A/N: detective-sweetheart and boredsvunut, again I want to thank you for your reviews and feedback that has given me a lot more confidence to continue this story. Appreciate it! Ok, since I haven't watched all the episodes yet, I don't know what kind of car Tim drives or what his apartment looks like so I just used my imagination for now. Havana, as you can see, I'm still posting the story, which means I'm ignoring you so why continue the insults? Another thing, you can't stop authors from writing what they want. If you don't like stories with an interracial romance then DON'T read it and what's the point of insulting the author? If you feel well, so you can intimidate the person, it's not working with me. I see your insults and shake my head because I've met a lot of people like you who are miserable and want others to be miserable, too. Ok, enough of my rambling about you. Here's chapter five and the next one will be the last.
Chapter five: Edge of Sanity
--
March is gone. It's the middle of April.
March is gone. It's the middle of April.
What are you up to? What are you doing to Ann?
During the night, Tim lay in bed. His sunken eyes snapped open, jarring himself out of the mantra assaulting his mind.
"What are you doing to her?" he screamed. Breathless, he sat up, reaching over to the table beside him and switching on the lamp. Tossing the covers off his white T-shirt and powder blue boxers, Tim hadn't bothered to wipe dots of sweat that dampened his face. He sat on the bed's edge, staring ahead at the wall as if hating it, hating his apartment…his life. The killer had taunted him with another letter, this time it was found on Frank's car, for he knew Tim would be alert and have officers watching his apartment. Bayliss remembered what had been written:
Ann has been very bad. She doesn't want to eat. I told her, if she doesn't eat, how could she survive? Tim, I think she wants to die because you're not here to take her back home. Ann trusted you to take care of her and you let her down. She hates you, Tim Bayliss. She hates you!
Tim's head fell into his hands, rocking himself back and forth.
--
Another hectic afternoon inside the squad room, and while Frank peeked at Tim's empty desk, wondering where he could be; he wasn't the only one when Gee stepped out of his office.
"Frank," he said sternly. "Where's Bayliss?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know. He's your partner. Find out where he is."
--
Tim heard persistent knocks, though at first they sounded eerily distant until thundering in his ears. Bayliss, wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweat pants had shuffled to the door, unconcerned about his unruly hair falling onto his forehead. Opening the door, he greeted Frank with a lopsided grin. "Frank?" he said in a groggy tone. "This is a surprise."
"Can I come in?"
"Come in, come in!" Tim circled his arm around Frank's shoulder and guided him inside. Pembleton glimpsed the untidy living room…another warning of Tim's instability. He followed Tim into the sunny kitchen where Bayliss flopped down on a wooden chair at the dining table.
"Want a beer?"
"No, thanks. I see you've already had too many. What are you doing home? Gee asked me where you were and I figured you'd be here."
"Yeah, well," Tim began, his eyes half-closed. "I need a day off."
"You mean you wanna get suspended."
"I've been working day and night on this case," he said exhaustedly. "What happens, we end up back where we started. The killer's messing with my head, wanting me to know he's slowly killing Ann. You understand the hell I'm going through right now? I'm sure you'd feel the same way if it were your wife?"
"Yes, I would."
"Yeah, well, then you should understand why I'm taking this day off," Tim said adamantly. "I'm sick of walking in the squad room, seeing those names in red, getting pressure from Gee to close this case, thinking about losing Ann. I just wanna relax and STOP thinking!"
"No, you wanna give up. Look at you. If you don't get yourself together, you will lose your sanity. That's what the killer wants. Me, I wouldn't give up. Listen, Tim, I understand what you're going through, but you can't stay around here, drink beer and think that's gonna make it all go away."
Tim stared silently at his partner. Frank, waiting for him to reply, tilted his head toward him. "You're coming in?"
"No."
"Alright. You're giving up."
Tim rose from the stool. "I'm not giving up."
"If you get suspended, then there's nothing you can do. That, Tim, is giving up."
Tim stood in front of Pembleton. Seething, his eyes narrowed. "How can you say I'm giving up? You know what your problem is Frank? You have no compassion, and no understanding of what I've been going through. You say you understand but you don't."
Pembleton fired back. "You don't understand what I'm saying."
"Yeah, I do."
"No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be sitting around here."
"Get out, Frank!"
They gazed at one another for a moment until Frank shook his head, smirked and left him alone.
--
Frank sat at his desk, repeatedly and meticulously examining paperwork of the '29' killer case. He thought about what Gee said recently…
"You're missing something."
