Duncan's Diary (8 page)

I awoke around 7 a.m. I was still spent from yesterday’s activities; but, as usual, I was fully alert. The flagpole was at attention, as they say. I immediately thought of Jill lying there anticipating what might await her and decided there would be no way that I could not take her again. I jumped out of bed and quickly maneuvered the obstacle course through the closet to the hidden room behind the door.

When I turned on the light, I noticed that she was lying still on the bed. She had apparently relieved herself as there was a yellow tinted liquid circling its way beneath her butt and thighs. A slight stream had apparently rolled into a pool on the floor. She must have continued in her struggles to break free as the redness around her ankles and wrists were raw with dried blood and were swelling.

I poured a bucket of warm water with a little soap and started cleaning her the best I could, as a mother would a child who was ill and bedridden. She made some whimpering sounds as the warm water streamed over her taunt stomach and cascaded down the drain in the middle of the floor. It had been ingenious to install the drain, I thought to myself. It really would make cleaning things up rather easy.

Once I had her as presentable as possible, I slowly entered her for the second time. There was no struggle and no sound as she lay there silently. I tried to ensure that the movement of my lovemaking was pleasant for her, but I could not get her to react at all. I started talking to her about how beautiful she was, and how the freckles on her face were flattering. I complimented her reddish hair, but still nothing. I started to lose the ability to continue as I slowly shriveled back into stagnation; and with every fraction of shrinkage, my anger began to build.

Who could she possibly be to reject me? Who did she think that she was? She was average-looking at best. She was in decent shape, but she was a leach on her previous husband. She did not even have the ability to support herself. She was worthless to society. Who would even miss this small grain of sand that contributed nothing to the world?

I had not even noticed that I had begun striking her with my hand, smacking her across the face. Her cheeks were now a bright rosy, red color and seemed to be swelling before my eyes like a balloon being inflated for a birthday party. I must have done this several times, slapping back and forth as my right hand crisscrossed from cheek to cheek, over and over again. I was shaking violently and uncontrollably and started to shiver as if the room had suddenly dropped 20 degrees instantaneously.

I jumped off her and ran from the room, hearing her sob quietly as I closed the door shutting her in the darkness. This would be the last time that Jill would speak to anyone, see anyone, or have any verbal or emotional connection to anyone on this planet. A slow bubbling sob that whispered quietly in a lightless room as her wrists and ankles were fastened into place. The last thing she would see was my smallish soft, white naked body as I ran away from the rejection that I was facing yet again.

I slammed the door shut and ran to the shower. I lathered myself with shampoo and soap over and over again trying to wash the grotesqueness from my body. Who am I and how could I have ever done something like this? I just needed to get away. Go back to my house and forget that this ever happened. I went back to the closet, never opening the door, but ensuring that everything was closed tightly shut. I placed the contents of the closet back into place, concealing the door. This closed Jill’s life away from me and away from everyone she had ever known.

It didn’t take me long to straighten up the rest of the house. I dutifully cleaned out the fireplace, and the remnants of the night before seemed appropriately destroyed. The house itself was in decent shape as I packed up everything I had brought and ensured it was all in order before taking the baggage to my truck. As I opened the garage door, my neighbor Dan was outside letting his dog Buddy do his morning duty. He called out to me, saying hello, and then he asked me where Delilah was. God, Delilah – I had forgotten my dog back home. Like a tidal wave of reality hitting me all at once, it was everything I could do to remain standing upright. I felt engulfed by the recent events hitting me again and again.

I shakily replied back to him that she was safe at home, and I was definitely going to bring her up next time. I had only made a quick trip up to grab a few things and was heading back now as I heard my voice quivering in a broken reply. I told him to tell Darlene hello, and I started up the truck and headed out.

I had made so many mistakes. I had not really even enjoyed the final prize. Everything was so wrong. It was supposed to be my greatest experience ever. It was supposed to make everything worthwhile. It was meant to give me back my reason for living – my essence of being. I had anticipated it renewing my ability to feel whole and worthy to society. Instead, I was driving through the arch of downtown Twain Harte, shaking and crying uncontrollably. My tears were streaming down my face as my nose was running freely like the water from the faucet I had used to fill the bucket to wash off Jill’s body less than an hour ago.

God, why did she have to be like that? I was nice to her. I was going to clean her up and give her food. I would have been a servant to her, washed her face, and gently brushed her hair stroke by stroke carefully and slowly. I am human; I have feelings and the ability to be hurt and cry. If anything, I am superior to her in that I was willing to give her life had she but tried to be nice and polite to me.

