Mad Page 8

  He cringed.

  “And the cat died,” Andy whispered.

  “I was very upset.” Nina sniffed.

  “I bet the cat was too,” Milo said.

  “You don’t have to make me feel worse than I already do about it. He tried to get out, burst all the bags of fish, and suffocated on the plastic. Poor thing.”

  “Wow.”

  “Enough about Nina,” Rochelle said. “It’s Milo’s turn.”

  He felt like his supposed issues would get him laughed out of the room. He was practically normal compared to these rejects. “You know my name, so there’s that. I like to be clean. I prefer to use pens. I like things to be in threes, and I don’t like gingers or cats.”

  “You don’t like me? Bastard assfucker,” Ozzie said.

  “Nothing personal,” he said. “You seem okay for a ginger.”

  Ozzie shrugged.

  “You’re not sharing everything,” Rochelle said.

  “Neither are you.” Milo could spot a liar when he saw one, and Charlie was the least dishonest of all of them. He knew these people were hiding something way bigger than their list of nutty problems. Charlie almost said something earlier, but what? Something Rochelle would rather remained unsaid. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but his gut had never steered him wrong before.

  “I shared everything,” Rochelle said. “And so did the others.”

  “Did you? There’s an elephant in this room, and I know I’m not the only one that sees it.”

  “What do you mean?” Rochelle’s face was pale. She fidgeted with the ends of her hair.

  The only way to know if they knew the others was to toss a name out. It was a crap shoot, but he suspected all but Charlie would be terrible liars. “How many members did you have last week?”

  They all stilled. He hit a button.

  “You’re looking at all the members right now,” Rochelle said.

  “So none of you knows a bird-loving freak named Shamus?”

  “No,” Rochelle said immediately. “Should we?”

  “No,” Charlie parroted.

  “I just worked a case. This Shamus fellow somehow choked on a bird’s head.” Milo explained. “He seemed like the type to fit in here. I was hoping you’d be able to give me some information about him that might help me figure out what happened.”

  They all looked at Rochelle.

  She smiled. “Sorry. No one named Shamus was ever part of this group.”

  “Okay. My mistake.” He smiled. “Guess I’ll never know how he really died.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Freshly showered to get the crazy off, Milo made a sandwich, washed the dishes he used, and then cleaned the sink. He inhaled the soothing scent of bleach for a moment, and then sat down at his desk.

  He took a black Sharpie from the top left drawer of his desk, and then removed the lid. He wrote “Nutter Murders: Shamus, Book Four” across the front of a new notebook. After capping the Sharpie, he returned it to the drawer, and then took a new pen from the top right drawer. He opened the notebook, smoothed the first page, and then carefully wrote the date across the top.

  Below that, he wrote “Suspects” and listed the people he’d met at Rochelle Middleton’s therapy group. Rochelle’s name was last, although, he wouldn’t be surprised if she were the lone culprit and the rest were just accidental accomplices.

  He turned the page. Milo wrote “Shamus O’Connell” at the top. The list of clues wasn’t long. He knew someone had cut the wires to the cameras, but how had they remained hidden from the camera’s lens while they did so? There were three cameras. One over the cash registers by the front door, a second over the middle aisles where the high end pet food was located, and then one on the back wall of the store, recording the animal area, where Shamus was most certainly the star of a disturbing bird snuff video.

  He was willing to bet the murderer wasn’t on the video at all.

  He tapped his pen on the almost blank page. The murderer could’ve come in the back door. He had no idea if it’d been tampered with, because Captain Cunt called him away from the scene before he could finish his investigation. He’d die before he asked Jones. For now, he would assume that the back door was the point of entry. All of the cameras faced the front door, so if they cut the camera at the back first, the murderer could easily avoid the others while they cut the remaining wires. The ceiling in the store was low, so it’d be easy for someone of above average height, like Rochelle Middleton, to simply reach up or stand on a chair or a crate and cut them.

  So that’s it. Whoever killed Shamus, and he knew the poor bastard didn’t choke on that bird head without some help, came in through the back. He might even find fingerprints on the door, if he could get close enough to do a little investigating.

  Captain Cunt wouldn’t let him, though. She was convinced the whole thing was a suicide or an accident. Probably figured the world was a better place without lunatics like Shamus. But if he was part of Rochelle’s group, Shamus had been trying to help himself. He wasn’t a bad person, just batshit insane. No one deserved to die for that.

  Why would he lock himself in the one place he couldn’t resist his urges, though? In his opinion, someone trying to stop a pattern of behavior would avoid triggers. Maybe he was confronting his fears. Proving he wasn’t weak? Was this a requirement of group therapy?

  He set the pen down and then stood. He went to the shelves behind his desk and searched for last month’s notebooks. The previous murder was on the far right hand side, near Pete’s suicide/homicide by fire book. He took it off the shelf and then went back to his desk.

