“I moved into the city about a year or so ago and needed a place to live,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone, so I looked into renting an apartment, but I really need peace and quiet to accomplish my work as an internet researcher and, well, you know how thin the walls are in your typical modern apartment house.”
Mark smiled and waited for an acknowledgement from the two detectives that, yes, they did understand the difficulties of apartment living. When none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat self-consciously and continued. “When I saw the advertisement Rich had placed in the newspaper of a room for rent in his house, I checked it out and it was perfect. Quiet neighborhood, close to stores and restaurants, served by public transportation; I just loved it!”
The tall detective made a show of looking at his watch and said, “Yeah, we get it, you liked the house. Like the realtors say, location, location, location. Now, getting back to your concerns about your roommate…”
“Uh, yes,” Mark replied. “My roommate. Sorry about that. I’m not used to this whole police questioning thing, so I might be giving you guys things you don’t really need.”
The shorter, younger detective, the guy standing ramrod-straight in the opposite corner who Mark thought of as second in command, told him, “You’re doing just fine, Mr. Gardner. Now, you were telling us about your roommate?”
Mark ran his hand through his thick brown hair and smiled. He liked Detective Number Two better than Detective Number One. Much friendlier bedside manner, so to speak, plus he was dressed more professionally. Looks count for a lot in the world, as Mark’s mother used to say. “My roommate, yes. Rich. He seemed pretty normal at first, as much as anyone could be considered normal, I guess. Kind of quiet, kept to himself most of the time, but of course, that’s what I was looking for. You could say the same about me, I suppose.
“After a while, though, I started noticing some things that struck me as rather odd. He seemed to have an affinity for dressing all in black, like one of those Goth people you see on the streets, the scary ones who always seem to have a blank look in their eyes, and wear dark makeup, and who paint their fingernails dark colors, even the dudes.”
“There’s no law against dressing in a style you don’t agree with, Mr. Gardner.”
“No, no, of course not,” Mark replied quickly. “But that was just the first thing that struck me. After that I started noticing the unusual, nocturnal hours he was keeping. Not all the time, of course. Rich works the day shift at one of those funky coffeehouse/bookstore places in midtown, so most of the time he would be in his bedroom for the evening by 10:00. Every once in a while, though, I would hear him go out after he said he was retiring for the night. He would leave at like midnight and not return until nearly daybreak.”
The tall detective squinted at Mark. “How would you know this? Wouldn’t you have been asleep at that hour?”
Mark paused a moment and then chuckled. “Wow, that’s a great question. No wonder you’re a detective.”
The tall detective said nothing, just waited for Mark to continue. “The truth is, I’m a very light sleeper and the room I rent from Rich is right at the top of his second-floor landing. There is a loose floorboard at the top of the stairway and whenever anyone goes up or down the stairs it makes an unbelievably loud squeaking noise. I wake up whenever anyone steps on the darned thing.”
“Okay, so your mysterious roommate likes to keep unusual hours. Get to the part where you explain why you think he might be the monster who’s been terrorizing this city for the nearly a year now.” The two detectives were clearly losing patience with Mark, and he knew he had better get to the point if he wanted them to take him seriously.
He again sat up straight in the medieval wooden torture device that doubled as a chair and looked Mr. Lead Detective right in the eyes. “Because I searched his bedroom one day while he was at work, okay? I know I shouldn’t have done it but I did. And I found some stuff that I think you’ll agree was…um…troubling.”
“Some stuff. Such as?”
“Well, such as a thirteen inch hand-held rip saw hidden in the back of Rich’s closet under a pile of laundry. Rich isn’t the kind of guy to do home repairs, officers—“
“Detectives.”
Mark paused, confused. “What?”
“We’re detectives, not officers.”
“Oh, yeah, right, sorry about that. Detectives. Anyway, Rich would have absolutely no legitimate use that I can think of for a saw like the one I found in his closet, and the worst part is, I’m pretty sure the blade had bloodstains on it. It looked like he had tried his best to clean it, but you could still see the stains pretty clearly.”
Mark shivered at the memory as the two detectives shared a knowing glance. One of the grisly details of the killings the police had withheld from the press was that all the victims in the year-long murder spree had had one body part sawed off, always a different one, in all likelihood before being killed. Even veteran homicide detectives were having trouble sleeping as the bodies piled up, a different appendage missing from each one.
The tall detective sat down at the conference table in front of Mark. He was all business, clearly taking Mark seriously, paying full attention. He looked even more rumpled now than he had before, if that was possible. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Gardner?” he asked. “We’re going to be here a while. We’ll need to know everything that you can tell us about your roommate, and then we’re going to want to hear it all again.”
Mark Gardner awoke with a start, jolted out of a deep sleep by a deafening crash. For a long moment disorientation immobilized him. The entire house rocked on its foundation as the police used some sort of battering ram or perhaps even explosives to smash down Rich’s front door. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the digital clock on his bedside table, its numbers glowing an unwavering blue in the dark of the night. It was 3:20 a.m.
He arose as the sound of pounding feet and shouted warnings rang through the house. There would be no more sleeping tonight.
By 6:00 a.m., the search of Rich Sullivan’s home had been completed and Mark was allowed to reenter the house. He had watched from across the street, sipping a coffee, as authorities led his landlord away in handcuffs, oily hair hanging in his eyes. The man was proclaiming his innocence to anyone who would listen in a loud, aggressive voice. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him.
Among the bags of evidence removed by the authorities was undoubtedly the ripsaw Mark had described to detectives earlier in the day, the one hidden under all the dirty laundry in Rich’s closet. It was highly probable the search team had recovered forensic evidence too—hairs from some of the victims, etc. The investigative teams searching for evidence in the gruesome crimes which had been taking place in the city for most of the past year were highly motivated and not likely to miss anything.
Mark felt a little badly that he had been forced to go to the police with his suspicions about Rich, and not just because he would clearly have to find a new place to live now. The guy seemed pleasant enough on the few occasions Mark had taken the time to chat with him, once you got past his black fingernails and odd clothing and lax personal grooming habits.
The thing is, Mark reminded himself, and let’s be honest for a moment here, you have to do whatever it takes to protect yourself, and the goddamned cops were getting a little too close for comfort. Putting the saw under all that dirty laundry in Rich’s bedroom closet was simple enough, and the police wouldn’t think anything about the fact that there were no fingerprints on it; after all, Rich had worked hard cleaning it, right?