by Tom Bierdz
Their silent expressions told me they did consider it abuse. They also seemed annoyed I was bringing it up again. “What about the tire tracks she left trying to hit me?”
“We got a read on the tires. They’re original equipment and fit several vehicle makes.”
Had she used her own car I’d bet her tires were top of the line narrowing the search, but she was too clever for that.
“Unless someone convinces me otherwise,” Carrie said, “I’m assuming we’re dealing with one ruthless killer and her initials are Megan Wilshire, and we need to get her before she gets Grant.”
“I’ll see if I can get a cop to stand guard now that you’ve been attacked.”
“No, if Megan notices it’s apt to stop the momentum. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for months. We need to get this over with.”
“You sure?” Carrie asked.
I nodded vigorously. “I’m out of here. Give me a day to put things back in order. So can you outfit me day after next?” I asked Rollins.
“Yeah we’re all set whenever you’re ready.”
“This taping system better be discreet,” Carrie said, “I can see that vixen tearing off Grant’s shirt as soon as he enters her place.”
“He’ll go in entirely wireless with an earpiece that can’t be seen and a cell phone will record and simultaneously broadcast to us. We’ll be on stand-by, know exactly what’s happening, and ready to break in if needed.”
“Okay, let’s talk day after tomorrow. I’ll be ready to go.” I grabbed my crutches, waited for Carrie to gather my things, then left the hospital.
Carrie slowed the car as we approached the spot where I was run down. Deep grooves in the near shape of a horseshoe ruined the landscape. The bushes had taken a beating, bent and broken, where I had lunged. A cold chill ran up my spine. I pondered what might have been. My fractured thighbone was nothing in comparison. Megan wasn’t playing around. She meant business. I was vastly out of my element. But I couldn’t turn back now.
“Do you want me to stay the night?” Carrie asked as she pulled in front of my house.
“Thanks, but I really don’t expect anything to happen tonight. She’s not going to attack me at home.”
“Does she have a key?”
“No, thank God.” I reflected that I almost gave her one
“I’ll call you later. Make sure you’re all right.”
I squeezed Carrie’s hand, opened the door, awkwardly climbed out with my crutches and went into the house.
49
Although I convinced Carrie nothing was going to happen last night, I hadn’t persuaded myself. After making sure every door and window in the place was locked tight, which meant scooting up the stairs backwards on my butt, while dragging my crutches with me, and setting off painful objections from my thigh, I slept fitfully waking to every outside speeding car or barking dog, and every in-house furnace grunt or ice cube dropping from the ice-maker in my refrigerator. I awoke as tired as when I went to bed.
I hadn’t considered how the stairs would affect my injury. My punishing, throbbing leg warned me that repeatedly climbing the stairs was not an option if I wanted to heal quickly. I’d get Bobby to help me later today, to haul down what I needed to set up a bed and the bathroom downstairs.
After taking a pain pill, I called Bobby, had him pick up some bakery for breakfast and called for a taxi. Even without a cast on my thigh, I struggled to put on my pants without putting any weight on my bad leg. Throughout the day I’d learn how my injury would affect every little thing I did.
Over coffee and sweet rolls I brought Bobby up to date and together we rescheduled patients, paid the bills, and brought the insurance claims up to date. In the rare occurrence should I not return, I gave Bobby the name of a male and a female psychiatrist for him to call to see if they would accept my patients. If so, to give their names and number to my patients. I signed an extra check for Bobby, told him to fill in his hours and add a generous bonus. In between, I saw the handful of patients scheduled today.
Curious, I had to tell them the story of how I got the broken leg.
During an afternoon break, after we had returned from setting me up downstairs, Bobby came into my office with a sad expression on his face. “No doubt you’re coming back, but...but what should I tell Hanna?”
“Nothing now. She needn’t worry unnecessarily.” An image of her sinking into the corner of our sofa, crying her heart out after learning of Kevin’s death infiltrated my mind. “Bobby, the likelihood of my not coming back is slender...”
“I know.”
“...But in that case, tell her I love her.”
Smiling, he slowly turned and walked away.
My answer was spontaneous. I hadn’t thought about it. But I did love Hanna. We had been through a lot, shared a history. Not all of it good. Time and experience had erased the newness and some of the passion but there was a substance, a depth, to that relationship that was never there with Megan. And now I knew why and that it could never reach that pinnacle.
After my last patient I tidied my office, something I never did, preferring to leave it for the clean-up crew that came in sporadically. I wasn’t being maudlin or morose, expecting to die. Ritualistically, I was closing a chapter of my life. I was determined to put an end to my relationship with Megan and bring her to justice. I reflected that I had saved a number of patients through therapy. Bringing Megan to justice, I’d be saving others: psychiatrists not patients. If I didn’t stop her, who knew how many more victims would fall under her spell.
Tomorrow was Saturday. My calendar was clear. I called Carrie and Detective Rollins and asked them to come to my house near suppertime and outfit me with the equipment I needed to spy on Megan. I was ready.
