Burdened By Guilt Page 7

  One more step and she would start running.

  She stopped.

  Breathe. Breathe. One, two…NOW!

  Two steps past her doorway, iron hands grabbed her. She twisted and punched. Her feet pistoned. The first four buttons of her shirt ripped from their homes and pinged off the walls. He spun her around by her torn shirt. Her left fist swung with her.

  He grabbed her arm but lost his balance. She slammed her heel into his foot. He dropped her wrist. She pulled back and punched him in the throat dropping him to his knees with both hands covering his neck. He fell over onto the floor coughing and gagging.

  She turned and ran toward the door only to break the cracked heel of her shoe twisting her ankle and throwing her off balance. Falling to the floor she crushed her left arm beneath the deadweight of her body sending lightning bolts of pain up her arm and through her shoulder. Shaking her head she willed herself to move dragging her body with her remaining hand and foot, her left arm curled underneath her.

  Looking back Suzanne watched as he pushed himself up to his knees. He looked at her. A hooded, faceless black hole, with one arm reaching out as he moved toward her.

  Only a few feet away from her destination. She screamed at herself to push harder. She pushed along the floor like an inchworm. Every inch dragged out like a mile. Her body weight worked against her. Tears slicked the floor. Her hand slipped again and again.

  She reached for the handle but fell on her face. Too much sweat. She wiped her hand. Grabbed tightly. One final look behind her and…

  Nothing.

  He was gone.

  She hesitated for a split second as his absence registered then fell through the doorway and limped down the stairs. Each time she hit a step the pain shot up her twisted ankle like the counterweight of a Hi Striker carnival game. She hopped from one stair to the next waiting to hear the door bang open but only her labored breathing and the thud of her foot hitting each concrete step echoed through the stairwell. One by one, she descended toward her last hopes of escape.

  The freedom of the evening air hit her face like a floating phantasm enveloping her with renewed hope. She slammed through the door, tripped down the two steps and fell sideways against the concrete wall with a solid grunt. The pain from her wounded left arm shot up through her shoulder and she cried out. Rolling over she moved back against the brick half-wall and put her one good palm on the top pushing herself back onto her feet. She forced herself from the wall and hobbled away throwing one last look over her shoulder.

  Strong hands grabbed her and she screamed in surprise. Her fight response overshadowed any pain she felt as she kicked and flailed her arms in a desperate attempt to get free.

  “Dr. Kelly! Dr. Kelly! Suzanne! It’s Detective Anderson!” Mike wrapped his arms around her flailing limbs.

  She looked up at him, recognized his face and deflated into sobs of relief.

  Chapter 14

  “Still…still inside,” she choked between gasps. “I—I…think he’s…still inside. Elevator. Only way down…elevator.”

  He picked her up like a small child and walked toward the front of the building. His arm bulged under the solid weight of her but he didn’t notice. He felt her curl into his chest as her arms snaked around his neck pulling them closer together.

  A group of students gathered at the front of the building. Looks of distrust covered the women’s faces as they watched him walk around the corner of the building with an obviously distressed female in his arms. Shared looks turned to whispers and many reaching into their purses and book bags to retrieve their cell phones.

  “Watch her and call 911,” Mike barked at the first two girls he came to. “Don’t leave her alone for a second.”

  They nodded at him as he sat Suzanne on the concrete retaining wall and pealed her arms from around his neck.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. “911,” he barked as the co-eds stood inert.

  Mike ran to the front of the building and made his way inside. The sparsely furnished lobby was empty and the doors to both elevators were open. A collection of chairs and a few fake ficus trees provided the only decoration but made for inadequate hiding places. He started down the first hallway checking each doorway as he drew his gun and held it loosely against his thigh. Each door was locked. He repeated his search down the second hallway and found the same locked doors.

  He looked outside to verify Suzanne still sat on the bench with the two co-eds but found it difficult to find her through the growing crowd. Catching a quick glimpse of her face, he realized she was as safe as possible at that moment so he ran toward the stairs hoping to catch her attacker inside.

  When he reached the third floor he pushed opened the stairwell door creating a sliver of visibility to the empty hallway. The eerie beeping of the undocked phone reverberated down the corridor from her office. He pushed open one side and slipped into the scene still emanating the residue of desperation and rage. His steps were thoughtful and silent as he avoided the tiny, blue buttons scattered across the floor.

  Every door was closed and locked except for one. As he walked into her office he registered the mess left behind. Books littered the floor, chairs were overturned and the plant that at one time hoped for life lay on the floor, its jet, black soil scattered over the cracked pieces of its broken pot. He bent over to put the still beeping receiver back on the cradle when footsteps from the hallway caught his attention.

  Mike backed up against the wall. Footsteps moved down the hallway. The muscles in his shoulders burned. Sweat formed on his brow. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He took a breath. He pointed his gun to the floor. His left hand primed.

  The shadow of a gun appeared. Mike balled his fist. He grabbed the wrist. Yanked it forward. Shoved his gun in his face then pulled him down to his knees.

