up. We’re so rare on this Earth, my love. We’re so perfect. I need what you need. We’re the same thing, sweetie. You can’t deny it anymore. I know you’ve tried. I know you’ve seen it all along. I’ve heard you dream about it—moaning and thrashing around at night. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? They’ve stopped, haven’t they? What was in those dreams? I’ve so wanted to ask, baby. God, I’ve so needed to know. But it’s okay now, baby. I’m what you are. Look at me. With you, the world finally sees me. Do you realize how lucky we are—both of us?”

  He could feel her oils on him, her insides pulse around him, hot and wonderful. He rolled his eyes, bit his lip, felt the overload approaching.

  “Sweetie, this life doesn’t have to be misunderstood anymore.”

  He held his breath.

  She sank down and up, down and up, paralyzing him to the bed. The ecstasy was all-consuming, the most erotic moment he’d ever experienced, fucking Ruthi and remembering the moment he took Iva’s life.

  “We found each other,” he groaned.

  Don’t cum, not yet, not inside her!

  “We found each other, baby,” she said.

  “The only two people ever meant to be…” he said through clenched teeth, reaching orgasm.

  “Together…” she said.

  William screamed, rolling his hips away knocking her off him, but he was too late. His semen erupted inside her, the clenching walls of her uterus collecting it as if snatching a final cup for her trophy case.

  He got to his feet dizzied by his orgasm and cried, “You’re wrong!”

  She looked up with her smile wearing away.

  He snatched his pants from the floor, jammed his legs into them, stuffed himself away and zipped up trying to slow his breath, control his emotions. He wasn’t here to be seduced, no matter how beautiful life with Ruthi could be, no matter how accepted they would each make the other feel, no matter how proud and excited his father would be. He wouldn’t do it.

  He. Would. Not!

  “The pattern ends here, Ruthi. It ends tonight.”

  She gave him a bewildered face. “I thought you’d want this…”

  Of course, yes, he did want this. More than that, he needed it. But no—he’d fought his entire life trying to stay clear of the life she was so sweetly tempting him toward. Oh, how good could it be with her—living his father’s dream, loving the devil’s daughter.

  No!

  This was the moment. His whole life had prepared him for this moment. What choice would he make? Which way would he turn?

  William went to the door, threw the chain lock, and opened it, peeking out into the hall. Bernie stood there, waiting. William invited him in quickly and shut the door.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  Bernie just shook his head, no, without a word, his infuriated gaze falling on Ruthi across the room. He breathed like a bull.

  William muttered, “Make it look like suicide.”

  Ruthi’s eyes bugged. “William?”

  “I’m sorry, Ruthi,” he said.

  Bernie moved toward her like an approaching storm front, glaring down at her on the floor. He reached down lifting her up by the hair. She came up to her feet squealing, “Oh, ow—William, please.”

  Bernie put a hand around her throat and squeezed making her go—glerk!—and marched her toward the open balcony. William met them there, looking her in the eyes, and said, “You’ve determined this for yourself, my love. I’m just the arbiter.”

  She tugged on Bernie’s bear-thick wrist with both hands clearing enough breath to gasp, “They have cameras. They’ll see you.”

  William shook his head. “No, they won’t. They’re blind tonight.”

  A tear built up in her eyes. “I’ll scream. I’ll scream your name. Everyone will know, everyone will hear.”

  “Ruthi—if you love me, if you’ve ever
loved me—you won’t scream.”

  Her face drew pallid. The tear rolled down her cheek and disappeared against Bernie’s knuckles. Those cutting eyes sparkled with betrayal, yet the truth swam behind them. Her look softened like a woman accepting her fate, the inevitability of it. She had fallen for him. She had…

  … fallen.

  It would be her epitaph.

  William put his hands on her face and drew her close. “I love you, Ruthi…” he said withholding a tear of his own and kissing her lips.

  She gave an eternal smile, sad but fulfilled. “I love you too, baby.”

  Bernie shifted her toward the balcony rail and lifted her easily over his head, one hand clamped onto an armpit, the other gripped around a thigh. Once at the ledge where all the Los Angeles lights opened up like an endless sea of night, he reeled her back and launched her wordlessly into the sky.

