David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

A neighbor’s daughter nobody fought her until someone taught her to sleep underwater

Now it’s time to say good-bye to someone’s family stick it right between those teeth andfire so happily

The lyrics, however sophomoric, were filled with rage. Riley imagined an outcast, rejected by women, probably by everyone. Terry Burgos likely would fit that bill. But Burgos hadn’t written the lyrics. And what was really bothering Riley were the biblical verses that Burgos had cited on the paper found in his basement. Six different passages. He’d read them all, thanks to a cop who had a King James Bible in his locker. All but one of them was from the Old Testament and could be attributed in some way to these acts of violence.

The book of Hosea said that for nonbelievers, God would “rend the caul of their heart”-or “open a heart once so cruel.” Romans wrote of lesbians being worthy of death, which corresponded with the “lesbian” in the song. Leviticus talked of burning a promiscuous woman to death, which could be loosely translated to being scalded with battery acid. Exodus referenced the infamous eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-tooth, limb-for-limb language for those who practice abortion-in the lyrics, a senior “now trim since she got rid of him” probably referred to a senior who’d had an abortion. The book of Kings suggested death to those who mocked a prophet. The biblical verse hadn’t mentioned anything about drowning, but presumably the “neighbor’s daughter” in the song had mocked the song’s author, who evidently considered himself some kind of prophet.

That left the final murder described: Now it’s time, to say good-bye, to someone’s family, stick it right between those teeth and fire so happily. This last murder in the first verse had a different quality in the song; the percussion and bass disappeared, and the singer had sung the lyrics a cappella to the tune of The Mickey Mouse Club.

And Burgos had followed these lyrics. He had stuck a gun between Cassie Bentley’s teeth and fired a bullet through the back of her mouth. He had done so after beating her severely. The corresponding biblical passage, from Deuteronomy, had described a different act of violence-the stoning of a whore. The lyrics and the biblical passage weren’t compatible. Burgos had followed them both; he had stoned Cassie and shot her.

But Burgos had originally written down a different verse, not from Deuteronomy but from Leviticus, which had talked about adultery, and which called for death to both the adulterer and the adulteress. Why had Burgos changed biblical passages?

Riley didn’t know. It was just the first day of a long investigation. But he could already see his arguments forming. He would need to find discrepancies between the lyrics and Burgos’s actions. An insanity defense was inevitable-Burgos had killed at the direction of God-and Riley would need to show that Burgos hadn’t followed that direction faithfully.

A cop knocked on the door to the room and told them that Professor Albany was here. Riley had very much wanted to make the professor’s acquaintance. Albany owned the printing company where Burgos worked nights. And, more important, they had learned Albany had taught a class that both Cassie Bentley and Ellie Danzinger had attended.

Frankfort Albany walked into the room looking every bit the college professor in an off-white shirt, open at the collar, with a tweed sport coat, and slacks in desperate need of an ironing board. He wore his hair long and off his face. All he was missing was the pipe. His washed-out expression resembled those of many people Riley had seen this long day, people who had gone through a range of emotions.

They sat, Riley, the chief, Joel Lightner, and Professor Albany, around the desks with the tape recorder in the center. The professor looked around the table at each of them, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. Ordinarily, Paul would break the tension, but he wanted to hear what Albany would say.

“I really-I just can’t believe this.” He reached into his jacket and removed a small metallic case, opened it up. Cigarettes. “Does anyone mind?”

“Not if you’re sharing,” the chief said.

The professor’s movements were tentative. He was shaken up, and falling back on ritual comforts, tapping the cigarette, flipping open the lighter, squinting into the fire as he lit up. He slid the case over to the chief, his eyes catching on the course materials sitting in front of Paul.

“Tell me about Terry Burgos,” Riley asked.

“I-I have to say I like Terry,” Albany said with a trace of apology. “He did his work without supervision and got it done. He was good at setting the artwork, careful with detail. He never left a job half finished. He kept a clean work space. He was-well, he was a loner. Even after he lost his day job at Mansbury, he wanted to continue working nights. I think he liked working alone. And since he got the work done, I had no reason to say no.”

That was an interesting point. Burgos had requested the night shift even when he had nothing to do during the day. Paul was working on the assumption that the prostitutes, at least, were abducted and murdered during the evening-that was when most streetwalkers plied their trade.

“What hours did he keep?” Lightner asked. “Burgos said he worked ‘whenever.”’

“That’s more or less correct. His hours were variable.” Albany crossed his leg. “We’d have overflow-work that didn’t get completed during the day-and we’d leave it for Terry. Sometimes it was two hours’ worth of work. Sometimes five.”

“Sometimes none?” Lightner asked.

Albany shook his head. “When is there ever nothing to do? No, there’s always something.”

“What kind of a job has variable hours?” Riley asked.

“A job,” Albany said testily, “where you’re trying to give someone a break. He needed the work, and he did a good job on the overflow. It worked out for both of us. Is that okay with you?”

“You have records of his time entries,” Riley said. “We’ll need them.”

Albany nodded absently.

“And no one else worked with him at the plant?”

“Correct. It was just Terry at night.”

“How did you know he entered his time correctly?”

“I-well, I didn‘t, I guess,” Albany conceded. “I trusted him.”

Paul noticed that Joel Lightner was watching Albany closely.

“What class did you teach with Ellie and Cassie?” Riley asked.

Albany nodded. Riley figured the professor was aware that Cassie Bentley and Ellie Danzinger were two of the victims. Everyone was, by now.

“It’s called ‘Violence Against Women in American Culture.’ We discuss the glorification of hostility toward women in pop culture. Movies, television, music.”

Violence against women in music. How appropriate, under the circumstances. Riley snapped to attention, as Lightner did the same.

“Wait a second.” Riley slid the paper with the song lyrics across the table to Albany. “Does that music look familiar to you?”

Albany looked at it for only a moment. “Of course. This is Tyler Skye’s song. ‘Someone.”’

“For God’s sake.” The chief leaned forward. “You teach this?”

Albany looked at the chief like he’d look at a student. “Study it, is a better description. Yes, of course. Can you think of a more appropriate song?”

“And who’s Tyler Skye?” Riley asked.

“The man-well, really, the boy who wrote these lyrics. He was a high school student. I mean, this is the anthem of the rejected boy, no?” When no one responded, Albany cleared his throat and explained. “Tyler Skye was a student who wrote this diatribe and posted it, one night, all over his school. They discovered he was the author and expelled him. A year later, he’s a high school dropout and the lead singer in a garage band called Torcher. And he committed these lyrics to song, obviously. Torcher was very big in the underground music scene on midwestern campuses. The lyrics aren’t particularly well written, but they are certainly edgy. That appeals to students, the controversy, the rebellion. That’s often more important than the substance.”