They had planned the child. Brenda had gone off the patch and got pregnant three months later. Were they fertile or what? His brother had been trying for years now. His brother might have a bigger house and a BMW and a Lexus, but who had the better swimmers? The first grandchild, a son at that, has to count for more than a lousy trip to Hawaii once a year, right Mom?
Now, they had a baby boy that desperately needed a name. Randy was the best bet, named after his grandfather. Jesus, his folks were going to spoil the kid rotten. But, like they say, that’s what grandparents were for.
George smiled at the man mopping the floors and edged past the wet area. George had seen the same janitor twice that night. The guy must do the entire hospital. The washroom was ahead on the right. Without looking back, George pushed through the door.
*
Preston had arrived at the hospital well after his quarry. Millership had hurried while he had taken his time. Of course, he knew exactly where Millership would be. It was all about preparation and planning. They didn’t stand a chance against his intellect.
His disguises were getting cleverer. Who would suspect a lowly janitor? He knew the layout of the hospital what with all those vending machines to audit. He knew every washroom, every exit, and every nurse’s station. More importantly, he knew where every security camera was. They would have virtually nothing and what they might get would be all wrong.
He had found Jane Degenfeld here. He hadn’t needed a disguise then while he kept watch on the little slut. But this time needed a bit more planning and some luck. Still, it was all so easy. Anyone could walk in and get the necessary supplies. And, the overalls were perfect for his purposes. When he was finished, he could just strip them off and walk away.
All he had to do was keep busy.
For over three hours, he had been working his tail off. And, the floors never looked better. For hours, he had waited while that baby took its sweet time. But eventually, Millership would be out here. Preston knew Millership wasn’t staying with his wife. As always, he knew everything because he was always there, listening, planning, preparing. He should have done this ten months ago and there would have been one less of them to reproduce.
He might even have to kill Millership’s kid. It would be best not to allow the line to continue. The gene pool was already polluted enough.
When the washroom door swung shut, he leaned the mop against the wall and rolled the bucket out of the way. He reached in the secret pocket of the overall and brought out the ice pick.
Without further preparation, he headed for the washroom. He broke out in an instant cold sweat as he realized the similarities between here and the school.
*
The hall had been better lit and lockers had lined the walls. He hated having to ask the teacher to go to the bathroom. It was so embarrassing to have all the girls know where you were going. He held it as long as he could but now he had to go bad.
He opened the bathroom door quietly. He always did. He hated to announce that he was entering. He hated using public washrooms almost as much he hated asking to use them. If he had pushed the door open like the other guys did, he would never have had the problem.
Somebody else was in one of the cubicles. As quietly as possible, he moved to one of the urinals. If he hurried, he would be done before whoever even knew he was there. But, first he had trouble with his fly. The harder he fought the more it stuck. He barely got it out of his pants before he started peeing.
Then, he heard the noises.
At first, he thought the guy was just laying a big one. The grunts weren’t ones of pain, though. Then, he saw the stuff splash on the floor. Every guy recognizes that when it hits the floor. That was the precise moment that he knew he was in trouble.
He tried to hurry but he just couldn’t stop. He did everything but squeeze it to stop. He heard the door open behind him just as he stuffed himself back into his pants.
“What are you doing in here?”
Jason Millership was a big, mean kid. A football player and a wrestler – you didn’t go up against him. Nobody did. And there he was jerking off in the john during school just like the perv that he was.
It was funny but Preston didn’t smile.
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Didn’t see what? Huh? What didn’t you see, you little geek?”
All he could do was stand there and quiver. He backed into a corner as Millership started toward him. Then, the big boy just stopped. He stopped and smiled.
“You aren’t going to say anything, are you?”
All he could do was shake his head. Millership took one more step towards him and he cringed farther into wall. Millership only laughed and left him alone in the washroom.
He should have known something was wrong but he was too relieved to think. His intellect failed him as relief flooded his body. Having just escaped a severe beating, he didn’t consider what was going through Millership’s mind. He didn’t credit the cretin with enough intelligence to come up with any plan that didn’t involve his fists. After wiping the sweat off his face, he returned to his class. By lunch, he knew what the smile had meant.
Not relying on threats for something as important as this, Millership had immediately started spreading the word. Turning the story around, Millership had told everyone that it had been Preston jerking off in the bathroom. Before long, the entire school knew the story.
The rumor and teasing chased him for the rest of the school year.
“He gives a new meaning to the name JERK!”
Boxes of Kleenex and hand softener were left on his desk.
“Don’t play tennis with the geek. His grip is too good.”
Razor blades and instructions for shaving your palms were shoved into his locker.
“How is PP different from Dr. Pepper? Dr. Pepper comes in bottles but PP comes in his hand.”
The last day of the school year, he found a hand exerciser on his desk. The attached note said it was to improve his grip.
Now, he was finally getting even with Millership and the truth would come out.