  William closed his eyes.

  She fell silently, plummeting floor after floor, accelerating through the night, falling down and down and down, until William heard the sickening flesh-flap sound of her body against pavement, distant and tiny.

  And not once, not for a single second, did she utter so much as a squeak.

  The last word.

  Bernie moved back into the apartment frowning, and stood like a statue half in moonlight, half darkened by the room. William could hear him breathe, deep and basic. Bernie just looked at him, waiting.

  William dropped onto the foot of the bed once his knees could no longer hold him up, staring empty and blank at the wall. No words were shared for several, breathless moments. He finally looked up and said, “She didn’t scream.”

  Bernie nodded, sullen. “What happens now?”

  “I killed Iva,” William said, a death whisper.

  Bernie squinted at him. “Huh?”

  “I killed Iva,” he said. William continued low and glum, “She was alive. She was… struggling. I couldn’t let you see her that way. I had to end it, Bernie.” He looked up and they met dark eyes. “I saved her.”

  Bernie’s face darkened. Shadows deepened. The light and dark playing across him revealed an evil, grotesque look. It was maniacal, on the verge of murder. Then he softened, took a breath. “And now…” his eyes drifted slowly toward the open balcony cove. Curtains fluttered.

  William nodded glumly.

  Bernie looked at him, questions running through his mind. What did William have planned next? Would he follow his lover girl over the balcony—love’s final, star-crossed act? Would he choose a more systematic way to die—maybe slice his wrists, hang himself by a belt over the bathtub, swallow a bottle of Ruthi’s Xanax pills and drift numbly off into the afterlife? Bernie didn’t know what William had planned. And ultimately, he didn’t care, not after Iva’s death. Everything came to an end. Why shouldn’t William? He put his fedora on his head and walked out.

  William heard Bernie click the door shut behind him. His big friend was gone, probably heading out the back entry of the building. William was left alone in his dead girlfriend’s apartment, thumbing 911 on his cell phone, sitting on her bed feeling gutted and hopeless. A tear tumbled hot and stinging down his face. He was empty. Empty.

  48

  FALLOUT

  “I told you, I haven’t talked to Bernie,” William said, lying through his teeth. He had no choice. He was cornered. He knew the police would come get him from the Baronial Apartments. Dialing 911 tended to do that. He knew they’d take him to the station. What he didn’t count on was Captain Pruitt from Internal Affairs. He sat across from him, sleeve cuffs rolled up, stark white light pounding off his bald head. In the left corner stood Mark Neiman with his arms crossed, and to the right was Captain Heller overseeing the questioning, hands in pockets. William felt more than cornered. He felt trapped. And looking around, there was no Dr. Oaks this time.

  Pruitt grumbled, “His booty call gets cut into bed bait a month ago, and you don’t go over there anymore? Come on, William…”

  “I told you, I tried. He hasn’t been in the mood for company lately.” He looked up. “Why are you trying to connect him to this? She jumped. I was there. I made the call.”

  “Right. Little Mrs. Looney. Your girlfriend—the woman you say you loved.”

  “I did love her. I… I do love her.”

  “But she’s dead,” Pruitt said wiggling the thorn in a little deeper.

  Heller barked, “Pruitt.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Pruitt flicked his wrist at him. Back to William, “And you spent how much time with her?”

  William had been over this a dozen times in the hours since Ruthi’s death. It had made him numb. “She was my girlfriend. We were—we were always together.”

  “Then how didn’t you know?” Pruitt was determined to press the point.

  “Because I loved her. I couldn’t see it. All I could see was her.” William tried to sound irritated, but he couldn’t. He was too paralyzed, too detached from the world. He couldn’t even manufacture enough anger to bark at Pruitt and his insulting demeanor. He simply didn’t care—couldn’t care. Ruthi was dead, no matter the true cause.

  “So, all the while you’re with her, she’s the subject of a major investigation, and you never saw it?” Pruitt asked with dry skepticism.