  After opening the notebook, he read the first page. Sally Lawson was a thirty-two-year-old prostitute. She had a long list of Johns, but the ones he could track down had alibis for the night of her death. He flipped the page. One fact that bothered him was the dead John. Three days prior, Sally had a date with a man named Snake. He doubted the manner of her death, snake bite in asshole, and this guy’s name was a coincidence. Snake, while his name sounded badass, wasn’t in the best physical condition. He was middle-age, bald, and suffered asthma attacks often enough that he required a Medic Alert bracelet and always carried his inhaler. He and Sally were exuberant in their lovemaking. The coroner said he’d suffered an asthmatic episode, and then Snake’s poor heart finally gave up the fight. There was a lot of press surrounding both deaths, but only Sally’s name seemed to make it to everyone’s lips.

  That would be bad for a doctor working to heal people with issues like Sally’s. Was Sally a member of Rochelle’s group or a private patient? If she was a patient, was the snake meant to send a message to other nutters under a particular doctor’s care? Of course, he had to acknowledge that the murderer might have been one of Snake’s buddies. Could’ve been a revenge killing.

  But there’d be clues. A first-time murderer seldom did it cleanly. He sighed. So if it wasn’t a friend of Snake’s, and it wasn’t Rochelle, then who killed Sally? He didn’t believe for a second she tried to sodomize herself with a venomous snake. No one was that crazy.

  If Rochelle and Sally had never met and Snake didn’t have any homicidal friends, then the other possibility was that someone was stalking the mentally ill, finding their weaknesses, maybe passing judgment over their compulsive actions, and killing them off to “save the world” or some stupid shit like that. It was a reach, but serial killers often had illogical motives. Some had no motive at all.

  The phone on his desk chirped, forcing his focus away from the notebooks. He looked at the screen. Private number. Sighing, he pressed “answer” and then touched the microphone icon to put the phone on speaker. He hated the very thought of the device touching his ear.

  “Milo?” Captain Cunt’s voice.

  “What.”

  “You’re not back on the case, but we could use some help with a few things.”

  “I’m in time-out. Can’t help.”

  “You don’t want to know about the development in the bird e
ater investigation?”

  Of course he did, but he wouldn’t make it easy for her. “Bird eater? That’s what you’re calling the case? Was that your brain fart or Jones’?”

  “Do you want to hear it or do you want to be an asshole?”

  He sighed. “What is it?”

  “The coroner found a small piece of what appears to be a latex glove behind the victim’s upper lip.”

  He closed Sex Fiend Sally’s notebook and went back to the new one. He scribbled the information on a blank page, and then scribbled the date and time across the top. “I knew someone forced that bird’s head down his throat.”

  “That is possible, but there’s no other evidence to support your theory.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I seldom joke.”

  “They found a piece of a glove behind his lip. If that doesn’t scream someone forced a bird’s head in the guy’s mouth and covered his face until he died, then I don’t know what does.”

  “Look,” she said, her voice quieter. “I know you like to keep track of things, so I’m doing you a favor by letting you in, even though you’re not on the case. We could figure this out on our own, but I thought feeling useful might help you in your treatment. The guy might have worn gloves. Maybe he was into swallowing gloves too, and that’s how it got in there. Too circumstantial on its own.”

  She was hoping his brilliant investigative brain would figure it out for her, and then he would get zero credit, while Jones would finally get a tick in the solved case column of his file, and Captain Cunt would look like the best boss ever, fixing the crazy detective and molding the loser detective into a real cop. Fat chance he’d give anything to them.

  “Milo?”

  “Yeah, thanks for keeping me informed about a case that’s not mine,” He said. “It’s been a wonderful waste of our time. Anything else?”

  “How was your first session?”

  “Revealing,” He said and then pressed “end” to disconnect the call.

  Something was hinky with Rochelle’s group. Was it sinister, though? He supposed thirty days was enough time to find out.

  A knock at the door distracted him from his book. Visitors rarely took the hint, so ignoring it was probably a waste of time. He closed the notebook and then got up to answer the door. A peek through the peephole showed Estella waving her fingerless hand.

  Sighing, he opened the door. “How’d you find out where I live?”

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  “I don’t have any mittens on.”

  Estella held up a pair of black mittens. “Can I come in?”

  He stood back, taking the mittens as she passed him. “Why are you here? I don’t like visitors.”

  Estella stood in the living room. She wore a long coat, with large buttons. He didn’t like buttons that big. They didn’t make sense to him. He couldn’t stop looking at them. If he refused to put the mittens on, she might leave. However, it’d been a long time since a woman he found moderately attractive showed him any attention. Even without fingers, Estella was hot. Those fucking buttons, though....

  Whoa now, he told himself. Stalking and random visits didn’t always mean sex. Estella could be there to just kill him.

  “Again, I’d like to know how you found out where I live,” he said.

  “I followed you home.”

  “Oh, that’s not creepy at all.”

  “I like you.”

  “And we’re climbing the creepy meter at a rapid pace.” He closed the door and then walked the short distance to where she stood. Sliding the mittens on his hands, he eyed her warily. “I assume you don’t generally kill people you like?”

  “I don’t kill people at all, but it does seem like every time I like someone, they end up dead or crazy. I almost never get to fuck them before that happens.”

  “This is probably not going anywhere I’m going to be comfortable going.”

