Chapter 12
Mark stood behind the one-way mirror, staring into the empty interview room. He'd been at the station for over an hour now and so far nothing had happened. The door opened and Cheryl joined him. "They're bringing him in now" she smiled. Doctor says he's OK to be questioned but he's still a bit flaky."
"Aren't you doing the interview?" Mark asked.
Cheryl shook her head and tried to hide her disappointment. "Master's is going to sit in with Boardman, Reynolds will probably join us in here."
The door to the interview room opened and the young man was led in. He was scruffy looking with dark wavy hair. He slumped down into the chair. Cheryl and Mark smiled nervously at each other.
Twenty minutes later the interview had gone nowhere. The suspect, Dwayne Little, simply protested his innocence over and over again.
"First thing he said when they arrested him" Cheryl informed Mark. "He was screaming that he didn't do it, it wasn't his fault. But he hasn't said anything specific enough for us to put him at the scene."
"But you have other evidence?" Mark asked.
"The doll was left at the scene, we're looking for the camera and weapon. But he fits the description we got and he was found less than three blocks away, hiding in a bush." Cheryl saw the look of concern on Marks face "I know" she whispered, "not perfect, so let's hope he slips up and incriminates himself."
"C'mon Dwayne" Masters hollered, "just tell us what you were doing there."
"I wasn't doing anything," the young man cried. "I haven't been in anybody's house tonight, I swear!"
"You weren't in Joanne McNally's house this evening?"
"No, I don't know any Joanne….."
"How about Valerie, or Genie or Katriona or Emily" Masters continued, thumping the table with each name he spat.
"Who did Masters just say?" Mark asked Cheryl, massaging his brow.
"Who, the woman tonight?" Mark nodded and Cheryl continued. "Joanne McNally, why?"
"The name rings a bell." Mark shook his head in frustration; "it'll come to me."
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Steve lay silently in bed, his breath escaping him in ragged bursts; there was no sound from the corridor outside his room. *Please let Jesse have a quiet night* he prayed. He swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath enough to speak. "What do you…"
"Quiet!" the voice whispered sternly from the corner of the room. "Just you lay there nice and quiet OK?"
Steve didn't dare reply and couldn't nod in response. *Stay calm*, he said to himself, *what did Jesse say before he left? Breathe deeply. That's it, just stay calm and focussed and keep breathing deeply*.
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Mark handed Cheryl the coffee cup and stood silently next to her as she watched the interview. Reynolds had now taken the place of Masters in the room.
"Did I miss much?" he whispered and Cheryl shook her head glumly.
"Still no signs of the camera or weapon, or what he used to jimmy the door" she huffed. "But Joanne McNally will be released from the hospital in the morning, hopefully then she can ID this jerk."
"Joanne McNally!" Mark snapped his fingers, "she's one of our new ER nurses."
Cheryl replied but Mark didn't hear as his mind began racing through a thousand tangled strands of information. He pushed his face up to the one way glass and peered into the room.
"Mark what is it?" Cheryl asked but he held up a finger to silence her for a moment. "Mark?" she asked gently.
"It's not him! Your theory" Mark began as he paced up and down the room. "Valerie Shome gave money to the murderer, Genie Anderson served drinks, the directions given by Katriona Bennet…."
"Go on" she prompted.
Mark waved his arms through the air, "it's about helping people, Joanne is an ER nurse, she helps……"
"What is it?" Cheryl asked as the old man massaged his temple in frustration again.
"She fought back tonight, you said there was a struggle?"
"Yes" Cheryl replied as Mark headed out the door. "Where are you going?"
"To the hospital, Steve may be in danger"
"What do you mean?" she cried.
"Call the guard, the one outside Steve's room and tell him to be on the alert."
Masters paced over to see what the disturbance was all about. "Dr Sloan, is something the matter?" he demanded.
"That's not the killer," Mark shouted pointing to the door of the interview room, "but I know who is, and he may be going after Steve." He looked pleadingly at Masters, "Call the officer at the hospital…." Mark fell silent when he saw the look on Master's face.
"The officer was relieved of his duty an hour ago" he shrugged. "We felt it was no longer necessary to keep him there as we have the killer in custody."
Mark Sloan froze in fear.
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"I'm not sure how this happened" the shadowy figure confessed quietly to Steve, "I didn't mean for this to happen to you, I really don't know how I did it."
"You didn't" Steve explained shakily. "I have a medical condition that caused my paralysis."
"That pretty young detective you work with, she's OK though."
Steve began to pant as the young man mentioned Cheryl, "you..leave..her…"
"Ssh, ssh" the man replied soothingly. "Don't worry about her, I'll treat her very well I promise. She's a beauty, isn't she" he mused "a real work of art."
Steve's chest contracted with a mixture of fear and anger, tears welled in his eyes.
"People can't help themselves sometimes" the man continued to himself. He lifted a small doll from his pocket and held it up for Steve to see. "Helping!" he laughed, "we can help you, we can help you, let us help" he mimicked in a high pitched voice.
"Did Valerie Shome help you?" Steve asked, gulping for air. *Oh God* he thought to himself, *keep him talking but keep him calm*.
