Burdened By Guilt Page 3

  Mike’s eyes met Jill’s then left as they traveled around the room. There were two other doors besides their entry and only one was open. The closet was of no interest to him as he headed toward the door he assumed to be the bathroom.

  He twisted the unlocked knob but the door would not budge. Running his fingers along the seam he pushed the edges unsuccessfully looking for a weak point. Realizing gentle persuasion wasn’t going to work he slammed his shoulder against it.

  His foot eventually replaced his shoulder and after three punts to the left of the knob the door splintered open. The stench of blood overcame them – like opening the door of a hot oven – knocking them back on their heels. They stepped back to let the brunt of it pass each choking and swallowing as their stomachs danced.

  Plastic covered every surface of the bathroom including the ceiling. Duct tape crisscrossed the seams making the room feel like something out of ET.

  Mike inspected the doorjamb. His eyes followed the broken lines of caulking or adhesive running over the entire surface. Either someone didn’t want that door opened or they didn’t want the smell to emanate out. Either way, it only served to solidify Mike’s initial perception that this was just the beginning.

  “Gross,” Kevin said as his hands gravitated to his mouth. Both he and Jill stood over the uncovered bathtub gawking at the pool of coagulated blood.

  “Well,” Jill observed. “Hmmm, interesting. Not sure what to say about that note card. Doesn’t sound like something someone just pulled out of their ass. Sounds more like something from a book or poem or something.”

  Or something, Mike thought as he looked over at them. “Yeah. Definitely sounds like something copied out of a book. Doesn’t ring any bells to me but that’s not saying very much.”

  “Well, unless it was in some science book I never read much else in college,” she continued. “Can’t remember my English classes that much. That was quite a long time ago. Don’t spend much time reading anything except for American Journal of Forensic Pathology, Forensic Science International or my horoscope. All of this, of course, from the Internet. You’d be amazed at what you can find on the Internet.”

  He stopped listening to her as soon as he heard the word “horoscope”. As usual she started out strong and eventually ended rambling about some inconsequential nonsense.

  Kevin moved back behind Jill and stood with his hand raised. He waved it for acknowledgment since neither Mike nor Jill noticed.

  “Why are you raising your hand?” Mike asked.

  Kevin self-consciously brought his hand down and put it in his pocket. “It’s from The Telltale Heart.”

  “What?” Mike and Jill both responded.

  “It’s from The Telltale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe. It’s the story of a man who kills another man, chops his body up and buries him in the floor of his own bedroom. It’s kinda’ creepy and one of his best known short stories.”

  He spoke as if giving a book report rather than stating the obvious connection between the story and the current situation. Mike couldn’t tell if he was being intentionally obtuse or if he didn’t grasp the connection.

  His intense scrutiny caused Kevin to shift back and forth in obvious discomfort. Needing more Mike rotated his hands to spurn Kevin on. “And?”

  “And?” Kevin echoed. “Oh yeah, and…and the cops come because a neighbor hears him yelling and, uh, something about them being in the bedroom and, hearing the heart beating in the floor and, uh, I can’t really remember all the details. I wrote a paper about it in college but that was a long time ago.”

  Jill turned to Mike, eyebrows raised in confusion and a little pity. “Yeah, um, okay, you know Mike you should go to the community college to validate it with one of the English professors. That literary stuff always has meaning upon meaning or something. Maybe they can give you some guidance on what that means in this context. Or you could go online and look it up. It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet. I don’t know how we ever lived without it. Did you know that I’ve been able to track my entire family history using the Internet?”

  “I think I have everything I need here. Thanks Jill. You’ve been a great help.” Mike dismissed her with a kind but inarguable smile.

  “Okay,” she said and shrugged. “Well, I’m going to need some assistance in here so I’m going to get some help. Don’t touch anything. Keep me posted on what you find out. This is one of those interesting ones I like to write about in my journal.”

  “Yeah, sure, okay, I’ll keep you posted.” He already dismissed her mentally; physically she was just becoming a nuisance. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  He walked back in and looked at the body. “See if you can find someone who can help us with the note,” Mike said to Kevin. “Maybe Jill can help you since it was her suggestion and see what you can come up with.”

  Mike squeezed his temples. Most killers were barely literate. Now he not only had a methodical and patient killer but he also had an educated one. It was a cocktail he knew would blow up in his face if he wasn’t careful.

  Chapter 5

  Mike remained focused on the oddities of the body’s relation to the Poe story as he finished his sweep of the house. This was his first themed murder and it confused and excited him; the dark part of him hoped it wasn’t the last while his humanity prayed for the opposite. The novelty increased the complexity. Murders like this only happened on TV or in the movies and he hated to admit college-boy’s presence might actually be a good thing.

  “So, did you have any luck with the first officer?” Mike asked Kevin when he walked outside.

  “Yep. He was actually able to get a statement from the person who called it in.”

  “Really?” Mike asked in surprise.

  "Yeah. Actually it looks like he might still be talking to him.” Kevin pointed toward the street.

