sixty seconds, they had arranged to meet at John's house around seven that evening. John didn't want to sit in public talking with this guy. He'd bring him inside, and they'd sit in his living room—or in the kitchen over coffee—and talk serial killers. What did Marcus know? John figured there might be more to it than what was in the papers. Maybe Marcus couldn't share other information because he didn't have proof, it wasn't directly relevant to the story, or he had a nervous editor who chopped everything out of his early drafts. Either way, John would give him quid pro quo . You tell me, and I'll tell you.
Once John finished cleaning the house, he sat at his office desk and turned on his laptop . He hadn't been on the computer for what seemed like weeks. Everything was a long time ago to John now. He wanted to look up anything he could on serial killers before Marcus arrived. He Googled serial killer and came up with a full slate of pages, ten entries per page. Each page, full of stories, books, articles, and interviews, all dealt with serial killers such as Jack the Ripper, Manson (although he wasn't sure Manson really qualified), Bundy, Gacy, Dhamer, and the BTK Killer. It wasn't long before he had multiple screens open from all the local newspapers, TV, radio, and crime blogs. He squinted his eyes as he read, the tightness growing as he bookmarked serial killer sites, ordered true-life crime paperback books on Amazon, and set up accounts at three other sites so he could post questions. His heart grew heavy—so much information about death and killing.
But even with the heavy heart, h e couldn't wait for the books he ordered. Instead, he wrote down a list of book titles, then shut down his computer. He'd make a trip to the bookstore and face a public that had just spent the last couple days hearing all about him. It would have to happen sooner or later. As much as he didn't like the thought of being seen in public, a new urgency grew inside him. He now had a goal—a reason to get out of bed in the morning. He was going to catch this bastard.
As he scrambled toward the front door and grabbed his keys and wallet off the entry table, John spotted the business cards again. He lifted the card from Detective Ash and studied the name and the raised embossed seal of the Greenwood City Homicide Bureau. He flipped the card over and found a handwritten note.
I believe you.
CHAPTER 23
"Dr. Randall, thank you for meeting with me. " Marcus stood on John's doorstep, shaking hands, and feeling anxious. Cold and anxious. It was seven o'clock and no more than forty-five degrees out. But it was worth it. For Marcus, meeting the doctor was the closest he'd come to getting inside the Bedroom Killer story. The doctor had been arrested for the crime. He most certainly sat inside one of the interrogation rooms, and he probably answered numerous questions from Detective Bell and maybe Detective Ash, too.
"Come in," John said.
Marcus followed John into the kitchen and they both sat at the table.
"Coffee? "
" Sounds great."
John pulled the coffee pot from its stand and poured two cups . He walked them over to the table and set one in front of Marcus.
"Sugar and cream are right there ." John pointed to the center of the table.
Marcus nodded and scooped one full teaspoon into his cup while John kept his black.
"So what exactly do you want to know?" John asked.
Marcus set his cup down and instinctively reached for his bre ast pocket to pull out his notepad but hesitated. Was it too soon?
John picked up on all of this and nodded to Marcus . "Go ahead."
"Habit ." Marcus removed the pad and placed it on the table.
"That's what you're here for isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Let's talk . I want to answer some of the silly questions that have been floating around out there."
Marcus nodded again and brought his pencil to his pad . "Why were you parked in front of the Sharp house that morning?"
"I
Once John finished cleaning the house, he sat at his office desk and turned on his laptop . He hadn't been on the computer for what seemed like weeks. Everything was a long time ago to John now. He wanted to look up anything he could on serial killers before Marcus arrived. He Googled serial killer and came up with a full slate of pages, ten entries per page. Each page, full of stories, books, articles, and interviews, all dealt with serial killers such as Jack the Ripper, Manson (although he wasn't sure Manson really qualified), Bundy, Gacy, Dhamer, and the BTK Killer. It wasn't long before he had multiple screens open from all the local newspapers, TV, radio, and crime blogs. He squinted his eyes as he read, the tightness growing as he bookmarked serial killer sites, ordered true-life crime paperback books on Amazon, and set up accounts at three other sites so he could post questions. His heart grew heavy—so much information about death and killing.
But even with the heavy heart, h e couldn't wait for the books he ordered. Instead, he wrote down a list of book titles, then shut down his computer. He'd make a trip to the bookstore and face a public that had just spent the last couple days hearing all about him. It would have to happen sooner or later. As much as he didn't like the thought of being seen in public, a new urgency grew inside him. He now had a goal—a reason to get out of bed in the morning. He was going to catch this bastard.
As he scrambled toward the front door and grabbed his keys and wallet off the entry table, John spotted the business cards again. He lifted the card from Detective Ash and studied the name and the raised embossed seal of the Greenwood City Homicide Bureau. He flipped the card over and found a handwritten note.
I believe you.
CHAPTER 23
"Dr. Randall, thank you for meeting with me. " Marcus stood on John's doorstep, shaking hands, and feeling anxious. Cold and anxious. It was seven o'clock and no more than forty-five degrees out. But it was worth it. For Marcus, meeting the doctor was the closest he'd come to getting inside the Bedroom Killer story. The doctor had been arrested for the crime. He most certainly sat inside one of the interrogation rooms, and he probably answered numerous questions from Detective Bell and maybe Detective Ash, too.
"Come in," John said.
Marcus followed John into the kitchen and they both sat at the table.
"Coffee? "
" Sounds great."
John pulled the coffee pot from its stand and poured two cups . He walked them over to the table and set one in front of Marcus.
"Sugar and cream are right there ." John pointed to the center of the table.
Marcus nodded and scooped one full teaspoon into his cup while John kept his black.
"So what exactly do you want to know?" John asked.
Marcus set his cup down and instinctively reached for his bre ast pocket to pull out his notepad but hesitated. Was it too soon?
John picked up on all of this and nodded to Marcus . "Go ahead."
"Habit ." Marcus removed the pad and placed it on the table.
"That's what you're here for isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Let's talk . I want to answer some of the silly questions that have been floating around out there."
Marcus nodded again and brought his pencil to his pad . "Why were you parked in front of the Sharp house that morning?"
"I
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