Too Dark To Sleep

by Dianne Gallagher

  Marcus purposely stayed next to his wife as he talked. “Yes, I understand.” He wrinkled his brow, knowing Rebecca was watching him. “No, I’ll be there.”

  Rebecca’s lips were pulled tight as she turned away from her husband. “You have to go?”

  “It’s an emergency,” he said. “You know they can’t do without me.”

  “I’ve been thinking of giving up my talks.” The announcement was sudden and desperate. “I really don’t like them that much anyway. You’d think I’d get over the jitters one of these days.”

  “Why would you want to give up your speaking?”

  “I… I just thought if I was home more. I’ve been gone so much.” Her bank account and IRA were amply filled. Rebecca could afford to stay home. “I could spend more time with you. Make dinner every night. Take care of you.”

  Marcus grabbed his jacket. “A housewife? I don’t think it’s an intelligent choice,” he said casually before going out the door.

  “You didn’t come today,” Maggie’s father said. Paddy Quinn always called after his daughter missed a visit.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just this case. It’s blowing up into something a lot bigger than I expected,” Maggie said as she checked the time on the wall clock.

  “Really?” There was an edge of skepticism to his voice. There was very little Maggie didn’t expect. She was like her mother. Always ready for the worst and never surprised when it actually happened.

  She punched keys on her laptop. Buddy already had some information she could work with. “I’ll try to make it next week.”

  Try translated into can’t. Paddy Quinn’s daughter never used the word when she planned on doing something. Only when she wanted to avoid a lengthy argument.

  “Is Rayney there?” Paddy said suddenly.

  Maggie held the receiver out. “Hey, the old man wants to know how I’m doing,” she yelled so both her father and Rayney could hear.

  Rayney strolled in from the kitchen and grabbed the receiver. “Is it too much to be nice?” he whispered. “We need to have a talk. I found…”

  Maggie waved the receiver as she kept typing with the other hand.

  “Yes, sir,” Rayney said, turning away.

  “How is she?”

  “Tell him I’m fine,” Maggie said, looking at the clock again. “Gotta go.”

  “Wait,” Rayney almost dropped the receiver. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Where is she going?” Paddy asked nervously. “What’s happening?”

  “Gotta meet a guy about the case,” Maggie smiled as she jingled the car keys.

  “Look, there is no way…”

  “Where is she going?”

  “To talk to someone about the case,” Rayney said as he followed Maggie.

  “Let her go,” Paddy’s voice was firm.

  “What?”

  “Let her go,” the old man said. “It’ll be good for her.”

  Before Rayney could respond, Maggie was out the door. “Are you sure?” the young man asked, following.

  “She won’t do anything stupid,” Paddy Quinn smiled. “She’s on a job.”

  Rayney watched the car back out of the driveway. “Look, this is the first time she’s driven since...”

  “Let her,” the old man smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “But she didn’t take her meds.” Rayney sat down. “I found them in the garbage.”

  The old man smiled. “You think that was an accident?”

  Rayney paused before sending his foot into the floor. “No.”

  Missed visit, tied up with work, pills in the garbage. Maggie knew her father as well as Paddy Quinn knew his girl. “She knew I’d tell you to let out her leash.”

  Marcus Galen sipped his scotch with relish. Most women fell for him quickly and completely. Rebecca had, along with many others. But someone like Maggie Quinn presented a greater challenge. He hadn’t expected contact so soon or in a place like this. It was a surprise.

  “Southport…” Marcus said, letting the word hover in the air.

  “Lanes and Billiards,” Maggie answered.

  “Lanes and Billiards,” Marcus repeated as he raised his glass to his lips with his left hand. He let his eyes wander to the barely clad women painted on the wall. “Surprising.”

  Maggie smiled. “A little early for scotch?”

  “It’s never too early for good scotch,” he smiled. “I’ve never been…”

  His thought was interrupted by a ball slamming into pins at the opposite end of the bar.

  “Used to be a whorehouse,” Maggie said as she sipped her iced tea.

  Marcus didn’t know how to respond.

  “Second best scotch selection in town,” Maggie said.

  “So why aren’t we at the best?” the doctor said coyly.

  “Because you’ve been there before,” she said. “You haven’t been here.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Marcus just watched her. Maggie Quinn was attracted to him. That much was clear at the restaurant with Harley. She kept looking at him, grabbing quick glances when she didn’t think he would notice. Now she was more brazen, not even hiding her gaze.

  “I was surprised when I got your call,” Marcus said, steering the conversation.

  “Really.”

  A smile spilled over the edge of the glass as he sipped the scotch. “I had the distinct impression you did not like me.”

  “Now what would make you say that?”

  “Just a feeling.” It was all Marcus could do to keep himself from giggling. This was utterly unexpected. She wanted to feel him out, test his intellect. It was a wholly interesting sensation. Marcus liked it. He liked her.

  “You play pool?” She nodded to one of the tables near the bowling lanes.

  “Not very well.”

  “Then it will be an even match.”

  She let Galen take the break. He slammed the balls, scattering them across the table. Maybe he was telling the truth about his ability.