  “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. Mike it’s me. It’s Kevin. Please God. Don’t shoot!” He held one arm over his head for protection while Mike’s grip almost ripped the other from its socket.

  “What the fuck!” Mike shouted, still holding Kevin’s wrist in front of him. He threw Kevin’s arm down knocking him off balance and forcing him down on all fours. “Where the hell did you come from and what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I heard about it on the radio and thought you might need some help. I came as quickly as I could.” He looked like he just rolled out of bed. His hair was a mess and he wore an oversized, dirty sweatshirt. Back on his knees he rubbed his wrist as he looked up at Mike, his face a combination of intense pain and fear of retribution.

  Mike stared at him, the adrenaline coursing through his veins made him shake like a descending airplane as he tried to calm himself. He stepped back and took a deep breath. After a few seconds he holstered his gun and reached down to help him up.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? Did it ever occur to you that the guy could still be in the building? When I heard your footstep. Shit. I could’ve killed you, ya’ know? You really need to stop sneaking up on me,” Mike warned. It was as close to an apology as Kevin would get.

  “No kidding,” Kevin mumbled, still nursing his bruised wrist. “I may never play badminton again.”

  Mike squinted then shook his head with realization. He smacked him on the back forcing Kevin to take two steps forward just to keep his balance. “Next time you might not be so lucky kid.”

  Kevin stopped and looked at Mike’s retreating back. “Next time?”

  Chapter 15

  Mike watched Suzanne awkwardly accepting direction and assistance from the attending paramedic, her attention shifting from person to person without making prolonged contact. He kept his distance unwilling to interrupt her care as he studied the still dense crowd of onlookers. The swarm of students was now controlled chaos shifting curiously on the perimeter of the cordoned area.

  Mike swore low in frustration knowing Suzanne’s attacker may be watching them right now. He scanned the adolescent faces for any knowing glances only to b
e met with intimidated eye shifts, blank stares and the occasional fist-pump-you-rock-dude show of support.

  He walked over to Suzanne. “How ya’ doing?” He nodded to the paramedic.

  “She’ll be alright,” the paramedic responded. “But she’ll need to go to the hospital for x-rays.”

  “I’m fine,” she clarified. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  “Ma’am, we already discussed this,” he said dismissively.

  “Why don’t you go check and see if anyone else needs anything?” Mike winked knowingly at the man who shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

  “I take it you weren’t able to find him,” she changed the subject.

  “No. Sorry.” He watched as she looked past him into the crowd. He could see her formulating a response only to quell it for either much needed or desired silence.

  He opened his mouth to apologize again but decided against it.

  “We should take her to the hospital now,” the paramedics told him on his return.

  “I said I don’t need to go to the hospital.” She looked defiantly at the man.

  “Ma’am, you need x-rays and a few stitches.” He turned and prepped for the trip silently telling her it wasn’t a request.

  She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, placed her hands in her lap and sat quietly.

  Mike scratched the stubble on his chin and then down his neck. He watched as they put her on a stretcher, calm and quietly resigned to the inevitability of her transport. She looked over at him as he stared back at her.

  “Will I see you at the hospital?” She asked. It was the first time they made direct eye contact.

  He looked down at her lying on the stretcher. She offered up her good hand and he took it.

  “Probably not until sometime tomorrow. I need to get things wrapped up here. Besides you’ve got a lot of tests to get done and I’ll only be in the way. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you and get a formal statement.”

  She looked away.

  “I just talked to campus security,” Kevin interrupted. “They’ve never had any issues like this before fortunately.”

  Mike stared at him irritated with the interruption. “Fine.”

  He looked back at Suzanne.

  “Thank you. Mike,” she whispered as they rolled her away.

  “Sorry about that,” Kevin said. “I didn’t realize you were still talking to anyone.”

  Mike watched Suzanne as she disappeared into the back of the ambulance. “Campus security?”

  “Right, campus security. Like I said, they’ve never had any issues like this before tonight. He also walked me through the building. We checked every nook and cranny. If he was hiding in there he’s gone now. “Kevin outlined their search as he turned back to the building.

  “Anything else?”

  “Forensics is working on the upstairs right now. Nothing probative at this point,” Kevin remarked.

  Mike watched the ambulance drive away before turning to Kevin. “Show me.”

  Mike nodded to Jill as they carefully made their way back to Suzanne’s office. The last few people walked out as Mike and Kevin approached moving on to the next phase of their work.

  “All set in there?” Mike asked.

  “Yep, all yours,” the last one responded and headed down the hallway.

  He walked in and looked around. Forensics did their usual thorough job but that also meant the room was a mess. He put his gloves on and rummaged through what remained of Suzanne’s office hoping to find something that might lead him to understand who did this and why.

  “You don’t think this had anything to do with the murders do you?” Kevin asked as he searched through the books on the floor.