  They walked over to Officer Macon who nodded his head at the animated recitations of the disheveled man standing in front of him. Punctuating his statements with his index finger, the man’s arms rose and fell with his volume as he recounted the evening’s events.

  "Hey Charlie,” Mike extended his hand.

  "Mike,” Officer Macon said, accepting Mike’s hand with his own thick, weathered palm. “This is Carl. Carl this is Detective Anderson. Tell him what you told me?”

  "Which part would you like me to repeat?” Carl responded.

  "Start from the beginning and we can go from there,” Officer Macon responded. “He'll ask you questions when they come up.”

  "Just start with how you got in the house,” Mike said. “Around what time did you first break, I mean, first let yourself in?”

  "Well, I decided I didn't like my current living arrangements and wanted to try something new. I stayed down in this area before so I thought I'd give it a try and see if I liked it. I guess it was around eight o’clock or so. I’m not a hundred percent sure on the time. I don’t wear a watch anymore.”

  As Carl repeated his statement Mike realized he wasn't as old as he originally assumed. Underneath weeks’ worth of grime and facial hair was a man in his early to mid-forties. By his diction and clear eyes he seemed well educated and his faculties uncompromised by legal or illegal substances. Mike wondered how he came to his current circumstances.

  "What made you pick this place?” Mike asked.

  "I'm not really sure. I just walked by and it seemed nice. I think it might’ve had something to do with the windows.”

  "What about the windows?"

  "None of them were broken. It seemed like a nice place to live.”

  Mike frowned. "So if none of them were broken how'd you get in?"

  Carl didn’t respond. His eyes darted quickly between the two cops.

  Mike reassured him. "Listen Carl. I'm not interested in you. I'm interested in how you got in. Maybe the person who put the body in the house got in the same way you did. I'm just trying to nail down some details.”

  Carl looked over at Off
icer Macon.

  "Go ahead Carl. I told you, you wouldn't get into any trouble for breaking in as long as you tell us the truth.”

  Carl looked back over at Mike, cocked his head to one side and continued with his account.

  "The gate was open to the back so I walked around to see if there was an easy way in. The back yard was completely overgrown and some of the screens were pulled off and left lying around the back yard. I tried all the windows and then found the sliding glass door was open so that's how I got in.”

  "Did it seem like someone had broken in or what it just open?"

  "It wasn't open, open. It was closed but it wasn't locked. The glass wasn't broken if that's what you mean.”

  "Was there anything else unusual that stands out to you about the back gate, yard or sliding glass door?”

  Carl looked contemplative for a moment and then responded. "Nothing comes to mind.”

  Mike jotted down notes as Carl mumbled to himself.

  "…almost fell and broke my neck on a roll of duct tape just trying to get in.”

  Mike stopped writing and looked at him. "Where’s the roll now?"

  "In my bag. You never know when you might need duct tape.”

  "Show me.”

  Carl eyed him skeptically then reached down into an old Army rucksack lying at his feet.

  “Wait,” Mike stopped him. “Just point to it.”

  Carl stepped back and pointed to the opening.

  Mike tapped his jacket pocket for a pair of gloves but came up short. He moved to the interior pockets when a pair miraculously appeared in front of him. He grabbed the pair and looked up at their origin. Kevin smiled and shrugged. Mike used the wad of latex as interference between his skin and the roll of tape wedged inside the canvas bag.

  "Go find Jill and take this over to her.” He handed the roll and gloves to Kevin. “Make sure she documents it and adds it to the list of items to print.”

  Kevin took the item and held it up for inspection.

  "I meant now,” Mike said as he shooed him away like a stray dog.

  Kevin looked defiantly at Mike, looked back at Carl for a split second then left.

  "Let's get back to your story,” Mike prompted.

  "Not much more after that. I walked through the downstairs and then went upstairs. I went through the other two bedrooms and then finally in the last one where the, uh, where the body was, is, was, wis,” he smiled. “This time I actually did trip and fall because of the hole in the floor. Thank God I didn't fall on it, them, whatever. After I realized what was going on I ran out of the house and down to the convenience store and told them to call you guys. I didn't go back in after that.”

  "So nothing else stands out to you? Nothing, no matter how incidental it may seem? Remember the duct tape,” Mike asked hoping for another bone.

  "Nope. Nothing. Finding that body scared the shit out of me. After that, God himself could have shown up and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  Mike smiled. Most people were so overexposed to gore from TV and movies they assume their senses were dulled to the impact of real remains. When they’re presented with them, it’s a different story. The smell alone sends most people to the nearest trashcan. Poor Carl got a firsthand experience that would probably scar him for life.

  Regardless, his contribution helped. It was more than he usually got and ten times more than he expected. He was grateful Carl stuck around to tell him what he knew. The roll of duct tape was just icing.

  "Hey Charlie,” Mike said putting his hand on the Officer's shoulder. "Why don't you see about getting Carl here a good meal and a place to stay tonight?"

  Carl smiled and looked over at Officer Macon.

  "Sure man. Okay, Carl. Let's see what we can do for you.”

  Carl saluted a “thank you” to Mike as he walked away.