*
He wasn’t quiet opening the door this time. He wanted Millership to know he was there. In fact, it was important that Millership not be surprised. He did not need surprise. He was going to use human nature.
He went around the corner of the washroom and into the main area. Five urinals, like upright bathtubs, lined one wall. A bank of sinks and mirrors lined the opposite wall. Along the back wall were four stalls.
As expected, Millership was standing at one of the urinals.
You can’t deny nature. Nature always took charge eventually. Eventually, Millership would have to use the washroom. All he had to do was stay close and wait. An out of order sign on the bathroom closest to the delivery area took care of leading him to this bathroom. There were too many cameras in and around the delivery area. They had to watch out for those stolen babies. But this hallway didn’t have any cameras so he didn’t even have to worry about video tape. It was hard to look nonchalant if you are keeping your head down to avoid cameras.
He walked up behind Millership as though he was going to use one of the other urinals. Millership did not look around.
Human nature…at least male human nature. That was the rule.
Men ignore other men in the washrooms.
If you are going to whip your pecker out among strangers, you have to be sure that nobody is going to be staring at you. You might look at the ceiling or your shoes or the cake of deodorant in the drain but you never looked at the other pissers. You look at someone and they either expect a blow job or they are going to beat the crap out of you.
The ice pick was ready.
An intelligent man knows his own limitations and uses them to his advantage. He knew he was no muscleman. Pride might get him killed. Millership was too big for him to try to strangle, satisfying as it might be. As with Kraemer, he used his brains. Millership had to die fast.
Before Mill
ership could even think another thought in that muscle clogged brain, the ice pick went through the soft spot in the back of his skull. The sharp point entered the brain and that was the end.
Millership slumped into his arms taking him to the ground. Squirming out from under him, Preston got his hands under Millership’s arms and started to drag him to one of the stalls.
Looking down, he was happy to see that he might not need the pins after all.
Chapter 57
The Daily was on Livermore’s desk again. The headline, in red letters said everything.
MIRACLE OF BIRTH SHATTERED BY VIOLENT DEATH –
SOUTHSIDE SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN
“What about the description of the killer?”
Mann opened the file folder in his hand although he had the description memorized. “Not much. We found a large pair of bloody overalls in the john with the victim. Two nurses remember seeing a janitor they didn’t recognize. Maintenance is contracted out so they are always getting different people. And who notices a janitor anyway. One says medium height, light brown hair, mustache. She really didn’t notice him. The other doesn’t remember the mustache. Both say he was tubby.”
“What about video? Surely to God the hospital has cameras?”
“We grabbed all the tape and we are looking. Don’t count on much. So far, we’ve got one shot but he is wearing a baseball cap and knew exactly where the camera was. There was virtually nothing of his face visible. He has to know the hospital well.”
“That is two from the hospital,” Keough said. “Is that his hunting ground?”
“We keep coming back to doctors,” Livermore added.
“We’re making a list,” Mann confirmed, “concentrating on all doctors with surgical skills that have privileges at the hospital. But it is a big list. We have eliminated some because of a conference during the Hart killing. It makes me wonder though. He disguises himself as a janitor. Pretty gutsy. A doctor might easily get recognized.”
“Maybe,” Livermore said, “but then who would tie the two together. You see the overalls first and the face would just look familiar to your mind. Your mind doesn’t like contradictions and tends to ignore them. Keep at it; it seems to be our best lead.”
“More like your only lead,” Buchanan said from the doorway, carrying several copies of the postmortem report on George Logan. “Gentlemen, I’m ready if you are.”
Livermore stood and shook hands with Buchanan. “Thanks for coming, Alf.”
“Oh, by the way, you know that bar owner?” Keough said, as Alf took his seat.
“The Night Dance, the one suing us?” Mann asked.
“He isn’t suing anymore. His lawyers informed us that he dropped the suit.”
“Why? I figured he had a good case.”
“He did. Then, he started to advertise to try and get business going again. But it was a Twitter thing that got it humming. One of the bartenders, I’m guessing the same one that talked to the papers, sent out this message about the bar being a favorite of the Southside Slasher. Business has tripled and the lines go up and down the block every night. Kind of blew his case.”
Mann sometimes wished that human nature would surprise him.
“What do you have for us, Alf?” Livermore asked.
“He really used pins to hold the guy’s pecker in his hand once it was cut off?” Keough asked, looking at some of the pictures.
“Yes, but he didn’t have to,” Alf said. “Cadaveric spasm would have taken care of that for him. Obviously, he either didn’t know how long it would last or just wanted to be sure. He might have thought he was dealing with rigor.”
“Rigor takes hours.”
“We know that but maybe he doesn’t. He might not be as knowledgeable as we first thought. That would definitely eliminate a doctor.”
“Is this guy gay?” Keough asked.
Alf shrugged and looked over at Mann who said, “We are getting ahead of ourselves. Tell us how it happened, step by step.”