50
Our plan was for me to drop in on Megan unannounced, so she would be surprised and unprepared to execute whatever homicidal scheme she had in mind. If it failed because she wasn’t home, I’d go to plan B and make an appointment.
The leg pain was extreme. I wanted another OxyContin, but declined to take it as I needed all my wits about me when confronting Megan. I told myself pain was good. That meant I was alive. There is no pain when you die. Maybe, I should have waited another day or two before proceeding, give myself more time to mend. I could still cancel as Carrie and Rollins wouldn’t be here for another hour or so. I needed one of those flowers with petals that would help me decide. Instead of ‘she loves me, she loves me not’, I’d do, ‘I should go, I should postpone’. I was still playing those silly mental games, taking my mind off the pain, when the doorbell rang. Apparently, Carrie or Rollins made the decision for me. I’d have to go through with it. I grabbed my crutches and hobbled to the door.
She stood there in a dark hoody, her face barely visible, her hair completely covered.
“Whoa...Megan, what are you doing here?”
“Since you won’t come to my place, I came to get you.”
“You can’t be serious. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to lay a foot in your house.”
“I think I can convince you.”
“If you think that sex....” She pressed something pointed into my gut from inside her jacket. A drop of perspiration snaked down my arm.
“This isn’t sex but it is sexy. But I’m not threatening you with a gun. It’s for my protection, in case I need it.” She withdrew the gun from my stomach. “You’ll come with me because I have Gregory.”
“You? Why?”
“Gregory’s my bargaining chip. You come with me, I set him free. You refuse or try to pull any stunts like notify our police friend, then Gregory becomes one more missing child among the thousands of others who are never found.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Not unless I’m forced to, but by now you should know better than to question me.” She flashed me that ‘aren’t I clever’ smile. “Gregory is very comfortable. He has a TV, computer...one not connected to the internet...really anything he wa
nts. He’s being treated like a special guest.” She waved the gun at me through her jacket. “Now shall we go?
I needed to stall, buy time. What were the chances of Carrie or Detective Rollins appearing early? Both had a tendency to come late to their appointments. “First, I need to talk to him. Make sure he’s alright.”
She laughed. “I call the shots, Grant darling. Come on. Vamoose.”
If I couldn’t keep her here, how could I alert the others? “I’ll get my jacket” I grabbed my crutches, racked my brain on the way to the closet.
Megan followed close behind, keeping me in her sight. “You’re quite good with those crutches.”
“Thanks to you. But I always thought you were a better driver.”
“I am. I’m sure Detective Rollins told you that it wasn’t my SUV that ran you down.”
Skeptical look “Whose car did you use?”
“Come on, get that jacket and quit stalling.”
I unhooked the jacket. “I need to sit. I can’t put weight on this leg.” Motioning with my head, “Just to the arm of the couch.”
She scowled, waited impatiently, keeping her eyes on me.
Reclining on the sofa arm, I balanced my crutches, then slipped my wallet out of my back pocket, keeping it in my hand as I shoved my arm through my jacket sleeve, and dropped it down my side away from Megan. I had to hope that if Carrie or Rollins saw my wallet on the floor, they’d suspect something was wrong and look for me at Megan’s. My jacket on, I grabbed my crutches, stood and kicked the wallet away from the sofa.
“You dropped this,” Megan said, picking up my wallet and handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping it into my pocket. Best laid plans... I followed Megan outside, managing to turn the lock shutting the door. At least my team would find the house unlocked.
It felt like rain. How apropos. Just like in the movies, it rained during the climatic scenes. With my shoulders hunched against the damp air, I dragged myself to the dark sedan in the street.
“Hmm. Another new car?”
“A loaner.”
“Inside” Megan opened the door wide.
Wincing, I slunk into the passenger seat, handed Megan my crutches. “Does this seat go back any further?”
“It’s back all the way.” She jumped behind the wheel, turned on the ignition. Mist moistened the windshield. She turned on the intermittent wipers.
“You think of everything, don’t you Megan. You come for me in a different car, so if there are witnesses they won’t see your car. And that’s how you ran me down with someone else’s car.”
“I always found your intelligence attractive,” she said, motoring down the street.
“You are clever, Megan. You didn’t call because you didn’t want to leave any phone records. You pick me up so there’s no record of the cab ride and so I can’t alert the cops.”
“Yeah, and don’t try to be a hero in the car. I will use the gun if I have to.”
“You needn’t worry while you have Greg, but I’m expecting you to release him when we get to your house.”
“A bargain’s a bargain. I’ll make that phone call one of the first things I do at the house.”
“Where is he?”
“It doesn’t matter where. He’s safe, unharmed. He can fill you in with all the details later.”
Darkness had set during rush hour. Traffic was heavy. How strange that there were so many people around, but none that could help me.
Greg could fill me in if there was a later. He didn’t run away; he was abducted. That explained why he didn’t contact me. He couldn’t. “Greg didn’t burn the building, did he?”
A tiny reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
“My God, Megan, you are one conniving bitch! You set this up brilliantly.”
She drove silently.
