The Bedroom Killer by Taylor Waters

came, and swung down a side street around the rear of the building. She needed to get to the underground parking without them noticing her, but that was next to impossible. There were just as many of them behind the station. As soon as they spotted her car approaching, and by now they all knew what she drove, the reporters grabbed their microphones and dashed toward her car.
    "Detective ! Do you have the Bedroom Killer?" they shouted, shoving their microphones at her window. Did they really expect her to roll her window down and answer their questions? But still, they tried.
    "Has he made a confession?"
    "Will he plead not guilty?"
    Megan weaved through the crowd and passed through the gated entrance , where the guard stood his ground and held the reporters back. Once inside, she gassed her car into the parking lot and spun the tires as she reached the lower level, then found her space near the station door. The sound of her car door closing bounced off the cold, hard concrete infrastructure, echoing her arrival. Megan punched the elevator button and turned back to scan the full parking lot. The quiet was broken when the elevator arrived with a ding , and the doors spread open. Megan rode the elevator up to the fourth floor.
    The office buzzed with commotion. In her years on the force, she had never seen or heard so much activity at once. Sure, things got busy and people did their jobs, but this was at a level she'd never experienced before. Phones rang off the hook. Every spare man and woman was either on the phone, answering a call, or hanging up and answering the next call.
    Across the room , Detectives Kennedy and Anderson actually stood side by side, talking into each other's ear. That was how loud the room had become. She pushed her way through the crowd of detectives and assistants. Their heads turned as she passed. She was somewhat of a local star in this case—she and Detective Bell. They were the lead team. Everyone else followed.
    On the rare occasions that Detective Bell had to leave town for training or vacation, it was she who took the reins. Megan could feel the eyes on her as she wound her way through the room. It was a feeling that enveloped her like a silk scarf stuffed into her mouth as it closed around her head and face. More and more, she felt claustrophobic inside this office. It had become harder and harder to stay for any length of time, but she knew that would change now. It would be hours before she could walk outside and breathe in the fresh, rain-soaked air again. She was already sweating, but that could've been the pills.
    When she arrived at her desk , she'd found that someone had set a stack of files on it, probably to make room on another desk. She pushed the files to one side, knocking over another stack of papers already sitting on that corner.
    "Damn," she said, bending down to pick up the pile . When she rose with the papers in one hand, she found Detective Bell standing there.
    " Shit. You scared me."
    "So sorry to bother you . Did you take the scenic route on the way over?"
    Megan ignored his sarcasm.
    "We have someone we want you to speak with . Nurse Carrie Atwood. She worked with Dr. Randall. He's our Bedroom Killer."
    "Give me a minute . I just got here."
    "She's been in interrogation for over an hour, Detective Ash. Your minute was up fifty-nine minutes ago."
    Bell walked away to join Andy and called out across the room to another detective, who promptly rushed over with a sheet of paper in his hand. Megan watched the display of authority that Bell put on for all to see. She grabbed her purse and moved across the room to the ladies' bathroom.
    Once inside, she inspected the stalls to make sure she was alone . She stared into the mirror, and a woman with puffy eyes and pallid skin looked back at her. She suddenly felt her stomach jump and dashed for the closest stall, where she puked up her lunch—or maybe it was breakfast.
    She completed the process with two more dry heaves, wiped