Burdened By Guilt Page 6

  He shook his head in disgust. Kevin’s naiveté was rubbing off on him. His hesitation had nothing to do with her discretion which he assumed went without saying. No doubt her look would say just that if he brought it up.

  Chapter 12

  Seven o’clock came quickly and he made sure to be on time. He spent the last few hours convincing himself his past would not conflict with the case but as he walked to her office his newfound confidence waned. He needed her help. That was a fact. What he didn’t need was the complication her presence would cause.

  He walked into the building and waited for the elevator. On the ride up he tucked in his shirt and straightened his collar. He lifted both his arms to smell his pits. As he got to her office he smoothed back his black hair and knocked on the open door. She looked up to greet him.

  He stopped short.

  Her hair was down and she wore a light blue, button down shirt and appeared more relaxed then the first time they met. Her dark curls hung to her shoulders and her blue eyes shown with the absence of her my-grandmother-has-a-pair-of-those glasses. She was still plain in her appearance, “simple” was the word that came to mind, but at least this time she didn’t look like she would ask him about his relationship with Jesus.

  He realized he lingered too long in the doorway without saying anything and cleared his throat. “See, not only am I not late but I’m even a few minutes early.”

  “I appreciate your consideration. Please have a seat.”

  Did she smile? No, that definitely wasn’t a smile.

  He sat and she turned and grabbed him a bottle of water.

  “Oh, thanks,” he smiled.

  Without acknowledging her own consideration she began. “So, what are the details?”

  “White male, looks to be about in his sixties found in a parking lot down near the mall. There didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary about the scene but I don’t have the completed forensics report in yet. He died of massive blood loss due to multiple stab wounds.” He sat back. “What do you think?”

  “Well, you are not interested in what I think as much as you are about what I know about the connection between Julius Caesar and The Telltale Heart.”

  His stomach muscles tightened with her incessant need to be so specific. What, was she too vague one time and someone died? He leaned back in his chair suddenly feeling less intimidated by her. She wasn’t anything like Carolyn.

  “Okay, what do you know about the connection between Julius Caesar and The Telltale Heart?”

  She gave him a slight smile acknowledging his sarcasm and took on a new air of concession. She sat back in her chair, crossed her legs and enlightened him on the two classic works of literature.

  “The simplistic connection would be the obvious one in that there are two deaths or more specifically two murders. Both are killed by people who are close to the victims in some way. The first by proximity, a neighbor who we assume to be somewhat friendly with him but cannot determine to what extent. The second by men who are Caesar’s closest friends and allies, which we know as fact.”

  Mike held his pen ready to take notes but she was yet to say anything that held any relevance.

  “The more complicated view is that of fear. The neighbor in The Telltale Heart is afraid of what the other man’s eye is seeing, what he is seeing in him or more specifically he is afraid of his judgment. Because he has what appears to be an irrational fear of this man which means he has power over him. And men do not like to give up their power.”

  He watched her unsure if that was a crack until he remembered how literal she was.

  “Also, people who fear judgment are usually experiencing some type of guilt,” she continued. “They feel as if their guilt is obvious to others so no doubt they are looking at him and judging him. His only way to stifle this judgment, i.e. eliminate this constant reminder of his guilt, is to kill his neighbor.”

  “Because he’s paranoid?” He interjected.

  She gave him a cautioning look and continued with her speech without answering his question directly. “He may also envy him. He is covetous of him as he watches him every night but that is just a talking point. There isn’t anything specific in the story which spells that out. What is so pointed about the story is not only that he kills him but also in the manner in which he deals with the body. It is one thing to kill another human being but to dismember and decapitate him, taking special care not to spill any blood, takes a ruthlessness or madness most people cannot understand. One can deduce this level of madness is tantamount to his level of guilt which is why his treatment of the body is so extreme.”

  As she segued into her interpretation rather than recounting the details of the stories Mike leaned into the conversation. He was never a great student in school and was lucky to show up to enough English classes to pass. But as she continued to talk he found himself wrapped in the story and the meaning behind it. Her exposition was gruesome and he realized his regular exposure to these details jaded him but this time it wasn’t just facts; it was poetic.

  “In the case of Julius Caesar fear was also the primary reason for his murder. The fear was from those who believed Caesar wanted to be king thereby turning Rome from a Republic into a Kingdom. A conspiracy was formed including one of his closest friends, Marcus Brutus.”

  She leaned forward, her hands and arms moving in accentuation of her words. “This play varies from the first tale as the reason for killing is different. There isn’t fear of judgment on Caesar’s part but fear of a dictatorship which would be a change from the democratic republic in which they currently live. The murder is as gruesome due to the number of times he is stabbed but does not correlate to the killers the way it does to the killer in The Telltale Heart. I would say…,” she paused and looked around the room. “Today is the 15th correct?”

  “Yes, October 15th. Why?”

  “Because Caesar was killed on the 15th. ‘Beware the ides of March’ was the warning he received from the Soothsayer. It was a warning something terrible was going to happen to him on the fifteen and he should be wary.”