  “Some people in the media, even the MEs, think there might be serial killer loose,” Galen said as he watched Maggie study the table.

  “They always think there’s a serial killer. Maybe some kind of twisted collective consciousness. Or just TV.”

  “Then it’s not true?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I’m taking solids.”

  “If you don’t want to talk about the case, then we can just move on. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You’re not.” Maggie pointed to the side pocket before tapping the six into it. She tried to follow it with the three, but missed. “So, Marcus, what does your wife do?”

  “She’s a psychologist,” the doctor said quickly. He leaned over and tried to put the ten somewhere near a pocket. When he failed, he stood, stepped away and studied a framed Schlitz sign on the wall. “Do you think you’re looking for more than one killer?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said honestly.

  “You’re lying.” Marcus jumped on her answer too quickly. He slowly pulled together a well-intentioned smile as he turned back to her.

  “You’re an intelligent man, Marcus. Why would I lie? What do I have to gain from it?”

  “Exactly what I’m wondering,” the surgeon said. He rubbed a smudge off the Schlitz frame. “You know, I find your job extremely interesting. Honestly. I guess it’s human nature. A fascination with death.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly around your patients,” Maggie chuckled.

  “No, of course not.” Marcus tried to look like he appreciated the joke. “My turn?”

  “Nope, I’m still going.” She popped the two in and the cue ball quickly followed.
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br />   “So tell me, what’s the most difficult part of a detective’s job? Seeing the bodies? Watching the families? What?”

  “The truth?” She handed the doctor the white ball.

  “Definitely.”

  “Arrogant assholes who think they’re smarter than cops,” she answered casually. As the doctor pulled back the cue, Maggie heard the smallest gulp of air, saw his pupils dilate, the smile sag. Galen tripped, but picked himself up quickly.

  “Really.” The surgeon’s voice was controlled as he sunk the ten.

  “It’s what fucks them in the end.”

  He sent the cue ball chasing the twelve, but it popped off the table.

  “God, Marcus, you do suck,” Maggie said. She could feel the heat rising from the doctor’s skin as she waited for him to retrieve the ball.

  “Your job must be very easy with all these arrogant idiots.”

  “Assholes. Arrogant assholes.” She watched the doctor cringe slightly. “Mundane. Isn’t that what you said the other day about cardiac surgery? It’s accurate. Idiots are just stupid. The assholes’ll play you, waste time thinking they can beat the police. Then when it all goes south, they scream for their lawyers.” Maggie shrugged. “Cry uncle.”

  “Sounds a bit simplistic,” Galen said, stepping up to the table.

  “Still me,” Maggie smiled, pushing him back with the stick.

  “Maybe they’re just protecting themselves from a less than flawless justice system.”

  “They’re protecting themselves from themselves. They come in, ego waving in the breeze, then halfway through the game they realize they can’t win. Call for the relief pitcher. Every hammerhead does it. Guaranteed.” Maggie looked up and measured Galen’s reaction. The glowing skin. Carefully controlled breathing. He was struggling to keep himself in check.

  “Really?” Galen’s eyes flitted to the Schlitz sign.

  He wanted to say more, but he was editing himself. And why the fuck did he keep looking at the stupid beer sign. She watched his eyes hover near a square of mirrored glass. He was checking himself. Made sense. “So, enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”

  The words released the tension and everything about Marcus Galen relaxed.

  “There’s not really a lot to tell. You know where I work. What I do. You obviously have your own opinion about who I am. After our last conversation, you probably know more about me than most of my friends do.”

  Maggie nodded to the side pocket.

  “Ed Harley thinks very highly of your skills as a detective.”

  “And I think very highly of him as an ME.” The eight ball disappeared. “And that’s the game. Want to play again?”

  Marcus looked at the table. Only striped balls remained. He hadn’t been paying attention to the game. He had been watching Maggie Quinn instead and lost.

  “One more,” he nodded as he watched her rack the balls. “I must say, I’ve been intrigued, listening to all the medical examiners talk about you. But now considering the inept individuals you pursue, I’m wondering how good you really are.”

  Maggie smiled as she moved past Galen and to the opposite end of the table. “I’m the best.”

  The response from Galen was nothing short of sexual. “Really?” he breathed.

  “Really.” The best for the best, Maggie told herself as she noted the flush rising on Marcus Galen’s face. That’s how he thinks. That’s what he looks for. She sent the cue ball down the table, barely breaking the formation and leaving the surgeon no shot.

  Galen surveyed the table before taking his shot. A purple ball flew into a pocket as the others scattered. He moved close to her, leaned in, his mouth inches from hers. “And what is your secret against these stupid, arrogant madmen?”

  Pull back, her mind whispered. Stay away from him. Maggie could hear his pulse, smell the sweat rising from his body. She had him and there was no way either of them was walking away.

  “It’s fairly simple. I dissect their lives,” she said. “Every part. What they’re ashamed of, every event they want to hide. Every habit, every obsession, every minor and mortal sin. I take the person apart, piece by piece. And I don’t stop till I have all the answers. Still your shot.”