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “No, you’re not, are you?” They made eye contact. Pruitt got up and pulled away pacing through the room. “So, take us back—she’s standing on the ledge getting ready to jump, and you do what—nothing?”

  “Jesus Christ—I begged her. She wouldn’t listen.” Now William sounded buried under self-loathing.

  “Why didn’t you call someone, call 911, yell out, scream for help, pull her back—something?”

  He took a big breath and said for the umpteenth time, “She said that if… if I loved her, if I ever loved her, I wouldn’t stop her.”

  Pruitt chuckled. “So, to prove your love for her, you what—you let her jump?”

  “I didn’t know she’d jump. I didn’t think she’d actually do it. I thought maybe, I don’t know, maybe she was testing me.”

  “So, you did. You just let her jump.”

  William shook his head. It felt heavy on his shoulders. “I don’t guess you’d understand.”

  “No, I guess you’re right. Of course, I’m sane.” He paced back to the chair and leaned on it with his hands. “And that’s when… what exactly?”

  “I told you,” William snapped, making Pruitt grin.

  “Right. She nose dives from eighteen stories up. Of course, after admitting her crimes.” He made a pathetic face shaking his head and grunted, “Hell, I wish it was always that easy.” He looked back at Mark Neiman oozing with sarcasm and said, “Congratulations, Detective. You really closed the book on this one.”

  Neiman shifted uneasily.

  Pruitt went back to William. “I just have one question. Bernie Dobbs’s flavor-of-the-week or whatever she was, gets rubbed out by the woman you love, who later commits suicide, but not before admitting her crimes as—what do you know—the Starlet Killer, while of course leaving us an apartment full of evidence. And, oh yeah,” he snapped his fingers, “you and Dobbs just happen to be best buds. And on top of it all, your old man is on death row as the most notorious bowl of nuts in recent history.” He giggled in disbelief. “Man—I couldn’t make this shit up even if I wanted to.” Then leaning toward William with his hands now on the table he growled, “But something tells me you could.”

  Flashing a seething mad look up at Pruitt William said, “It’s simple detective work, sir.”

  From behind, Captain Heller contained a snicker behind a grin and looked the other way.

  Pruitt’s lips puckered, incensed. He pointed a finger at William and sneered, “You better watch your back.” He stuffed the chair up under the interrogation table with a bang and left the room.

  When he was gone, Heller approached coolly, his hands in his pockets. “No abundance of tact with Pruitt.”

&nbs
p; William agreed with raised eyebrows.

  Mark Neiman took a step forward. “He’s got a point, though, Mr. Erter. You were present at a woman’s suicide tonight—a top priority suspect. There’s going to be people with their eye on you.”

  “Top priority. The FBI will sweep this one under the rug, call it something neat and tidy,” William muttered.

  Mark gave him a commiserative look and said, “You’re probably right. Nevertheless…”

  “No, I believe you. There are plenty of other interested parties. Consider me informed.” William looked up at Captain Heller. “And what about Bernie?”

  Heller offered a huge sigh. “For now, he’s on psychological leave. Probably going to be that way indefinitely. It’s going to take some time. As much as Internal Affairs would like, they don’t have anything on him, though. Nothing that’ll stick. So, he was sleeping with a former escort girl. It’s not the first time. I.A. will be clocking every minute of his counseling and therapy, though. There are those who want him off the force, our friend Pruitt being first on the list. Plus, mentally he’s in pretty bad shape.” He cocked his head at William. “What do you think?”

  “He’s got a very long road, Captain. Just keep Pruitt off of him.”

  “Yeah. And you?”

  William’s eyes drifted toward the wall seeing only Ruthi, and his life without her now. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s not going to be easy, if you really loved her.”

  “I loved who I thought she was. That’s who I was in love with.”

  Heller jiggled the keys in his pocket offering an understanding grin. He said, “Well, you can try to convince yourself of that all you want. I hope it works for you. In the meantime, you’re free to go, Mr. Erter. But between the three of us, I wouldn’t go too far.”

  William stood and left the room as he said over his shoulder, “I won’t be going anywhere.”