My research taught me that female serial killers were less likely to get caught than males. They didn’t have a need for publicity or notoriety. They were more self-contained, without the need to show the world what they accomplished, to be respected as a powerful figure. Knowing this, I was at a loss as to how to appeal to her. I assumed she was bringing me to her house, but I wasn’t certain. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my place.”
“Why?”
“To have a drink. Talk. Decide where to go from here.”
Where to go from here? There was no doubt in my mind, that if Megan had her way, I wasn’t going anywhere else. This would be my final destination.
51
I leaned on my crutches as we stood by the elevator on the lower level having entered from the garage. Megan had pulled her car inside, parked next to her two Mercedes. The storage on the side had been re-stacked. There would have been room for my Porsche. Strange to now be thinking of what would have been.
“This is a new look for you, Megan. The hoody, jeans and sneakers could have come from a consignment shop. Several steps beneath. You’d be considered slumming. I’m used to seeing a fashion guru, someone with expensive designer clothes.”
“But I wear these well too, don’t I? That’s part of my versatility.” She flashed a smug smile. “Part of me that you haven’t seen.” She pressed the button, opening the shiny elevator doors.
“There’s many parts of you I’m just discovering. I guess you’d say I was a slow learner.” I shuffled in, studied her in the elevator mirrors. She did look good in anything.
She pressed the button for the living area. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The others got stuck on the glitter also.”
“Lost in the glitter. How rare to see such brilliance. It’s like finding the unattainable and possessing it”
Glowing with the compliment, she said, “You flatter me.”
“Not really. You’re deserving and you know it.” The elevator gently jerked to a stop. The doors opened to the living room. “It’s what lies beneath that beautiful package.”
“Shouldn’t a woman have a certain mystery about her?” She stepped into the room.
Grunting, I hobbled out. “That depends on the mystery. I thought you might illuminate that for me.”
“I don’t see why not. Make yourself comfortable...if you can with that leg. I’ll make us a drink and we can talk.”
I sat on the couch, balanced the crutches next to me. “How about freeing Greg first.”
“Sure.” First give me your phone. She turned it off, pocketed it. She grabbed her phone, punched in the number. “It’s me. You can release the boy...where we planned earlier...Bye.”
“Where?”
“It doesn’t matter, Grant. He’s safe and he’ll be sleeping in his own bed tonight.”
Assuming Carlos lets him in. He thinks Greg burned the warehouse. “How do I know you weren’t trying to trick me, pretending to call, like you did with Sasha and the rowboat?”
“Because I made a deal with you.” She smiled. “I also said I’d get you a drink.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
I watched her walk away, wondering if I could get away on crutches. I’d need the elevator since I couldn’t manage the flight of stairs. I didn’t recall observing her lock the elevator. Still she could have. It was risky. She had a gun and could hunt me down She went to the kitchen to make my drink when there was a wet bar in the living room. She’d done that before, made drinks from both rooms. Nonetheless, I was convinced she went into the other room because she was poisoning my drink. I was to have the same fate as Pennington and Collingsworth. My only option was to stall and trust that Carrie and Rollins would deduce where I was. And, I did want to get answers even if I couldn’t record them.
Returning with a martini in her left hand and a Rob Roy in her right, Megan had changed clothes. She wore a close-fitting, purple sweater and matching slacks that revealed how well she had been assembled.
“Now that’s the Megan I visualize when I’m not with you. Sexy! Stunning!” Grinning, she placed the drinks on a side
table and started to sit on my lap.
”Uh-uh, the other leg.”
She lowered herself on my right leg and smothered me with kisses, unbuttoning my shirt and running her hands over my chest. Admittedly it felt good, but I knew she was checking for a wire. I hated to think what might have happened had I wore one.
She jumped up as quickly as she sat down, handed me my glass. “Drink up. I made you a Rob Roy with two olives, just the way you like it.”
I took a sip, and as soon as she turned her back, poured a little into the Ficus plant next to me. I drank the Rob Roy rarely as an aperitif before a meal. I didn’t think I was invited for dinner. The sweet vermouth sweetened the scotch and most likely disguised the poison she added to my drink. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I noted a slight menthol scent and minty taste. I had anticipated this after researching Zoloft.
Megan sat on another sofa facing me, a coffee table between us, the Chicago pictorial book on top.
“How’s your drink? I ran out of your usual scotch, bought another that was highly recommended.”
“What’s the name?”
“I forget. I can go see.”
“Never mind.” She had given me the same scotch, this time with a new additive. “An exciting city, Chicago. I’d like to explore it further if I get another chance.”
“Bobby said you went there for a conference. But he couldn’t tell me the name of the conference and I couldn’t find a conference in the area that even remotely applied to psychiatry.”
“I was checking on your previous marriages to Collingsworth and Pennington–the ones you said you never had.”
“I thought so. You were getting too close, Grant. That’s why I came after you with the car.”
“If you’re going to kill me, Megan, least you can do is end my confusion. Answer some questions.”
“Okay, but you have to drink along with me. My martini is almost finished and you barely touched yours.”
I took another swallow. I would require a lot of Zoloft to overdose. “Were there other husbands?”
