The Pain Nurse - страница 17

Will slowly emerged into the main corridor and followed Dodds at a distance, making sure to stay short of the overhead light. The big man paused, suddenly hunching his back. He hummed an incomprehensible tune. It was amazing how little he had changed since they had worked together. Then Dodds walked more purposefully. At the door of Lustig’s office, he produced a small knife and slit the evidence seal on the door. The door unlocked loudly and then light fell out onto the hallway tiles. Will rolled quickly through the brief lighted zone and returned to darkness. Just a few feet from the door, he pulled in behind another large cart, concealing himself in its shadow. The oppressive absence of sound settled over the hallway. He imagined Dodds standing in the doorway, then in a far corner, finally behind the desk, imagining what the killer and victim saw. Take your time, Will thought. He struggled to make his body relax enough that the hurting might ease.

Maybe ten minutes went by before Dodds’ footsteps resumed. Will looked around his barricade and saw Dodds’ massive back walking farther down the hall. It was the same direction Will had been wheeled that night, to his MRI. He made a quick, reckless calculus and wheeled himself into the office. The wide doorway opened in and easily accommodated the wheelchair. But inside, the office was just a confined box. This was a doctor’s office? Who had she pissed off? Hearing Dodds returning, he tried to back himself behind the open door. The wheelchair pivoted awkwardly, too slowly. The noise of rubber wheels against the polished floor barked out too loudly. Then he was against the wall, trying to slow his breathing. He was sure those panicky breaths could be heard as far as downtown. Leaning forward, he saw that Dodds’ notebook sat invitingly on the doctor’s desk.

Will took a baby’s breath when Dodds returned to the threshold, then stepped inside. Will sat up straighter, as if he could somehow reduce the profile of the wheelchair. Only the bulk of the open office door separated the two men. The sound of a chair. Dodds was sitting, probably making some notes. Will felt his bladder starting to grow full. How could Dodds not see him there, barely six feet away? The distinctive high-pitched wheeze of Dodds came from the desk. Will made himself look around. The office was square-shaped, with another door that probably held a closet. A metal desk cubicle faced the far wall. Was Christine Lustig facing away from the door when the attacker entered? Did the murderer even take her by surprise or somehow win her confidence?

Then the chair creaked and Dodds crossed the room, turned out the lights and closed the door. Will was in darkness again, realizing that he didn’t even know if the door might have a dead-bolt that could keep him from getting out again. Will had never been fearful or superstitious on murder scenes, but something about this was different. The darkness seemed almost to have mass and substance and to be narrowing in on him. He felt along the wall, and when it seemed safe, turned on the lights. Yet the sinister presence still weighed against him. He shook his head, adding to his pain, but somehow snapping the spell.

The room wasn’t much. It looked as if it might have been an exam room once, and it still had a wall of white cabinets and shelves, a sink, and a red box on the wall labeled “biohazard,” presumably for disposing of used needles. Otherwise, a desk, chair, and filing cabinet had been added. He looked more closely. The phone cord had been pulled from the wall. It now sat wound up on the top of the doctor’s desk. The Slasher always disabled the phones. A Tiffany lamp sat unmolested on the desk. It would have seemed a natural casualty of a fight to the death, even by a woman who was paralyzed by fear. Indeed, the main evidence of trouble was dried blood on the Persian rug before the desk, the tile floor, the drawers of the desk, the wall.

That had been the case with every Slasher scene: the most violent crime, accompanied by little or no damage to the physical environment aside from the blood. The exception was Theresa Chambers, who was clutching a framed photograph of her daughter, the glass shattered into a spider’s web. Had the Slasher taken his victims by such surprise, or had he somehow put them at ease? The arrest and conviction of Craig Factor had never really provided an answer. Aside from the semen evidence, they had found nothing linking him to the crime scenes, especially any of the missing ring fingers.