Robert Ellis - The Dead Room

“I wanted to kill them,” he whispered.

“As time passed, did the rage go away?”

“Not really.”

Nash paused a moment to take it in. “When you got involved in the Darlene Lewis murder case, did new memories of your father surface?”

Teddy nodded. “In living color.”

“It got worse?”

“Yes.”

“When you first saw her corpse, what were you thinking?”

“That I might be sick. Then all I could think about was the man who did it.”

“And when you first met Holmes, could you still see her corpse? Could you still see Darlene Lewis’s mangled body lying before your eyes?”

“I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

“It made you angry,” Nash said.

“After the shock it did.”

“When you spoke to Holmes, when you were alone with him in the same room, did he seem like a killer? Did he look like one? Did he act the part?”

Teddy nodded, unable to speak and keenly aware that he’d almost repeated what had been done to his father. The idea had been haunting him since the little girl from across the hall entered Holmes’s art studio.

He picked up his glass and finished it off in two quick gulps. The barrage of questions didn’t feel like an interrogation. Instead, there was some degree of kindness in Nash’s voice. Even understanding and compassion as he pushed Teddy on. Nash was peeling back the layers and pointing out his prejudices. Tossing a line into the black hole of his past, and giving Teddy his first glimpse at the way out. When Nash asked how the second body was found, Teddy filled him in on the events of this afternoon. Nash seemed particularly intrigued by the call from Dawn Bingle, agreeing with Teddy that he’d been led to the boathouse.

“The call could be innocent, but it’s not likely,” Nash said. “There’s the possibility that she found the body and didn’t want to get involved with the police, but I don’t think so. In the end, we don’t have enough information to even make a guess.”

Nash turned back to the view, his cobalt-blue eyes taking in the lights thoughtfully. Several moments passed before he broke the silence, his voice remaining quiet even though they were still alone.

“So now there’s a second body,” Nash said. “A second murder. But I’m guessing you haven’t told me what caused the change in your point of view.”

“Valerie Kram was kidnapped in October but only murdered a few weeks ago. I’ve just come from Holmes’s apartment. It wouldn’t have been possible to keep her there. Holmes has a life. He’s got friends. Neighbors. A schedule and a full-time job. If the murders are related, then there’s the chance that Holmes is innocent. The chance the district attorney and everybody else are looking at the physical evidence, and for some inexplicable reason, they’re wrong.”

Nash took another sip of wine. “It seems odd, doesn’t it.”

Teddy remained quiet, watching Nash think out loud.

“If Holmes has killed before,” Nash was saying. “If Darlene Lewis wasn’t his first. How many times have you heard of a killer like that fleeing a crime scene in broad daylight wearing bloody clothes? They’re usually more subtle about it, their indiscretions better planned.”

It hung there. Both of them staring at it. The one sign left behind at the crime scene that pointed away from Holmes.

“Then you agree that it’s possible,” Teddy said.

Nash turned and gave him a long look. “What’s significant is that you do. But none of this means Holmes didn’t do it, Teddy. We’re just talking over a glass of good wine.”

Teddy looked into the dining room and saw Nash’s friend returning to the table. Nash followed his gaze and turned back.

“He didn’t take Darlene Lewis,” Teddy said.

“No, he didn’t.”

“He didn’t do the same things to her.”

Nash lowered his glass. “Tell me what you think the next step is,” he said.

“They need time to process the evidence. The autopsy’s scheduled for tomorrow. While they’re at it, I need to find out if there’s any connection between Holmes and Valerie Kram.”

“It’s important that you attend the autopsy as well. Bring the murder book over in the morning so I can take a closer look. And you better call Barnett tonight and let him know that I’m in.”

He was in . Teddy felt a sense of relief hearing Nash say it. But so was Teddy now. He remembered that personal injury case he’d been working on yesterday, even this afternoon. It seemed so important then. Now it was meaningless. A million miles away.

“I’ll give him a call on the way home,” he said. “But I fucked up tonight. They think Holmes told me where the body was. They think that’s how I found it.”

Nash let out a faint smile. “If I’d been in their shoes, Teddy, I’m not sure I would’ve believed your story either. Let them think anything they want for now. We’re just getting started.”

Nash opened the door and they walked back into the dining room. When Nash offered Teddy another glass of wine, he declined. He wanted to keep his mind clear. The night had been filled with the back and forth of the past and present. It had been a strain to keep up with, and he was glad he’d pocketed that bottle of aspirin in the afternoon. Still, he felt more at ease about things and even nodded at the little man behind the front desk on his way out.

As he got into his car and pulled away from the curb, he tried reaching Barnett but hit his voice mail again. Guessing that Barnett had heard the news about the second murder and was consoling Holmes’s family, Teddy left a long message, filling him in on what happened and letting him know that it had taken all day, but William S. Nash was finally on board. Teddy hated long messages, but he didn’t want Barnett to be left hanging. He wanted to give him some degree of hope. Everything had changed. They wouldn’t be walking Holmes through the system so that he could spend the rest of his life in an institution for the criminally insane. They wouldn’t be trying to make a quick deal with Alan Andrews. Not yet anyway.

He made a right at 30th Street Station and started down the ramp to the expressway. The fog had tapered off some and he could make out the string of lights outlining the buildings on the other side of the river along Boathouse Row. Checking his rearview mirror, he saw the city in the clouds and let his mind drift. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep tonight. If Holmes wasn’t the murderer, if he’d walked in on the crime and interrupted it, then that meant the real killer was still out there. Somewhere in one of the buildings all lit up behind him in the smoky mist.

Eddie Trisco stood in the middle of the room at Benny’s Cafe Blue sipping his second caffe latte for the night and knowing he looked like an idiot. He could hear the giggles in the background as he just stood there. The people laughing at him as he tried to blend. Even worse, the high dosage of caffeine had brought the voices back, and he could hear them over all the others as they crept into his head.

He didn’t care. Not tonight.

Besides, everyone was always watching him, and he’d prepared himself for the painful ordeal before he even walked out of his house. Appearing in public went with the job, the life, the edge. He needed to get used to it. Everyone about to become famous did.

He had his eyes on the two students seated at the corner table by the window. College students, holding hands and talking the way kids do who live trouble-free lives. He found their naivete striking. They’d finished their drinks fifteen minutes ago, yet they remained at the table without any consideration for him or anyone else in the cafe who wanted to sit down. They were soft and round, the victims of the information age. They were of little interest to him. All he wanted was their table.