“Cause of death was a sharp instrument shoved into the brain through the back of the head. My guess would be an ice pick,” Alf said, opening his file folder. “The killer stood behind Logan at the urinals. Blood trail to the toilet where all the other injuries happened. I can’t give you an exact order but based on overlay of blood evidence, I would say that the penis was cut off first and pinned to the right hand. Then the eyes were stabbed repeatedly. There are interesting wounds on the left hand like the palm was sliced off.”
“And then he lost control,” Mann interrupted.
“Big time,” Alf agreed. “The shirt was torn open and then the victim was stabbed over fifty times. They were so hard, the hilt of the knife caused postmortem bruising. We were even able to identify the type of hunting knife used from the distinctive marks. Then we have the usual sign carved into the victim’s forehead and the larynx is missing.”
“So, what does it all mean?” Keough asked
“I talked to a couple shrinks,” Alf continued. “They don’t agree or really know if the killer may be homosexual but they did figure out what the killer was saying. They recognized the bit in the letter about making the bald man cry. It’s slang for masturbation. That points at this victim’s secret being masturbation listing all the old wives tales about masturbation – hairy palms and going blind. Our killer made sure that we caught Logan masturbating.”
“Jesus. No details to the press about the mutilation. I don’t want anybody else figuring this out or we’ll be neck deep in lawsuits from the victim’s family.”
Chapter 58
The psychological experts consulted by this reporter indicate that crime shows obvious homosexual tendencies.
“Homosexual tendencies?” Preston asked aloud. He glanced around but, as usual, nobody was paying the least bit of attention to him. It wasn’t fair. He had been called a fag all his life when all he ever wanted was some pussy.
He took another sip of his Coke and pushed the paper aside.
Dale, Dale, Dale, he thought to himself. How can you listen to them? How can you be so blind?
Maybe it is you that is blind. Ever think of that?
But he has always seemed so balanced in his reporting.
Balanced? Look where he buys his coffee. Look at his car. Look at his house.
He thought back. He did have a fancy sports car. And it was a big house for someone who lived alone. And Starbucks?
We know the type that buys their coffee at Starbucks.
“Oh my God,” he said in barely a whisper.
Oh my God is right. Feeling a bit foolish? You ordered that Taser for a reason. Do you think it is time for the warehouse?
The warehouse. He had almost forgotten that he’d gone to the warehouse.
Just another inventory check. He used to hate his job until he discovered how useful it was. Now he could get in. And, he had even found his weapon. He didn’t have to bring it with him this time. Good thing too, it was damned heavy.
The Taser would be here in a day.
Time for one last letter?
*
The news was on and the Slasher Update was the lead story. The night before, he had even made it to the national news. Katie Couric had talked about him! Cute perky Katie. Luckily, he had TIVOed it so he could watch over and over while she described his successes.
His smile faded slightly when they showed a shot of the newborn baby.
“His father,” the newscaster said, with a phony crack in his voice, “was taken after seeing the boy only once. He wasn’t even granted the opportunity to know his new son’s name. The newborn’s mother was left to decide that on her own.”
That report hit him hard. He still felt enormous guilt.
He had failed the world.
He should have killed Millership before he had a chance to reproduce.
He hit the mute on the remote to deaden the drivel.
The child would be better off without that father. Millership would have just turned his so
n into another of the scum of the world. Maybe now, he would escape the curse of the deviant genes of his father.
Christ, Millership masturbated so much, it was a wonder he had any sperm left to make the little bastard. Maybe that was the answer! Maybe his wife had got a little on the side and the brat wasn’t even Millership’s. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?
She would have no trouble finding a new father for the child.
She deserved better and now she would have the opportunity. Now, she could get what she truly deserved. She was so beautiful, so obviously caring, such an addition to the world. She would flourish without Millership.
Possibly, he should marry her himself. He would be an excellent, loving, caring husband. He was more the type she deserved in life. She deserved someone like him, someone who thought of others and the good of the world.
Then, once he was close to the child, the ideal of the perfect father, he could kill the little bastard. No use risking that Millership was the father. The father’s genes might be dominant. Bullies usually breed true.
His own seed would give the world the child it needed.
Was that the way it was to be? Were Tina and a child to be his reward for his holy task?
He couldn’t contact her yet. It was too early. People might consider it gauche. Bad form, so soon after Millership’s death. He would wait for a time.
After all, even if she proved herself unworthy and rejected him, he could still just kill her and the brat.
Preston needed a new messenger.
Lewery had seemed so promising, the perfect man to get his story out. But that was not to be. Lewery had proven himself unworthy. He would pay for that in just a few hours.
Who else could deliver his story? He would have to find someone to contact. Maybe the newspapers were too small time, not immediate enough. He needed television. Maybe it should be the idiot on the screen right now.
Was he still thinking too small with this local talking head? Maybe he should contact Katie? He could imagine telling her his story. Just the two of them, intimate and quiet.
Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) Page 19