Surprised along with the other detectives, he looked up to see Tim hanging up his trench coat. Bayliss eyed him, acknowledging Frank had been right. Before he could sit down, Gee peeked out from his office.
"Bayliss!"
Tim sighed, still sluggish from drinking earlier, the disheveled detective had reluctantly gone inside…knowing what he didn't want to hear.
Sitting at his desk, Gee said, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but…did you decide on taking a day off without letting me know why? You're not sick. No, you decided to take a day off because you felt like it." Looking up at Tim, he leaned forward and added, "If you want a day off, okay, you can get a lot of days off without pay. Is that what you want?"
"No," Tim answered, barely audible.
Gee sank against his chair, frustrated along with Frank and Tim about the three women found murdered, and now Ann, still missing. "Tim, I know this hasn't been easy for you but you've got to keep working on this case. If you can't do it, I'll have to give it over to Frank."
"I understand," Bayliss told Gee and when leaving the office, he halted. In the short distance, Tim watched a familiar elderly black woman talking to Munch.
"Detective Bayliss? Yeah, he's over there."
Tim hastened toward Miss Douglass, curious as to why she wanted to see him. "Miss Douglass?"
"Detective Bayliss?"
"Yes?"
"I need to talk to you."
"Alright, let's uh—let's go over here." Tim led her to a chair where she sat beside his desk. When seating himself, he listened to what she had to say.
"I'm very sorry it took me so long to remember something about that woman with Ann."
Tim leaned closer. "What do you remember?"
"I'm so sorry. You see my memory isn't what it used to be."
Tim scrambled for his pen and notepad. "It's okay, Miss Douglass. Whatever you remember now, you can tell me."
"Well, one day, when I was walking toward the building, she came out, wearing the same scarf, sunglasses and coat. But I noticed her pocketbook. It was black, velvet, and it had a gold 'M' on it. Oh, and there was a black silky scarf tied around the back of it. The day Ann disappeared; the woman had it with her. When you asked me what she was wearing, I didn't remember to mention the pocketbook."
Tim suddenly hesitated from writing. His eyes widened at the recall of Marissa's pocketbook when questioning her at the diner. "You're sure?"
Miss Douglass nodded undoubtedly. "I remember now. Well, my grand daughter's waiting for me. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, you've been very helpful. Thank you for coming in." When she left, Tim sat for a moment and in deep thought about Marissa. There had been something about her that hadn't seemed quite right. Frank also sensed it but they could never prove she may have been involved with the killer…until now. Tim leapt from his chair and hurried over to Pembleton's desk. "Frank!" he said eagerly and breathlessly. "We've got a suspect."
"What did Miss Douglass say?"
"She recognized the pocketbook the woman was carrying."
"Now? After almost two months she remembers the pocketbook?"
"Frank, she's old and she has problems with her memory."
"Okay, what does this pocketbook look like?"
"It's black, velvet; there's a gold 'M' on it and a silk scarf."
"Wait…that's Marissa's pocketbook."
"She kidnapped Ann. C'mon, we have to tell Gee."
Tim knocked on Gee's door and when Frank accompanied him inside, there had been no hesitation of what Bayliss wanted Gee to know. "I just talked to a witness who came in…Miss Douglass. She lives in Ann's building and before you say why did she wait all this time to tell us anything, she's old and has memory problems. But now Miss Douglass remembered something else about the woman…her pocketbook. It's black, velvet, a gold initial on it, 'M' and a short silk scarf tied on the back. When we interviewed Marissa Clearwater last month, she had a pocketbook like that. Miss Douglass described it in exact detail and she also told us Marissa had it with her the day Ann was kidnapped."
"Wait, wait," said Gee, standing from his desk and walking up to them. "You told us Marissa had an alibi that morning."
Frank said, "That's what her manager told us, but he could be lying."
"And," Tim interrupted, "I noticed the way they talked, and—and the way they looked at each other like something's going on between them. Gee, we had nothing. Now we've got something and I don't think we should be wasting any more time."
--
5:30 P.M.
Settling in after coming home from work, Marissa wondered why she heard numerous sirens outside the building. She peeked through beige lace curtains of her bedroom window. Tim and Frank rushed out of their white car. Marissa had a feeling they were headed to her apartment. Quickly, she ran into the bathroom.
Tim pounded furiously on the door. He noted Frank's expression, like someone concerned if his or her friend was losing control. At the moment, Bayliss hadn't cared. Locks were undone and Marissa swung the door open.
"What do you want?" The auburn-haired woman's eyes blazed. "Look, if you don't have any news about the killer, I'm not letting you in."