  Something in the Marcus Galen shifted. He raised his glass and drank a little too deeply. “You must waste a great deal of time.” Marcus pulled back the cue and sent another ball into a pocket. “Certainly evidence…”

  “Instinct,” she interrupted. There was anger in Galen’s eyes. He didn’t like being cut off.

  “Humans have no instincts.” The reply was terse. He let another shot fly and the cue ball hopped into a pocket. “Too many generations of domestication. Like a cat that’s been in a house all its life. It can’t hunt any longer.”

  “Can’t or doesn’t?” Maggie said. “And don’t tell me you can’t see the difference?”

  “I see it. I simply don’t accept it. There is no evidence. And since we can’t tell what an animal’s thinking, we’ll never know.”

  “We don’t need to know what it’s thinking. Every action reveals, Marcus. Everything any animal does points to what it wishes it could do. What it will do if it has the chance,” Maggie said, sending the ball down the table, sinking two stripes. “When I was a kid, we had a cat. Never stepped foot outside. Sat in the window every day and watched the birds.” She took another shot and sunk the eleven ball. “Its ears twitching, muscles tight. Eyes barely open. But every fucking atom of that cat was focused on those birds.”

  “I don’t see your point,” he said, irritated.

  “The point, Marcus, is this,” Maggie said, sinking another ball. “That cat never caught a thing in its entire life, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t if it had the chance.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m just not impressed, Maggie. I don’t think you can really understand someone without…”

  “What? Getting into their heads? That is the biggest bunch of bullshit the guys at Behavioral Science ever came up with. Adds drama to the job. Maybe gets them written up in a few books,” Maggie said. “But it is bullshit. Nothing more.”

  “They are the experts,” Marcus countered.

  “They’re paper-pushers who want to be famous. They look at photos and reports, then make it sound like every time they interview a killer, they’re spelunking into the depths of a frighteningly amazing, superbly crafted intellect.”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  “Let me tell you, Marcus, the guy who chokes innocent women, then cuts them up… there is no earth shattering, mind bending philosophizing going on in a brain like that. The guy kills because he is a killer. That’s who he is. That’s all he is.”

  Galen bit into an ice cube and swallowed the pieces. “Interesting. Well, I will be curious to see if you’re right.” He swirled his glass, teasing the last bit of scotch out. His eyes traveled down Maggie as she bent to take her shot. He nodded to her forearms. “You know, there are some excellent plastic surgeons in the city. I’m sure they could do something to minimize the scarring.”

  Maggie shrugged nonchalantly and scratched on the thirteen.

  “But you would rather everyone see your failing, is that it? Or are you just keeping them as a reminder?”

  He was pissed and poking around for her sore spots. Instead of wincing, Maggie made herself laugh. “Do you charge by the hour or by the session?”

  Marcus froze for one small moment, then curled his lips into a smile. “This one’s on the house.” A ball crawled into the pocket.

  “That doesn’t sound like a doctor.”

  For a long time, Galen stared at the table. He was constructing something new. That much was obvious.

  “It was fortunate you survived. The bleed on cuts like that, you should’ve died,” the doctor said quietly, matc
hing Wally’s voice as he looked at his reflection in the mirrored glass. “What did you use?”

  Maggie didn’t miss a beat. “X-Acto.”

  He nodded and popped the white ball into the pocket. “Very much like a scalpel. Clean incisions. A fast bleed.”

  “If you hit an artery.”

  Galen’s brow furrowed as he studied her arm. “You would have to work under the veins. Tricky. And painful. An interesting choice. You must’ve wanted it to hurt.”

  Maggie fought the urge to throw the cue ball into his skull.

  “But even if you hit the artery just right, it would take time. Well over an hour. The body would go into shock and shut down blood flow to the extremities.” Marcus paused. “Unless you helped it along with alcohol or a tub of hot water?”

  Maggie shook her head slightly.

  “Interesting,” he said, tilting his head.

  “No, not really.”

  “Perhaps just giving yourself time to think? Or time to be found?” Marcus molded his face into a sincere mask as he looked out the window. “Not unusual, Maggie, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Most suicides are simply a cry for help.”

  That didn’t just sting, it burned. “My husband was on his way to the airport. Business in Europe. I was only found because he forgot his passport and had to come back home.”

  Richard didn’t panic, Maggie recalled. He ripped the sheets off their bed, tore them into strips and wrapped her forearms, wrapped them tightly so the blood would stop. Then he called 911.

  Her eyes wouldn’t focus. The room and everything in it, including her husband was fuzzy. But she remembered hearing Richard’s voice. His real voice. Not the one he used in the courtroom. Not the one to impress people. The one he used when he apologized and meant it. The one he used when he asked her out the first time, then later, asked her to marry him.

  “You can’t leave me, Maggie. Not now. Stay with me. I need you.”

  He talked to her the entire time. Until the EMs were loading her in the ambulance. He talked to her in the hospital the day after. He talked and waited for his wife to answer. Waited to hear she wasn’t leaving. That she needed him. That she loved him. But Maggie never answered. Eventually, Richard’s real voice stopped, then he stopped.