planned to kill myself , and I couldn't figure out where to go to do it. I hadn't put much thought into it. It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment decision. I was driving through town and just sort of ended up there."
"And you didn't know the Sharps before then?"
"I still don't know the Sharps, although I did meet Mrs. Sharp that morning." John smiled.
"When she attacked you?"
"Yes."
"What happened during the attack?"
"She hit me with a baseball bat."
"Anything else? "
"Like what? " John scowled and his back stiffened.
Marcus peered into John's eyes, waiting for the doctor to look up and to the left, which trained interviewers know is a sure sign of lying. John stared straight ahead at Marcus.
"Um, I don't know . Did she say something to you?"
"She scream ed at me. It was hard for me to hear. I had just shot my gun, and the combination of that loud sound in the cab of my car and the rain pouring down outside had made me temporarily deaf."
This was all stuff he'd already heard . What would Morry do? Morry would throw his pencil at him and yell, Ask a different question, dumbshit! Marcus stopped writing, set his pencil down, and took a sip of coffee.
"Good coffee," he said after he set the cup back down . "So why did you want to kill yourself?"
"I didn't want to live anymore."
A lump formed in his throat and Marcus sat up straight. Then he asked, "Why?"
John smiled . " I'll leave that for you to figure out."
Marcus nodded , but he already knew the answer. He'd asked around at Greenwood Memorial and learned that the doctor had lost his wife and son in a car accident a year ago, almost to the day. But he also learned that the subject of the doctor's family was off-limits. It probably had nothing to do with the Bedroom Killer story, other than the fact that the family used to live in Karen Sharp's house. That came out just after his arrest, when Karen Sharp's neighbors were quick to recount their individual stories of the young doctor and his wife pushing the stroller through the neighborhood a few years back, and how the doctor worked shirtless in the front yard on Saturdays. This particular part of the story was always followed by shy smiles from the ladies. They were nice people according to all reports— Just a young family leading a typical white-picket-fence-life —as one of the ladies described it.
"How were you treated by the police ?" Marcus asked.
"They treated me as anyone might when they suspect you of murder."
"Multiple murders ."
John stared at Marcus.
" What's your impression of Detective Bell?" "He seems dedicated." John said in a slightly sarcastic tone.
"Dedicated ?"
"What do you want to hear?"
"Well, I suppose all homicide detectives are dedicated."
John's fist clenched and he leaned forward. " You have to remember, I wasn't there to psychoanalyze the people who were asking me questions. I was about four hours past trying to kill myself, still intoxicated, and I couldn't imagine why I was there in the first place. I was supposed to be dead. Instead I went from getting stitched up by a close friend in a comfortable setting to sitting handcuffed to a steel table in a police station, staring across at a maniac and his partner who both think I kill young girls for a living."
John took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and said, "I didn't have much time to take in the scenery, if you know what I mean."
Marcus studied the doctor and took note of two things. His reaction to the question, and the fact that he called one of the detectives—probably Detective Bell—a maniac.
"I'm sorry . I didn't think… It's just I have these questions rolling through my head all the time. It's my job to think of all types of questions and…"
John put up his hand . "No offense taken. I shouldn't let it get to me. Like I said, it's part of the reason I agreed to meet you. And I must say, tossing your card into my doorway…smart move."
"I can't take credit for that . Morry taught me that
"And you didn't know the Sharps before then?"
"I still don't know the Sharps, although I did meet Mrs. Sharp that morning." John smiled.
"When she attacked you?"
"Yes."
"What happened during the attack?"
"She hit me with a baseball bat."
"Anything else? "
"Like what? " John scowled and his back stiffened.
Marcus peered into John's eyes, waiting for the doctor to look up and to the left, which trained interviewers know is a sure sign of lying. John stared straight ahead at Marcus.
"Um, I don't know . Did she say something to you?"
"She scream ed at me. It was hard for me to hear. I had just shot my gun, and the combination of that loud sound in the cab of my car and the rain pouring down outside had made me temporarily deaf."
This was all stuff he'd already heard . What would Morry do? Morry would throw his pencil at him and yell, Ask a different question, dumbshit! Marcus stopped writing, set his pencil down, and took a sip of coffee.
"Good coffee," he said after he set the cup back down . "So why did you want to kill yourself?"
"I didn't want to live anymore."
A lump formed in his throat and Marcus sat up straight. Then he asked, "Why?"
John smiled . " I'll leave that for you to figure out."
Marcus nodded , but he already knew the answer. He'd asked around at Greenwood Memorial and learned that the doctor had lost his wife and son in a car accident a year ago, almost to the day. But he also learned that the subject of the doctor's family was off-limits. It probably had nothing to do with the Bedroom Killer story, other than the fact that the family used to live in Karen Sharp's house. That came out just after his arrest, when Karen Sharp's neighbors were quick to recount their individual stories of the young doctor and his wife pushing the stroller through the neighborhood a few years back, and how the doctor worked shirtless in the front yard on Saturdays. This particular part of the story was always followed by shy smiles from the ladies. They were nice people according to all reports— Just a young family leading a typical white-picket-fence-life —as one of the ladies described it.
"How were you treated by the police ?" Marcus asked.
"They treated me as anyone might when they suspect you of murder."
"Multiple murders ."
John stared at Marcus.
" What's your impression of Detective Bell?" "He seems dedicated." John said in a slightly sarcastic tone.
"Dedicated ?"
"What do you want to hear?"
"Well, I suppose all homicide detectives are dedicated."
John's fist clenched and he leaned forward. " You have to remember, I wasn't there to psychoanalyze the people who were asking me questions. I was about four hours past trying to kill myself, still intoxicated, and I couldn't imagine why I was there in the first place. I was supposed to be dead. Instead I went from getting stitched up by a close friend in a comfortable setting to sitting handcuffed to a steel table in a police station, staring across at a maniac and his partner who both think I kill young girls for a living."
John took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and said, "I didn't have much time to take in the scenery, if you know what I mean."
Marcus studied the doctor and took note of two things. His reaction to the question, and the fact that he called one of the detectives—probably Detective Bell—a maniac.
"I'm sorry . I didn't think… It's just I have these questions rolling through my head all the time. It's my job to think of all types of questions and…"
John put up his hand . "No offense taken. I shouldn't let it get to me. Like I said, it's part of the reason I agreed to meet you. And I must say, tossing your card into my doorway…smart move."
"I can't take credit for that . Morry taught me that
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