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“Whether we’re talking about a child or an adult, for one. And the size of the person.”
“I like you, George,” he tells me, and I know if a person says your name this many times they’re trying to sell you on something, and probably in this case, worse. “I’ve always liked you.”
“Look,” I hold my hands up, palms facing him. “I’m going to get back to the house. I was just coming over to ask you to turn the music down. That and, well, the accident. I’m feeling a bit confused. Maybe a concussion…”
“I think we need to get you checked out.”
“In the morning,” I say. “I assume you’ll get this taken care of and cleaned up?”
“Assumptions are always a bad idea.”
“My father was a homicide detective,” I tell him. “Did you know that?”
“I know everything about you, George.”
Not everything. “Well, then you must know that over the past ten years, there have been three hundred and forty-seven murders.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Yeah—and there are approximately two hundred and fifty-one open cases which are still not solved.”
He shrugs. “What’s your point?”
“Homicide detectives tend to be some of the most committed officers in any agency. But they can't solve a case without the community's help, and the truth is, as you know, not every case gets solved.”
“What does this have to do wit
h me?”
“It’s math, Liam. Simple math. Each year detectives solve anywhere between 60-70% of homicide cases, but only about 30-40% are from that calendar year.”
“Okay.” He walks toward me. “But just because it isn't solved doesn’t mean the case isn’t being worked.”
“That’s my point. They may not catch you now, but eventually, they will.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘The Book Doctor’
Journal Entry
She was drunk. And worse, she wasn’t invited. I could describe her, but it’s probably easiest just to say she was the kind of woman who was insufferable and leave it at that.
She was mostly sober by the time she finally died. At least I think. It was a thousand little cuts at first. She thought I wanted sex, but no. I wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. For one, I’d already been intimate with Leslie, and even then, I don’t want to cheat, not anymore. And if I were to do so, it wouldn’t be with someone like that.
It took a lot to tie her up, but not that much. What I mean by that is at first she let me. Fetishes for the win! But then I realized, seeing as I couldn’t have her running off into the night half-dead, that a few zip ties probably weren’t going to cut it. Pun intended.
Anyway, after I wore myself out getting her securely tied, I had to spread out all of the plastic sheeting. Better not to do it beforehand. Fetish or not, most people tend to shy away from that sort of thing. It can be a bit much. Unless you’re a neat freak, which I am. OCD leaves little room for real fun. Still, I try.
Once I got the plastic all laid out, I realized I hadn’t sharpened my tools. A rookie mistake, but when you’re busy, you’re busy. Plus, I’d had another method in mind for killing her and only changed my mind at the last second. It was a great party, but it left me feeling empty and bored. I needed a little excitement, and simple asphyxiation just wasn’t going to cut it. Gah, the puns. I can’t help myself. I’m delirious. It’s late, or rather early, and I should be sleeping. This, and Leslie is back in my life. We made love, and it was everything I wanted it to be.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I needed something time consuming, something to fill the hours until Leslie came back to me, and the insufferable, uninvited party girl turned out to be it.
How many organs can you trench out before a person dies? How much skin can you peel away? How much flesh can you remove from bone? As long as you don’t nick a main artery, it’s more than you’d think. Four hours’ worth of amusement, this one got me.
Although that doesn’t mean it was all fun and games. With all of her crying and begging, she was intolerable until the very end. I should have made it come sooner.
Chapter Thirty-Four