  Mike turned and looked back at the house. Greg puts the T.O.D. somewhere between midnight and six. If Carl found the body around eight then the killer didn’t have much time unless he already prepped the house.

  He wondered how long it would take to drain and dismember a body. A smile of satisfaction crept over his face as Kevin’s usefulness grew.

  Chapter 6

  “Ok class let’s get started. We’re already behind because of last week’s little fiasco so let’s try to make up some time.”

  Mike sat in the back row of the lecture hall as the teacher barked instructions, opened her notebook and sat in the front row.

  A low grumble resonated through the large amphitheater classroom accentuated with rustling paper and whispers of discontent. Near midterms the mixed facial expressions of frustration, irritation, and boredom screamed their desire to end whatever this was as soon as possible.

  “Who’s next?” She asked. “Casey, I believe it’s your turn.”

  A slight, gangly teenager rose from her seat and made her trek down to the front of the windowless classroom. The rubber soles of her loafers made quiet squishing sounds as she descended the stairs. She took each of the twenty steps as if a blindfold and cigarette waited for her.

  When she reached the front of the room she turned around slowly, her dark, brown eyes briefly looking out at her peers then jolted back to the papers in her hands. All stared intently waiting for her to begin. She strangled one side of the report as she held it in front of her face and read while the other hand twisted a dull, yellow ringlet that fell to her tiny waist.

  “Casey,” the teacher interrupted. “First, there are 80 people in this class and no one can hear you if you’re hiding behind your paper. Second, part of your grade is riding on your delivery. Stop worrying about the fact that everyone is staring at you and think about the quality of work you’ve done. If it’s worthy then people are going to judge you highly for your work. If it isn’t then the rest of the class is here to help you. Please start again.”

  The young girl nodded tightly. Mike shook his head. That wasn’t exactly an inspiring pep talk. No one liked to talk in front of people but they can usually get through it. That poor girl looked like she was about to soil her khakis.

  Fifty minutes and three papers later the teacher let the class go with parting words only an English teacher can convey so succinctly.

  “Students, remember this paper is worth one third of your grade. So far the only thing I can say is I hope those of you who have yet to read your papers are taking clues from those who already have,” she paused. “Be sure to review when you are to present and make any necessary changes prior to that date. You may go.”

  The room emptied as if someone yelled “fire” leaving the lingering scent of fear and frustration in their wake.

  “Professor Kelly?” Mike asked when he got to the bottom of the stairs.

  The teacher turned and stared at him. In her mid-thirties, she wore a bland gray pantsuit, obviously off the rack, not giving any unnecessary insight into the body beneath. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore very little make-up.

  “Doctor Kelly,” she responded. She looked at him, blue eyes giving him a quick and indifferent overview from behind old-fashioned, slightly horn-rimmed, glasses.

  “My apologies. Doctor Kelly. I’m Detective Anderson. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have a minute.”

  “I have thirty minutes until my next class. Within that time I need to review two papers and respond to three e-mails so I would say you have caught me at an inopportune moment. It would have been more appropriate had you called ahead of time and made an appointment.” Her response was as curt as her outfit.

  “I guess I was just hoping to get lucky.” Initially he smirked at the unintentional double entendre and then immediately became uncomfortable at the disapproving look on her face.

  “Yes, well, it is unfortunate but I do not have time for your questions at the moment,” she admonished.

  “Will you have any time later today? It’s important I get some answer to a few literary questions and I was told you
were the expert.”

  “Your obvious flattery notwithstanding, unfortunately I have classes until six p.m. this evening. However, since you are a police officer far be it from me to stand in the way of your investigation. I suppose you can come by my office later this evening and I will do my best to answer your questions to the best of my ability. Will that suffice?”

  “Yes, that would be great. Here?”

  “Yes, third floor, room 3-2-5. Now if you will excuse me I really do have a finite amount of time to complete my tasks prior to my next class. Good afternoon Officer.”

  “Detective,” Mike corrected.

  “Excuse me?” Her tone was indignant obviously irritated with his correction.

  “It’s Detective. Not Officer.” Mike gave her a mocking smile. He underlined his clarification as he snapped his card on the lectern.

  “Yes, of course. Good afternoon Detective.”

  “And good afternoon to you as well.” He bowed slightly and left the room. While he did feel some sense of satisfaction in correcting her he also felt like she dismissed him like one of her students.

  Pretentious bitch. She was going to be a handful. She made him feel like he was seven years old. Every word was more for education rather than communication and he dreaded their next meeting for a multitude of reasons.

  As he walked out of the building he pushed aside the inkling of familiarity he felt when he saw her. He doubted they ran in the same circles or shared the same interests. Besides, in this field he met so many people for brief moments their paths may have crossed any number of times.

  He shrugged his shoulders. It would come to him if it was important.

  Chapter 7

  That evening Mike returned to the campus leaving a pissed-off Kevin back at the station inundated with paperwork. He felt the interview would be painful enough and didn’t want to compromise it with Kevin’s schizophrenic behavior and excessive questioning. Initially he wanted to placate Kevin’s irritation with some excuse about starting from the bottom but the truth was he just wasn’t ready for another kid in his sandbox.