"Valerie Shome, which one was she? The lady by the river?"
"You tell me"
"I was just sitting by the river, minding my own business. She had the nerve to come over and drop small change in my empty coffee cup, like I was a bum or one of those crappy street artists!" Though there was obvious anger in his voice, the young man sounded totally relaxed as he spoke.
Steve decided not to push for the gory details just yet. He'd save that for later, now he needed to buy time any way he could. "You felt Valerie Shome patronised you" Steve croaked "the others too?"
"Y'know Genie used to be a friend of mine but that day when I went into the bookstore, she was all different. She was like 'oh how are? do you feel OK? you take it easy', when I ordered a coke she wouldn't even let me pay." The man shook his head in disgust. "'It's on the house', that's what she said, then gave me one of those smiles, you know the smiles people give you right?"
"Right" Steve agreed weakly as his mind started to drift. *If only I could get out of this damn bed and….* *Concentrate* he said to himself, *you can't go anywhere so keep him calm and play for time. *
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Masters wove in and out of the traffic, as Mark sat in the passenger seat shaking his head. Cheryl was seated in the back.
"Your suspect has no marks on him, except for needle marks that is" Mark began. "If Joanne McNally had put up a fight he'd be covered in scratches. Scratches like the ones she no doubt treated David Peters for in the ER three days ago."
"You think Peter's is our guy?" Masters asked hastily.
"I'm sure of it" Mark snapped back. "I even found him outside Steve's room, I presumed when I saw the scratches that he was looking for the ER and got lost. Damn!" he thumped the dashboard, "I was so preoccupied I didn't even spot it. His hands were covered with scratches, just a couple of days after Emily Water's was killed. He said they were from a cat, but they didn't look like cat scratches. I should have thought about it, followed up but…"
"Mark, you need to calm down, this isn't our fault" Cheryl reasoned.
"Taking photos, he said he was an art student and he'd been taking photos of cats."
Masters blasted on the horn as a motorbike pulled out in front of him. "Don't worry Dr Sloan, the patrol car will be there by now and security will have been alerted"
"God I hope so" the old man shook his head, "I hope so."
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A beam of moonlight bounced off the knife blade as David Peters pulled it from his rucksack. *How artistic* Steve thought, *if this was a movie they'd take hours to perfect this shot. *
Peters continued to ramble to himself in hushed tones. "I was worried I'd miss the last bus back, and I saw you there, with the pretty lady. I didn't want to interrupt, she seemed really upset and you two seemed like you had a lot to say to each other. But I needed to know what time it was, for the bus you see?" He paused and looked at Steve. It was the first time the two had made eye contact.
"I'm sorry" Peters smiled, "I'm being really rude, I didn't introduce myself" he extended a hand. Steve stared back in utter disbelief. "Oops, guess you can't shake" Peters laughed. "I'm David, you're Steven right?" Steve didn't reply. "That's what it says on your chart" he pointed to the bottom of the bed. "I only know the lady from the news, Detective Banks, what's her first name?" Steve lay silently, fighting hard to breathe. "She visits you a lot. Do you talk about me?" There was no response but he continued anyway. "On the TV they talk about voodoo but it's got nothing to do with that. But when I wanted to send you the pictures I put 'voodoo detectives' on the envelope right? That's what they called you on the news. You see Steven, I like your detective friend, but you kind of get in the way, which's why I wished I could have tied you up. The dolls are strange, aren't they? You know, they started off as art, as sculptures, the early anatomists were artists you know? But the dolls changed, lots of things changed…."
"What kind of books do you read?" Steve croaked, desperately changing the topic of conversation, *don't let him get into the details of the killings* he thought, *control the mood of the conversation. Get him talking about something else*.
"Art books, I'm an artist." He rummaged in his rucksack. "A photographer too" he lifted out the camera.
*Nice move Sloan* Steve cursed.
David's eyes shot towards the door. He held a finger to his lips to tell Steve to be quiet. Steve could hear the sound of approaching footsteps. *To scream or not to scream? *. It was a decision he didn't have to make. The door creaked open and before Steve could shout any sort of warning Peters had lunged forward with the knife.
Jesse was about the same height as the armed man, but caught off guard there was nothing he could do to defend himself. The blade seared across his upper arm, a scarlet river immediately flowing through the white sea of his lab coat. Steve let out a desperate scream as he watched the killer lunge towards the open door. All that was visible to him now were two sets of legs sprawled on the floor in the doorway. Peters scrambled to his feet, the bloody knife still in his hand. His focus switched from Steve to Jesse, and back to Steve again.
Jesse began to shuffle desperately out of the room, still lying on his back. There were voices in the distance, and footsteps. The killer looked back and forth, Jesse, Steve, Jesse, Steve.
"Aaarrrrggghhh" Steve hollered at the top of his lungs in pure frustration. Peters jumped back in astonishment. "Aaarrrrrrrrrrhhh" this time his scream was anger fuelled. Could he really scare such a killer away simply by shouting? Peters' head flinched to the door at the sound of Jesse's mumbling.