  The look on her face indicated her obvious passion for the subject matter as she finished her analysis. “You see, the beauty of literature is that everything can mean something. It’s up to the reader to figure it out. That’s what makes it so wonderful. What you interpret is different than what I may interpret. The genius is in writing it in such a way that no matter what the interpretation the work should speak to you and move you. It should give you insights into the multi-faceted worlds created by a deft mind.” She smiled as she finished.

  He hated to admit it but she impressed him. She wasn’t just some stuffed shirt who forced this garbage down undergraduates' throats. She truly loved what she did and wanted to show everyone else why they should love it too.

  “I am not a psychiatrist but may I offer my opinion about your perpetrator?” Her elbows propped on the arms of the chair as her hands lay folded in front of her. She re-crossed her legs and appeared more in her element and less professorial.

  “Of course,” he encouraged.

  “Your perpetrator has something very specific to say. He – I’ll use the masculine pronoun for the sake of ease – is educated, meticulous and relatively patient. I would say he’s also young. He may have the patience to plan the perfect murders but because your first victim’s throat was cut implies his impatience now that the wheels are in motion. I would imagine he has been planning these murders for quite some time, maybe even for years. He has been waiting for the perfect time and apparently the time is now.”

  Mike frowned at her comments as she confirmed his own thoughts.

  “I have a feeling these men have not been chosen at random either. These two stories were chosen for a very specific reason and I would venture to guess the victims were as well. He is trying to say something and I would also guess he is trying to say something to a very specific someone. Someone who may or may not be getting the message. I wouldn’t be
surprised if you have more bodies on your hands sometime sooner rather than later, unfortunately. They may or may not be killed as brutally but they will definitely be killed in a very specific way and/or place.”

  For someone who wasn’t a psychiatrist she seemed confident in her assessment on how people think. Maybe all that time spent analyzing books was proving to be more useful than just driving first year English students crazy.

  She slowly leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk. Her face was drawn and showed some fatigue.

  He spoke before she could voice her obvious and growing concerns. “I think it’s best you don’t talk to anyone about our conversations. I don’t want someone from the press getting wind of your involvement and show up unannounced knocking on your door. I know how sensitive you are about people making an appointment.” He gave her a toothless smile trying to lighten the mood and surprisingly she responded in kind. “Also, not that I think you should be worried but I don’t want to put you in a compromising position if anyone should find out you’re helping me with this investigation.”

  “What do you mean ‘compromising’?” Her face tightened, concern reflected in her eyes. With her elbows still on the table her posture straightened and she adopted a defensive tone.

  “No, no, no, you really don’t need to worry about anything like that.” He quickly offered her reassurances seeing the beginnings of fear on her face. It never occurred to him she would be anything more than in control.

  “There’s no reason to think this guy would come after you or anyone else involved in solving the case,” he reassured her. “Rarely does that ever happen. Besides, you said yourself he was very specific about how he killed these guys, who they were and that he also has a very specific plan.”

  Her face relaxed but her posture remained stiff. “You’re probably correct. There would be no reason for him to come after either one of us. I am only providing literary insight which may or may not provide any help to you whatsoever. Besides unless the newspapers ever found out I was involved there would be no reason for him to even know who I am.”

  He could tell she was talking it through to herself, providing her own reassurances.

  “Rest assured,” she said with what appeared to be a façade of confidence. “I have no intention on telling anyone about our conversations. I would prefer to keep this between us.”

  She stood and held out her hand.

  “Fair enough,” he said and stood as well. He got what he came for and it was late. He felt guilty at her obvious fatigue and for putting her in this situation especially given her current state.

  He reached over her desk and took her hand. It was the first time she offered it to him and his enjoyment of her touch surprised him. Her hands were soft and a bit cold.

  He started to smile at her with that thought and realized he was still holding her hand. His smile increased but this time it was the awkward smile of a teenager and he pulled his hand away and put it in his pocket as if punished.

  “Well, thanks again for all your help. You’re proving to be quite an asset to this case.” He winked.

  Oh my God, I’m flirting with her. I need to go.

  As he walked toward the door he tripped over the leg of the chair and as his right hand was still in his pocket, lost his balance and fell into the wall. At two hundred and twenty five pounds he left what would become a permanent divot in her corkboard.

  “My goodness, are you okay?” She asked as she walked around the desk to offer her assistance. He noticed her short skirt and tan, athletic legs.

  “Yeah, I’m great,” he said as he straightened himself up and pulled away from her. His hands were in the air as if she held a gun on him and he quickly put them down at his sides.

  “My leg was asleep…I guess…I was sitting wrong…or something like that.” He inhaled. God, she smells amazing. Get out now. “Well…okay…uh…thanks again. I’ll call you. I mean if something comes up. Like another murder…I mean.”

  Turning abruptly he walked into the doorjamb. He stopped for a split second to regain his composure and what was left of his dignity then placed both hands on the frame. He looked back at her, smiled awkwardly again, and walked out of her office leaving her standing with a stunned look.