  Estella released the first two buttons on her coat. “So, since you’ll be gone in a month, I’m taking the initiative before you die or go crazy.”

  “Or I might just leave in thirty days as planned,” He said. “Because I’m not a psycho.”

  Estella smiled. She was pretty, except for the mutilated hands. “Doesn’t matter. What’s important here is we are going to have sex.”

  “We are?” He supposed he could get past the fingerless thing.

  “Yes. I showered three times today, and the last time, I used that soap they use in hospitals. It stung my lady parts a little, but smells very clean.”

  He frowned. “Why would you do that?”

  “Rochelle said you like things clean. I got a wax today too, and you should know, the whole finger thing makes that a huge sacrifice for me. Good thing the girl I go to is cool with me taking a sedative first.”

  “Color me impressed.” How the fuck was he going to get her out of his apartment? “I feel like I should remind you that I prefer anonymous sex, which means sleeping with people who don’t know me and don’t know where I live.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s less complicated.”

  “I know your demons.” Estella released another button. “And they don’t bother me.”

  “Because you’re about as sane as Donald Trump on heroin... or just Mondays, so it’d be a pot and kettle situation if my alleged demons did bother you.”

  Estella released the last button and then pushed the coat off her shoulders. She was naked. He wasn’t surprised, but he still found himself unable to process what was happening.

  “I know you’re attracted to me.” Estella took a step toward him. “And I’m more than attracted to you.”

  “And you’re fucking unhinged,” he said. “Rochelle has a strict policy on this. Remember how we talked about this in group today? No fraternization, loosely translated, means do not fuck.”

  She smiled and then reached for his pants. He felt her palm beneath his balls. He didn’t want to want her, but the erection happened anyway.

  “Rochelle doesn’t have to know,” Estella whispered.

  “I don’t like kissing,” he said. “Not if I have no way to verify you brush your teeth properly. And I don’t go south. Takes a lot of tequila and self-loathing for that to happen. Pretty sure there’ll be crying when it’s over, so I’d rather avoid that.”

  She laughed. “I go south all the time.”

  He stood transfixed as Estella knelt on the floor.

  “Help?” She fumbled with his belt, which was a challenging task considering her fingerless state.

  While his brain urged him to kick her out, his hands helped instead, opening his pants so she could push them down his hips. He closed his eyes as she took his dick in her mouth. Fuck, she was good at that. “Estella, we shouldn’t. At least let me get a condom first.”

  Estella didn’t listen. She moved her head faster and faster. He wound his mitten covered hands in her hair. Well, it was more like bunching. Mittens were not conducive to hair winding. He pushed her face against his groin, hating himself for letting her convince him so easily. He barely considered the oral bacteria her mouth was leaving on his dick. Barely.

  She sucked hard and his knees threatened to give out. “Jesus.”

  She cupped his balls, squeezing slightly, and he lost the limited control he had. He grunted, expecting her to pull away, but she kept sucking until he had nothing left.

  “Now.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she stood. “How long before you can get it up again?”

  “I… what?”

  She turned and bent over the sofa. “It’s not all about you.”

  “Well, let’s see what I can do about that.” This was the worst idea he’d ever had, but he didn’t care. “When we’re done, though, you get the fuck out and never come back. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll bury you in a hole somewhere.”

  She wiggled her ass. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl, Detective Smalls.”

>   ***

  The sun was blindingly bright. Milo tried to shield his eyes, but it did little to block out the relentless rays. Estella left his apartment with no argument after he fucked her in the living room, and then again in the shower. The last time was unintentional. He’d gone to clean her presence off his body, and she’d broken the lock and joined him. He hated the combining of bodily fluids, yet he couldn’t turn sex down. The paradox confused him, so he tried not to think about it.

  “Tell me again why we’re having our meeting in the park at seven fucking a.m.,” he said. “Do you realize dogs are currently shitting in every direction I look?”

  “It’s a dog park, Milo.” Rochelle shook out a large blanket and laid it on the grass. “Dogs poop outside. Do the math.”

  If she thought he was sitting on that, she was the crazy one. That blanket was now contaminated with bugs, dirt, traces of fecal matter from the dogs shitting everywhere, poop and scoop or not, and God only knew what else. He might as well just sit on the ground, which was not going to happen.

  “Why aren’t we at a people park then?” he asked. “Pretty sure no one shits on the ground there, unless there’s something you’ve forgotten to tell me about this lot.”

  “Some of us have trouble with being outdoors. I like to mix it up now and then to show you all that a little spontaneity is good. I chose this park in particular, because I know how you feel about animals. Being around them, seeing that they mean you no harm, is a good thing.”

  He rolled his eyes. Spontaneity was a high ranking cause of homicide in his experience. You spontaneously fuck the neighbor’s wife, and then your wife or the neighbor shoots you in the face with your own shotgun. You spontaneously get tanked at a dirty shithole bar, and then some psycho follows you home so he can rape and then dismember your body. You spontaneously go to a pet store to munch on a few birds, and someone stuffs a bird’s head down your throat…

  “I like this place,” Nina said. “It reminds me of when I used to have a dog.”

  “Used to?” Milo wasn’t sure he wanted to know more.