"Steve?" the voice came from outside the room. Peters turned and ran out into the corridor.
"Jesse!" Steve screamed, "Jess, Jess talk to me." Steve began to pant and then choke. Unable to breathe he lay gulping on the bed. There were more frantic voices in the corridor now; voices, but he couldn't make out words. The door flew open further and the police officer stepped into the room, gun raised.
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"Arnie no!" Mark screamed.
"He should NOT have been sedated Mark" Dr Jones replied just as loudly.
"He had another panic attack and I won't let you ventilate until he's come around from the sedative and we see how his breathing…."
"Mark, he couldn't breathe!" Arnie shouted.
"Do you two want to keep it down?" Amanda hissed as they all stood huddled in the doctor's lounge.
"If we don't ventilate he could die, don't you understand that Mark?"
"If we do ventilate it will kill him" Mark shot back. He knew Arnie wouldn't understand his retort and that he couldn't explain further.
"When your son comes around from this sedative" Arnie spat, waving a finger in Marks face "he can make a decision. Either I am his physician or you are. I will not be held responsible for your mistakes Dr Sloan." With that he stormed from the room, slamming the door as he went.
Amanda moved over to Mark but he shrugged off her attempts to comfort him. Cheryl sat on the sofa, her face resting in her hands. A pale looking Jesse was beside her, his heavily bandaged arm hanging limply at his side and his head resting on the back of the seat. There was absolute silence.
Masters quietly opened the door and stepped into the room, four pairs of eyes turned to him. "He's not here" he whispered apologetically.
"He took off down that corridor about three seconds ahead of your guys!" Jesse cried, wincing in pain as he stretched his arm. "They didn't catch him? My god, the LAPD to the rescue, I'm gonna sleep safe in my bed knowing you guys are keeping this town in order."
"I can understand your frustration Dr Travis…" Masters began in his defence.
"Frustration!" Mark barked, "Jesse could have been killed! My son had a murderer in his room and why was that? I'll tell you why, because you released the officer guarding his room. You were so sure you had caught the killer when you had no evidence at all…."
"Mark calm down" Amanda shouted.
"Everybody calm down" Cheryl sniffed, her eyes puffy and red. "OK, we know, major stuff up. But we have to calm down and focus." A semblance of order washed over the room again. "Jesse is going to be alright." Jess nodded slowly to confirm her statement. "Steve was….unharmed, " she chose her words carefully, "and hopefully this won't have set him back too far." She took a deep breath to calm her quivering voice. "We know who this guy is now, and we are trying to get an address for him. We need to concentrate on getting to Peters before he does any further damage. And we need to stay calm and positive for Steve. The last thing he needs is to see us arguing and fighting and talking about incompetence. He needs to feel secure."
"There's an officer back on the door, one back at your place too Dr Sloan" Masters told them gruffly.
"So what do we do now?" Amanda asked.
"I'm going to be with my son" Mark replied wearily, throwing a disdaining look at Masters.
"We'll keep working on an address" Cheryl chipped in.
Mark spun around. "You need an address for Peters?" Cheryl nodded. "Amanda, could you go downstairs with Cheryl and Chief Masters, David Peters' notes should have an address on them?"
"OK" she smiled.
"What about me?" Jesse asked Mark as the others left the room.
Mark turned and smiled openly at him. "You get some rest Jesse." The young doctor sighed in disappointment. "And Jesse" Mark continued, "thank you."
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Steve whined as his father sat at his bedside, gently stroking his face. As he'd hoped, Steve's breathing had softened a little but it was still audible in the quiet solitude of the dimly lit room.
"Feeling groggy?" Mark asked softly, but there was no coherent reply. Steve continued with the moans and muttering, fighting to open his eyes. There were voices outside and then a knock at the door. Mark stood and opened it,
"How is he?" Amanda whispered
Mark beckoned her inside. "Still disorientated but his breathing is a little better. Any more news from the police?"
"Peters never stayed for treatment after you saw him, one of the nurses confirmed that Joanne McNally showed him the way out. There was only a partial address on the chart you started, but they found the right place, a student complex over by Hillview." She looked at Steve and frowned. "David Peters did live there, until late last year, at which point he was advised to leave."
"What do you mean?"
"His old flatmates think he had some sort of a nervous breakdown. Apparently he was always working on an art assignment or photography project, doing extra reading and forgetting to take care of himself. His parents aren't around and the friends weren't exactly sure what had gone on. One of them thinks the college intervened, another says it was a volunteer counselling service on campus. But whatever happened David moved out and into some sort of shelter or half-way house."
"Are they checking with psychiatric clinics and…"
Amanda nodded, "they've got the bases covered this time, and every officer in the department looking for him. He must have medical and psychiatric records someplace and somebody must know where he lives now."
Steve began to mumble again; Mark leant over the bed and pulled the oxygen mask from his son's face. "I can't understand what you're saying right now, just take it easy, wait for the medication to wear off alright?" Mark smiled.
"I'll leave you to it" Amanda whispered as she got up to leave the room.
"Thanks Amanda" Mark replied, his eyes never wavering from his sons face.
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