Chapter Twelve
The second day at Sgt. Williams' passed in much the same manner as the first day had, and so did the third. We were both becoming quite bored with game shows, soap operas, cartoons, and old movies, and we were developing an acute case of claustrophobia. To make matters worse, by this time I was feeling up to par once more and so rather anxious to be moving around once more.
However, that night, the third, things became, should I say, more interesting? We retired at about 11:30, after having watched the eleven o'clock news to catch up on all the other local horror stories, besides the one in which we were involved. After the first night, I had been sleeping in Beth's room. Needless to say, it's coloring, tutu pink, was a little feminine and it was oversupplied with stuffed animals, but, despite the size of the bed, I had been sleeping exceptionally well.
Around 2:00 A.M. I jolted myself awake; I was sitting bolt upright in bed, sweating abundantly and trembling fiercely. In some way, I must have awakened Barry, for it was only a second or two before he was beside my bed. I think I must have frightened him, since he was somewhat pale and had an anxious and nervous look about him. Finally, I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself and fell back into my pillow.
"What's wrong?" he asked with a squeak. "A nightmare?"
"No. I tuned into our man's frequency," I said with as steady a voice as I could find.
"Has he killed again?"
"Not yet, but he's going to. That's the first time I've ever latched onto him alone. It was like being inside his mind, like I was him. I don't know who it's going to be this time. God! I've never felt so much hate in my life. He's cunning and shrewd, but his thoughts aren't coherent, if you know what I mean."
"You mean you actually read his mind?" questioned Barry, who had seated himself on the bed.
"Was a part of it, seems more like it. It's hard to explain, when I myself don't even know what happens. This man is consumed with hatred, but at the same time there's a love there. If anyone was ever possessed by the devil, it's him. However, it's the devil of his own mind.
"Lord, but it was terrigying to be in a mind like that. I knew who I was, yet, at the same instance, I was him."
"I'd better call Frank, to warn him," said Williams, after a brief lapse of stillness.
"Won't do any good. I still don't know who he is, and I can't tell who, when,
or where it will take place. It can wait till morning. Let him sleep, and let's go back
to bed."
Around ten the next morning, Lieut. Carter stopped by to say that it looked like all was clear. They had apprehended the guy they suspected of taking the shots at me and, he might even be the one who was committing these acts of mayhem.
"I want you to come down and take a look at him," said Carter. And so, off to the police station I went once more, only now I had the confidence given to me by the knowledge that Carter trusted and believed in me. It was a somewhat gratifying feeling, because I doubt that Carter ever allowed himself to trust in too many people.
When we arrived, I was ushered into a small, cell-like room, painted in a dark, drab green, with a window in one wall. This window looked into another room, also greenish in color, with a stage above which horizontal lines accompanied by numbers were painted in white. This was obviously for the famous line-up scene, and that window must be a two way mirror. It all reminded me of something out of a T.V. detective show. All the lights went dark except for the ones founded on the platform. Several men entered and stood with their backs against the wall.
"Any of them familiar to you?" Carter asked coldly.
I looked carefully--- not wanting to possibly ruin any man's life with a false accusation. At last, I slowly said, "The one second from the right. He's Nicky, Barbara's boyfriend. Also, I'm not sure, but he's about the right size and build as that guy who followed me to the drugstore that one morning. But, that's far from definite; the man was wearing dark glasses, a hat, and pretty, bulky clothes."
"His real name is Nicholas Burnett. He was seen in the vicinity of your apartment house a couple of days before those shots were taken at you and, he was a Marine marksman in 'Nam. He's our best suspect, at the moment."
"He's not the killer," I said with an extreme certainty. "He was in his car across the street when Barbara was killed. Besides, I've had a good look at the murderer, and it's not him."
"You can't depend on dreams to solve a crime," continued Carter.
"He still could be the one who took the shots," interjected Williams, trying to keep the peace. "Out of grief and a desire for revenge, maybe."
"No. I think the idea crossed his mind that I was the murderer, but he never acted on it. I know that," I stated flatly.
"Myrddin's Gift?" Barry suggested.
"Perhaps."
"What's 'Myrrdin's Gift'?" Carter questioned gruffly.
Barry and I replied simultaneously, "Nothing."
"I'll explain it to you someday," I continued.
"We're still going to hold him as long as we can," the lieutenant persisted. "Come on up to my office. We've got all the dope on this last girl."
We, Barry and I, accompanied him up to his cramped, dusty, little nook, where Dr. Takahaki, the psychiatrist, was waiting for us. While we conversed, I stood in the doorway, since four in that room were just too many.
"You asked for my opinion about this Nicholas Burnett," the doctor began. "I don't think he's the man you're hunting for. He doesn't seem to have the deep seated resentment against something that I am certain this killer must have. In fact, I should say the only person he really does hate is whoever murdered his girlfriend, which leads to the possiblity that he may have been the one that took the shots at Mr. Radolph. Burnett may have thought that he was the one and was going to get away with it because we thought he was a psychic. Another idea could be that Randolph was the person most available upon whom to vent his emotions of anger, frustration, and grief.
"Did you read the information I gave about what this man said to Amber?" I asked.
"yes. It may very well be true. The idea of a man killing and then attempting sexual intercourse with the corpse because he believes they are each his daughter and that by doing this he is purging their sins is a very complex concept. But then, so is the human mind. It all may very well be true, at least, it's plausable, but we'll just have to wait and see. One thing of which I'm quite certain--- he has no intentions of stopping."
Carter interrupted, "Oh, by the way, you're 'Amber' wasn't an Amber."
"I guessed as much."
"Her name, at least what she went by, was Susan Lee Johnson. She was found in a trash can behind a gas station when she was hardly more than a few hours old. She was adopted by some people named Johnson; they were the ones who gave her the violin, which was ordered from a Sears catalog. When she was nin, they were killed in a traffic accident. She never adjusted. Since then, she has been shoved from foster home to foster home. What made it really rough thoough was that most of her foster parents did it for the money and let her know it. All in all, it was a pretty rotten fifteen years.
"My guess," said Dr. Takahaki, "is that her life became so unbearable that she decided to invent a whole new one, and believed it."
It was sad that a girl who had never really had a chance at a happy life should
die in the way she had. It also struck me as somber that some people must pretend
their existence away in order to face life, or should I say escape it.
I picked up my car in the parking lot and drove back to Barry's to collect my things. I had a depressed and disturbed feeling as I drove back to my apartment. I suppose it was a feeling of pit for Amber, I shall call her that since it is what she chose to be called, and a certainty that this monster would soon be at work again.
When I arrived home, I found that all signs of the incident of a few days previous had been removed, except for the holes in my piano and a couple of blood stains on the char where I had sat and the carpet. The glass door had been replaced and there was a note from Martha saying, "I quit." I missed the warmth of Barry's apartment.
Before I unpacked, I called a piano store and told them I wanted to rent the best piano that they had in stock and to bring it over today. It was high time I started practicing again and getting some of the stiffness out of my hand and arm. The store sent over an especially good looking baby grand later in the afternoon, but unfortunately it had a rather flat sound. Nevertheless, it would do until I could get another, or have mine repaired.
At four o'clock, Barry called to say that he was spendingthe night wit me and
to tell me to keep the drapes closed and the doors locked, which I had every
intention of doing. He didn't think Nicky was my "shooter" either.
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