did he get to your emergency room?"
"He drove, I guess . They found his car in the bushes."
" What bushes?"
"The planter outside the emergency room entrance."
"Did you see the car?"
"Not until after I finished his stitches."
" What exactly were his injuries?"
"He had a laceration on his right cheek and a glass sliver in his left eye."
"How did the glass get into his eye ?"
"I don't know for sure, but his driver 's-side window was broken."
"Did he say how it was broken?"
"No."
The detective jotted notes as she peppered Carrie with more questions, at times, flipping back over earlier notes. Then she set her pen down and stared across the table, fixing her eyes on Carrie's.
"Ms. Atwood, do you think Mr. Randall is capable of killing anyone?"
Without hesitating Carrie said, "No. Never."
Detective Ash nodded and read through her notes, her fingers trembled again. But this time, the detective's wrist rested comfortably on the table. There was no strain on her arm. Carrie thought this could be the beginning of Parkinson's or MS. But she seemed too young for Parkinson's. But that actor, the Back to the Future guy, he'd gotten Parkinson's at a very young age. Or maybe she was on something? Carrie ran through the kind of pills that might make a hand shake, but just then, the detective looked up, and shut her notebook.
"Thank you for coming in . I'm sure this wasn't easy. Please keep in mind that we may need to speak with you again."
Carrie smile d and nodded. Detective Ash stood, and Carrie joined her.
"I'll walk you back out to the waiting room . You have a ride?"
"Yes . If Dr. Turner is still here."
When the detective turned and opened the door, the sudden din of the working office slammed Carrie’s body and attacked her senses like a stiff wind gusting up and over a cliff edge.
They walked through the door and into the open hallway that led into the large office, where the investigators were still working the phones and staring at computer screens . Detective Ash took Carrie by the arm and pointed down a hallway. "If you just go through there, you'll see a waiting room on your left."
"Thank you ." Carrie shook the detective's hand.. "John is a good man. He wouldn't hurt anyone. I know that. Whatever happened last night… He was trying to help."
CHAPTER 15
F ootsteps and voices came from outside the door. John figured if he looked around, he might find a camera in the corner of the ceiling pointed down on him. He glanced to his right and spotted it.
They're watching ?
Probably.
What did they think he was doing as he stared at the floor? Reliving his crime? Would they laugh if they knew he'd examined his cuffs and thought about the history of metal fabrication?
Probably not.
They seemed to think he killed girls. That he was the Bedroom Killer. He wasn't. They had no evidence on him, and he would probably have alibis for the other killings. Or would he? He spent most of his days alone. Who could vouch for him?
The door to Interrogation Room N umber 1 swung open, and Bell stepped in, followed immediately by a female cop, causing John to jump in his seat as the air rushed into the small room. The quick turn of his head caused the nerve in his right cheek to send an electrical shot of pain to his brain for a brief second, which in turn, caused John to wince and blink his eyes.
The woman carried a chair, and Bell held a file folder and a paper sack.
She put the chair down next to the table, then sat in another chair. Bell set the paper sack on the floor next to the empty chair and pulled out a stuffed, brown teddy bear. He placed it squarely in the middle of the chair, turning it to face John. He looked at the bear, then at the officers as they went about opening their file folders, snapping their pens, and preparing for the interrogation. Bell scanned the pages in front of him as if they held vital information.
"Doctor Randall, as you know, I'm Detective Gerald Bell. This is my
"He drove, I guess . They found his car in the bushes."
" What bushes?"
"The planter outside the emergency room entrance."
"Did you see the car?"
"Not until after I finished his stitches."
" What exactly were his injuries?"
"He had a laceration on his right cheek and a glass sliver in his left eye."
"How did the glass get into his eye ?"
"I don't know for sure, but his driver 's-side window was broken."
"Did he say how it was broken?"
"No."
The detective jotted notes as she peppered Carrie with more questions, at times, flipping back over earlier notes. Then she set her pen down and stared across the table, fixing her eyes on Carrie's.
"Ms. Atwood, do you think Mr. Randall is capable of killing anyone?"
Without hesitating Carrie said, "No. Never."
Detective Ash nodded and read through her notes, her fingers trembled again. But this time, the detective's wrist rested comfortably on the table. There was no strain on her arm. Carrie thought this could be the beginning of Parkinson's or MS. But she seemed too young for Parkinson's. But that actor, the Back to the Future guy, he'd gotten Parkinson's at a very young age. Or maybe she was on something? Carrie ran through the kind of pills that might make a hand shake, but just then, the detective looked up, and shut her notebook.
"Thank you for coming in . I'm sure this wasn't easy. Please keep in mind that we may need to speak with you again."
Carrie smile d and nodded. Detective Ash stood, and Carrie joined her.
"I'll walk you back out to the waiting room . You have a ride?"
"Yes . If Dr. Turner is still here."
When the detective turned and opened the door, the sudden din of the working office slammed Carrie’s body and attacked her senses like a stiff wind gusting up and over a cliff edge.
They walked through the door and into the open hallway that led into the large office, where the investigators were still working the phones and staring at computer screens . Detective Ash took Carrie by the arm and pointed down a hallway. "If you just go through there, you'll see a waiting room on your left."
"Thank you ." Carrie shook the detective's hand.. "John is a good man. He wouldn't hurt anyone. I know that. Whatever happened last night… He was trying to help."
CHAPTER 15
F ootsteps and voices came from outside the door. John figured if he looked around, he might find a camera in the corner of the ceiling pointed down on him. He glanced to his right and spotted it.
They're watching ?
Probably.
What did they think he was doing as he stared at the floor? Reliving his crime? Would they laugh if they knew he'd examined his cuffs and thought about the history of metal fabrication?
Probably not.
They seemed to think he killed girls. That he was the Bedroom Killer. He wasn't. They had no evidence on him, and he would probably have alibis for the other killings. Or would he? He spent most of his days alone. Who could vouch for him?
The door to Interrogation Room N umber 1 swung open, and Bell stepped in, followed immediately by a female cop, causing John to jump in his seat as the air rushed into the small room. The quick turn of his head caused the nerve in his right cheek to send an electrical shot of pain to his brain for a brief second, which in turn, caused John to wince and blink his eyes.
The woman carried a chair, and Bell held a file folder and a paper sack.
She put the chair down next to the table, then sat in another chair. Bell set the paper sack on the floor next to the empty chair and pulled out a stuffed, brown teddy bear. He placed it squarely in the middle of the chair, turning it to face John. He looked at the bear, then at the officers as they went about opening their file folders, snapping their pens, and preparing for the interrogation. Bell scanned the pages in front of him as if they held vital information.
"Doctor Randall, as you know, I'm Detective Gerald Bell. This is my
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