"We've got a search warrant." Tim shoved his way inside along with Frank and several officers.
"A search warrant? This is ridiculous!" She followed them into her living room. "Detective Bayliss, I know this is your case." Rage hardened her face. "You don't know what you're doing. You're crazy!"
"Sit down!" Tim demanded, and though outwardly he seemed confident, hearing those stinging words brought back doubt, helplessness and insecurity he felt when reading the letters…
Ann trusted you to take care of her and you let her down. She hates you, Tim Bayliss. She hates you!
Tim angrily rolled his eyes away from Marissa. Leaving her behind while a few officers made sure she didn't escape, he left and joined the search. Inside the bathroom, Bayliss slipped on latex gloved and opened the medicine cabinet. There he had taken out bottles of what looked like prescription drugs. Tim noticed something puzzling…the doctor's name had been erased, as if Marissa made sure his name would not be identified under black ink. Bagging them, he looked around to see Frank holding a black velvet pocketbook in his hand.
Frank said, "Look at what we've got here."
Tim returned to the living room, standing above a stone faced Marissa on the sofa. He lifted a bag of prescription bottles. "I thought you weren't seeing a therapist? What's this? Bottles of Lithium and Xanax?"
Marissa kept silent.
Frank came in, stopping beside Tim. "This pocketbook, it is yours?"
"Yes, it's mine," she said through clenched teeth.
"Well," Frank continued. "Someone saw you with it on the day you visited Ann…the day she disappeared."
"I'm not the only one with that pocketbook. Other women whose names start with 'M' buy them, too. And you know I was working that day."
Pembleton added brashly, "You're right. There are other bags like this one. Before coming here, we checked the stores where you bought it. The difference is, they don't have a silk scarf on the back of it. And your manager…he lied."
Tim grabbed Marissa's arm and hauled her from off the sofa. With cuffs in his right hand, he said, "You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Ann Sheldon."
"Why would I kidnap Ann," she screamed while Tim pinned Marissa's arms behind her back, cuffing her wrists. "I don't know her! You're crazy!"
Bayliss ignored Marissa, shoving her away from the sofa.
--
Gee and Russert stood at the window, watching Marissa sitting calmly inside the box. Tim walked inside along with Frank. Both sat down in front of Marissa. She fingered her gold necklace, what looked like a round eighteenth-century locket.
"Where's Ann?" said Tim without hesitation.
The narrow-faced Marissa kept her eyes on the table.
Bayliss slammed his hand onto the table, startling Marissa and getting her attention. "Where's Ann?"
Struggling to stay in control as if regretting her outburst at home, she stated calmly, "I don't know."
Tim leaned forward. "You don't know? Well, my partner and I believe you do know. Lithium and Xanax…those are medications people take for anxiety and bipolar disorder. When we checked Ann's cabinet to see if there were any meds, it was as if someone cleaned it out. Is Ann in therapy, too? What about Anita, Samantha and Sheila? You see I figured these women all have something in common; personality disorders, which means they were seeing a therapist. But every time we questioned their families and friends, they didn't know anything about a therapist. Group sessions, I figured that's how you know these women."
Irritated, Marissa nodded. "I don't know them."
Tim opened a folder and slammed down graphic pictures of each victim…Samantha, Sheila, Anita and then one of Ann's pictures he had taken from her house. "What about now?" Bayliss screamed.
"Marissa," said Frank softly. "You were ID'd by someone who saw you with Ann. So that means you know her, right? That day you kidnapped Ann, just like you did to the others and brought them to whomever it is you're involved with. Did he kill them? Or did you do it together?"
Frantic, Tim sprang over to where Marissa sat, jerked her chair from the table so that she faced him. He screamed in her ear. "Where's Ann? Where—is—Ann?!"
"He makes me feel special!" Marissa shouted back. "Like I'm not crazy."
Frank asked, "Who makes you feel special?"
"My therapist. Yes, I'm in therapy and yes, I knew those women. They were patients. Ann, she only went to a few sessions and stopped. She told me it was a ridiculous idea and shouldn't have listened to Anita." Marissa anxiously fingered her necklace.
"I see you like gold necklaces. Did you manipulate the women into buying those necklaces?"
"No, I didn't manipulate them into doing anything. I don't like that word. My therapist, he wanted the women to buy them. He told me he liked the way the necklaces looked against their skin. They felt like someone really cared."
Tim stood behind Marissa. He then leaned over her. "He has a funny way of showing he cares. Look at the pictures again. Yeah, he cares a lot about his patients by raping them, beating them to death and cutting off their hands!"
