Free The Bedroom Killer by Taylor Waters Page B

leave.
    "Where are you going?" Bell asked.
    Megan 's eyes followed John. He turned back, glanced at Megan first…
    Yes, he felt it . Her breathing increased and a slight smile crossed her face.
    Returning his gaze to Bell he said, "I don't want to go in there,"
    "Hold on. " Bell pulled his radio, depressed the button, and was about to speak, but Detective Anderson stepped into the hallway. Bell dropped the radio from his lips. "Take him outside and stay with him."
    Andy nodded.
    "Dr. Randall." Andy motioned toward the living room.
    John walk ed out with Andy. When Megan swung around, she faced Bell, who stared right into her eyes. She responded with a bring it on stare of her own. He finally blinked and moved to the door.
     
    ***
     
    The detective led John into the living room, where he walked to the front window and peered through the curtains at the line of cop cars parked in the street. John glanced at the neighborhood. How many neighbors were on the phone talking to other neighbors, or other family members, wondering why there were so many cops around? Maybe there were some long distance phone calls across the United States in his honor.
    Grandma, you'll never guess what 's happening right here on our street.
    From behind him , the detective said, "So you once lived at the house where—"
    "Yes," John said, cutting him off. He turned to face the detective, who nodded and turned away, staring out into the street at nothing in particular.
    A crashing noise came from the hallway.
    "Stay here ." The detective bolted for the hallway and came to a stop at the bedroom door. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but the door stood tight.
    John didn't leave the living room, but he could see down the hall.
    "Are you all right in there?" the detective asked.
    The deadbolt flipped, and the door opened. Detective Ash brushed past him.
    "Boxes fell ," Detective Bell said as he entered the hallway. "You find anything outside or in the garage?"
    "No, sir . Nothing. Why…"
    Of course, t hey found nothing that would indicate John was in any way involved with the series of killings. No rope, no duct tape, no souvenirs. No kidding.
    After the techs had finished and packed up , Detective Bell said good-bye to two of the detectives, then he and Detective Ash joined John on the front porch. Detective Bell handed his card to John. "You can reach me at that number if you think of anything else."
    John took the card, and Detective Bell walked away. Detective Ash stepped up with her card in hand. John reached for it and, just as he did, she pulled it back.
    "I believe you," she said, a smile on her face.
    John nodded.
    "Thanks," he said.
    "Call me if you ever want to talk about history … Or anything else." She pushed the card out again.
    John took it as he looked down at her bright-green eyes. She finally turned and proceeded down the sidewalk, her hips swaying with each step.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 18
     
     
    Marcus Cash had been stationed across the street for the past hour, and now he watched the detectives wrap things up at Doctor Randall's house, prime suspect in the Bedroom Killer case. At twenty-four, Marcus was the youngest rookie reporter the Greenwood Times had ever had. He was thin, but not too thin, with an oval face, spotted with a few well-placed freckles.
    He was there with all the other reporters because, like everyone else, he was following the Bedroom Killer case, and he'd been on high alert since Dr. John Randall's arrest earlier that morning. Marcus was there at the hospital when they dragged him out—the first perp walk Marcus had ever witnessed. He described it to his friend and mentor, Morry, as freaking amazing . He was there when they released Dr. Randall from the police station, and now Marcus had followed them here, where he waited to see what would happen next. Someone said the police were searching the doctor's home, which made sense to Marcus.
    Marcus walked the line of onlookers , listening to snippets of