  “I doubt it. There’s no way anyone would know she’s even involved, not that she is involved. It wouldn’t make any sense anyway. Why go after her? This has to be either some random attack, maybe robbery or it has something to do with her personally. Maybe one of her students got pissed off at the D she gave him on his mid-term. Who knows.”

  Mike contemplated the potential connection. They still didn’t know either victim’s identity and their connection was not public knowledge. The only way someone could have connected her to the murders was if they were watching him specifically. There were too many variables to make any assumptions at this point.

  Mike sat in her chair and opened the drawers in her desk. No one had disturbed the contents as everything remained neatly placed in very specific locations. The forensics teams’ pervasive, black finger powder was the only evidence anyone but Suzanne had been in those drawers.

  Pencils, pens, sticky notes and all the standard office fare filled the top drawer. Papers in mid-review and a stack of tests yet to be taken filled the second. He found her purse in the lower left hand drawer, a small box of tampons, a bottle of Advil, granola bars and a jar of peanut butter. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth killing over.

  He pulled her purse out of the drawer and put it on the desk. He stared at it debating the validity of the circumstances justifying his prying. She wasn’t dead and her attacker either didn’t have time or didn’t care to look for it so he decided not to violate her privacy. Instead he would take it to her at the hospital when he went to see her the next day.

  Mike looked over at Kevin still flipping through the immense collection of books and turned to the shelving next to her desk. He started at the top and worked his way down. By the time he reached the bottom his head throbbed and his eyes burned from the excessive fingerprint powder floating around the room.

  “I think we’re done here,” Mike stated as he pulled off his gloves. He was ready to get out and start making sense of everything that had gone on in the past few days. Things were getting very complicated very quickly and he barely had time to take it all in.

  He ran both his hands through his hair scratching his scalp from front to back. Once he reached the nape of his neck he flung his hands away in irritation. He desperately needed a shower and a solid meal before he would get anything straight. Mike felt the filth of the past few days’ events building up on him inside and out.

  Kevin handed him some Visine and a tissue from his sweatshirt pocket. Mike stared at him confused at his strange ability to have exactly what he needed exactly when he needed it.

  “You’re like a human Swiss Army knife.” Mike took the bottle and applied the soothing liquid to his burning eyes.

  Kevin looked confused.

  “Relax. It was meant to be a compliment.”

  Kevin smiled.

  “So, you done or what?”

  “Oh…yeah…I’m done,” Kevin confirmed.

  “Fine. Let’s get out of here. The fingerprint powder is making me sick.”

  He left the office and the detritus behind but the weight of the evening and the potential implications went with him.

  Chapter 16

  Mike went home took a long, hot shower and fell into bed. Hoping to get a decent night’s sleep he could not keep his mind from churning through the overload of information leaving him tangled in a mass of sheets. His words to Kevin rang hollow as the nagging thoughts of connection germinated leaving him uneasy and restless. The seemingly unrelated events were being pulled together in an unfortunate and disturbing way and his growing heartburn would not allow him to think otherwise.

  A few intermittent hours of sleep frustrated more than satisfied him and he resigned himself to the fact that restorative sleep would elude him. Getting up he took another scalding hot shower and made his way to the station, grateful the early hour would provide him solitude to think and plan.

  On top of his desk lay a manila folder with a sticky note attached reading “Mall Victim info”. It was Greg’s completed autopsy report on the second body. Mike opened the folder; nothing new or unexpected was specifically called out. He read through the details as he finished his breakfast.

  Inside Greg made notes about his findings and included details about the knives
used in the murder. Due to the number of wounds concentrated on the body it was difficult to determine exactly what types of knives were used but the lab techs identified six out of the eight, at least in terms of length. They still worked on identifying the other two as the details lead down the kitchen butter knife path.

  The notes read:

  At least three cuts made by a blade approximately 10” long with a serrated edge.

  Five cuts made by an approximately 7” long blade, no distinct markings.

  Six distinct cuts by an approximately 4” long blade, four with serrated edges, two without.

  Two cuts made by an approximately 3” curved blade, no distinct markings.

  Additional and overlapping cuts make it impossible to determine the exactness of remaining blades. However, there appears to be at least four other blades used in addition to those identified.

  Mike reached into his desk and pulled out Greg’s report on the first victim, refreshing his memory of the details. Two things stood out: one, the knife used to cut the victim’s throat had a curved, approximately three inch blade and two, Greg’s notes on the body diagrams. He wrote “no ligature marks” in the margins and circled the wrists and ankles. Mike scanned through the report searching for some reference to his note and was unsuccessful. In need of clarification he picked up the phone.

  “Greg. Mike. Gotta’ question for you.” Mike tapped his pen on the notations in the margin. “Listen you wrote down on the first autopsy report that there were no ligature marks and circled his wrists and ankles but there isn’t anything else referencing that comment. What did you mean?”

  “It’s six thirty in the morning.” The graveliness of Greg’s voice told Mike he woke him up out of a dead sleep. “It couldn’t wait until I was in the office?”