"He told me they deserved it."
"Wait," Frank leaned across the table, tilting his head. "I thought you said he cared about them?"
"He lied to them. He only cares about me."
"Oh, I see. He only cares about you?"
Marissa's lips tightened. Her expression, suddenly unremorseful and frigid had disturbed Tim. She answered, "They were twenty-nine. He told me when he was a child, a woman who lived next door, she was twenty-nine. She abused him, constantly touching him with her hands. He hated her hands. He hated her! Now why would he tell me these things if he didn't care about me?"
"Marissa," Tim yelled. "He doesn't care about you. He's manipulating you!"
Frank questioned, "Tell me something, Marissa. Why do you think he's taking his time killing Ann?"
Ann smiled and looked up at Tim. "He's having fun with you, Detective Bayliss."
Tim picked up his chair and threw it against the wall. He then paced nearby the table, glowering at Marissa.
"So," said Frank. "It's a thrill for him and for you"
"Sometimes I like to watch. It depends on my mood."
"Alright," a flustered Tim shouted. He stopped pacing, leaning over her again. "Your therapist. What's his name?"
"My mouth is dry."
Frank offered, "You want water? Soda? Tell me and I'll get it."
"No, I—I don't drink water in public places. It could be contaminated."
"Okay, soda, then?"
"I don't trust sodas in those machines either."
"Then what do you want?"
"I have candy. It's in my locket."
"If that's what you want, then go ahead."
Marissa opened the locket and took out what looked like a small orange lifesaver but without the hole. "Thank you," she said and popped the candy into her mouth.
Tim leaned over her again. "Now that you've got your candy, give us his name."
"I'm afraid. He'll know I told you. And—I don't wanna go to jail."
"Right now, I don't care, Marissa. You should've thought of that before you decided to go along with his sick game! He killed three women and now he has Ann. We want him and that's all we care about. Name!"
"I—I'm sorry."
Marissa began to tremble slightly, and then she fell off the chair. Bayliss and Frank rushed over to her body assaulted by violent convulsions. Marissa's eyes wide with a few tears streaming down her cheeks. White foam oozed from the corners of her mouth. Tim glanced at the locket…
"I have candy. It's in my locket."
"Frank! That wasn't candy. It's poison!"
Gee and Meagan barged inside and when Marissa had suddenly gone limp. Frank felt for a pulse. He sighed and announced, "She's dead."
"Dead?" said a baffled Gee.
"Oh my God," Russert mumbled.
Frank went on. "She told us she had candy in her locket, but it was poison."
"Poison?"
"I thought she was having a seizure but--," Frank stopped, sighing again. "This is typical of someone who took poison…possibly cyanide."
Gee shook his head and shouted. "How could this happen?"
Numb, exhausted, Bayliss slid down against the wall and onto the floor.
--
Midnight. 'Nights In White Satin' by the Moody Blues played on Tim's stereo. Bayliss sat on the edge of his bed. He thought he could sleep, clad in the usual white T-shirt and boxers. Instead, tense hands were clenched around his gun. In the mirror ahead, his eyes widened at what he saw…Ann tied in a dim-lit room. Shivering, on her knees. And though Tim could not see the killer, he glimpsed his shadow beside Ann, whispering perverse words in her ear. Enraged, Bayliss jumped from the bed, aiming the gun at him.
"Get away from her! I said, get away!"
What he saw had suddenly vanished. Tim shuddered and blinked in confusion at the gun pointing at what was only a mirror.
The phone jolted him back to reality. Still trembling and wetting his dry lips, Tim let the phone ring. He then dropped the gun onto the bed and answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Tim, it's Frank. Did I wake you?"
"No," he replied flatly.
"Bayliss, listen," said Frank, knowing his partner was growing more and more unstable. "You left without hearing what I had to say."
"We don't have a name."
"We can get his name from the pharmacy where Marissa got her prescriptions."
"Okay," Tim said tiredly. "Okay, Frank." He hung up and slumped back onto the bed. Marissa's suicide tormented his mind, pondering what could happen to a person…pushed over the edge. Tim stared at the gun beside him, alarmed and concerned about his own sanity.
--
In the morning, Tim and Frank had gone to a pharmacy not far from where Marissa lived. They waited while the pharmacist searched the computer. Bayliss grew impatient, turning away when the middle-aged man said, "Here it is."
Tim spun around, eyeing Frank and then his eyes shifted frantically to the pharmacist. "What's the name?"
The pharmacist answered, "Dr. Todd Murphy."
TBC