  When he got on the elevator he grimaced at his behavior. The kid would have loved see that little display, he thought. His sophomoric behavior would have undermined any superiority he had over him from then on and he was grateful he left him behind.

  He tried to focus on what she said but fell short. He could only see her face, her startling blue eyes, dark hair and strong legs. Even her hands felt the same.

  Shit. He didn’t need another distraction.

  Chapter 13

  Suzanne sat, swiveled the chair and put her feet up on the desk beneath the window as she let her mind digest their conversation. Unsure of the impetus of his awkward behavior as he was leaving, she squinted at the new picture his fumbling created. She thought it strange how just minutes before he arrived her only memory of him was his excessive height. Now she couldn’t get the image of him standing with his hands in the air out of her head.

  She brought her fingers to her lips hiding a small smile. She hadn’t been in a relationship in years and even longer since she felt little butterflies in her stomach. It felt good and awkward at the same time.

  Dropping her hands she shook her head. Attraction to a cop made her nervous but she couldn’t help that she liked the way he stumbled around her. No doubt his physical stature demanded an immediate response as he entered a room. Add on his occupation and the word “commanding” took on a whole new meaning. But his demeanor was in diametric contrast to his physicality. He behaved off-kilter as if trying to be on his best behavior around her and she found it strangely appealing.

  Closing her eyes she allowed herself a moment of indulgence in her girlish fantasy only to have a squeak from the open doorway bring her back to reality. She opened her eyes but did not turn. Initially tingling at the thought of Detective Anderson’s portentous return the goose bumps rising on her forearms made her cold instead of hot. Her back stiffening in morbid attention as her subconscious sent signals of warning instead of invitation.

  She watched as the hairs on her arms stood in mindless attention as if conjured from the dead. The rush of adrenaline contracted her muscles as the multitude of reflections in the widow solidified into a single, indistinct form.

  Without provocation her assailant bolted into the room and hurdled her desk. Endless tentacles reached out blocking her every escape. The impact of body on body knocked her out of her chair. Winded she moved forward in a harried crawl. Her feet gained traction and she ran to the only exit. Fingertips seized her skirt. She twisted in the rage filled grasp.

  She knocked the receiver off the twenty-year-old phone on her desk, grabbed the cradle and smashed it into an unprotected shoulder. Adding a second hand, she raised the bludgeon for a repeat offense only to meet a defensive forearm. It was enough of a beating to free herself as she fell forward toward her salvation.

  She kicked backward then hoisted herself to standing. Grabbing the back of the chair she swung it against her attacker’s body. He fell backward against the book lined wall as the chair fell to the floor with a loud thud.

  The half lit hallway guided her toward the elevator as her screams echoed through the abandoned halls. She zigzagged across the hall like a desperate coed in a B-rated slasher movie only to confirm her nocturnal practices were unique to her. The rooms were barren and dark.

  She fell against the steel doors of the elevator and brutalized the down buttons with her palm. Her head twisted back and forth between the elevator and the vacant hall. She looked at the location indicator gauging their proximity and how much time it would take them to save her.

  Both were on the first floor.

  Neither of them moved.

  “Come on, come on. Dammit. COME ON!” She screamed her best Ripley impression but the elevato
r did not respond. The hallway remained empty.

  Where is he?

  Please let him be unconscious?

  Is he waiting for me?

  There had to be another way out. She looked back down to the end of hallway as the realization hit her like a fist to the gut. She bent over and retched. Keep it together. Just keep it together. She brought the back of her hand to her mouth as the other arm wrapped around her stomach. Looking up, the still lit “L” on both elevators doused her waning hopes. She scrunched her eyes.

  There was another way out.

  Only one.

  She leaned back against the unforgiving coldness of the elevator doors and took a deep, settling breath.

  She stared down the long, deserted hallway to where the doors to the stairwell quietly mocked her. Solid and unprotected they stood inert, shiny silver handles gleaming in the intermittent florescent light. The rubber tread bristled from the air movement as if breathing, pushing the unlocked doors out slightly only to recede to their original stance. Their solid, opaque dividers sat primed and willing to give her a lifesaving escape if she were only strong enough to take it.

  Suzanne pushed her back against the wall and tiptoed down the hallway. Unwilling to alert her attacker with the heavy footsteps of a run, she inched her way down the deserted hall while her entire being screamed at her to move faster. Her skin prickled as fresh adrenaline rushed through her veins. The loud static sound of blood pulsed in her ears making it difficult to hear anything except the loud beeping of the antiquated phone whose detached receiver lay abandoned under a chair.

  The light from her office spilled out into the semi-lit hallway obstructing her path like the sword of death. Tension constricted her breathing and she ground her teeth together as her fear became so palpable she felt suffocated. She was only a few feet away from her office door and realized her only chance was to bolt for the stairwell. If she ran fast enough she might be able to lose him on the stairs. It was only two flights and one of the downstairs doors opened to the outside.