I remember very little of the first two hours of the drive, but at some point I could no longer stay focused on the road. I had to pull over on a small dirt lane, the same dirt lane that I had pulled over on the night that I had gotten Delilah. I had picked up Delilah for the first time from a breeder in Pleasanton. She had been returned as the owner thought her too insane to keep. Truthfully, it was the poor sap’s wife who thought this and had forced the guy to return his new best friend to its origins.

Finding the breeder on Craigslist, I had contacted her. And one evening on my drive up for a weekend in Twain Harte, I had picked Delilah up with the girls and driven her to the house in the mountains. I had been afraid with her being in the car for three hours that she might have to let go of her small puppy bladder, so I had pulled over on this very road and walked her for the first time. She never actually went, but had acted crazy running, then choking, from her collar only to run again and choke again. That was the beginning of a pattern for her, as she was very loving and affectionate, but not very bright.

I pulled over on this dirt and gravel road and parked under a tree that was about 100 yards from the highway and cried. I curled up in the fetal position with the car shaking from my violent movements as I hysterically and uncontrollably let go of all my pent up despair. I must have drifted off to sleep as I woke up with my phone ringing in the passenger seat next to me.

It startled me, as this was the phone I had purchased at Wal-Mart. It was the kind of phone where you can pay for it with cash, activate it with no contract and no name, and use it anonymously. It always seemed odd to me that these phones existed, as gangsters and drug dealers used them all the time. They were untraceable. To circumvent this, Wal-Mart only allows you to purchase these phones two at a time. It seems odd that this is our solution to gang violence – limiting your purchases. The phone rang again, so this time I picked it up. “Hello, who is this?” came across the line.

“Who is this?” I responded.

“This is Detective Takhar of the Palo Alto Police Force,” was the response. “Will you please tell me who this is?”

I hung up the phone, turned the power off, and threw it on the floor of my SUV.

How could this be happening to me?

At times in my life, I lost connection with myself. To state it clearly, I completely lost all ability to form movements with my limbs and direct my actions consciously. It was as if I had left my body and observed myself from a distance as somebody else seemed to control my physical being. While these episodes are infrequent and last briefly, this time was different. It was as if somebody completely took control of my being; yet it was not me. At that time, I realized I was changing and that my issues were deepening. I realized that I needed help, but also realized that I would never allow myself to go back to who I was. The only way that I would ever be whole was in death as my essence was now broken forever. It is like walking in the woods on a quiet day. You are all alone and suddenly you step on a small brittle branch, and you hear the crack as it breaks, resonating, echoing throughout the trees as it bounces from one to another. Once you break beyond repair, there is no going back.

Sudhir’s tasks had been limited to the computer and the cell phone company. Mike and Scott had taken the friends, family, and restaurants. The computer was very simple. Sudhir dropped it off at the precinct software guru’s desk and asked him to find out any recent activity. Look for dating services, contacts or a diary, anything that might give him a clue as to what Jill had recently been doing or with whom she might have recently been. The computer guy said “no problem,” give him three or four hours, and come back.

Sudhir’s next task was the cell phone company which proved slightly more tedious. First, he had called the 1-800 line and asked to have the most recent activity for the phone number he provided. The generic attendant that answered stated that was against California privacy laws, and she was not authorized to give out that information. He, then, asked to speak to a supervisor and was told there were none available.

Has there ever been a supervisor available when you needed to speak to somebody at a cellular phone company? Do supervisors even work at cellular phone companies? Finally, in anger Sudhir started screaming into the phone that somebody’s life could be in danger. He needed to get the activity on this phone number immediately. If not, he would be coming down there personally and making sure that everyone who impeded his progress paid the price that the victim might be paying by these delays. The vein in his forehead protruded, marking a long dark brown line, which occurred often when he got angry. He was, then, told to hold for a minute, and she would see what she could do.

After several minutes, she came back on the line and asked Sudhir to continue holding as a supervisor would speak to him shortly. After a total of 43 minutes on the phone, a man (who sounded like he might have been 20 years old) picked up the line and asked Sudhir how he could help him. Sudhir then went through the entire story again, as he was requested to start from the beginning. The supervisor politely said he would fax Sudhir a form. The form needed to be filled out and returned, and once approved, the data could then be given out. The whole process could be done within 30 minutes as this was an emergency.

Sudhir gave out the precinct fax number and hung up. He waited for the form and, finally, 20 minutes later, it arrived. Simplistic enough, it took about 10 minutes to fill out and was returned to the same machine from which it came. Sudhir typed in the fax number and pressed the send button, hearing the familiar squeaking tone informing him that the machine had made its desired connection. He had asked for the last 30 days of listings for phone, as well as texts. He was most concerned with the previous night’s activity and needed that immediately. Ironically, as Sudhir would find out later, the computer sitting on his desk was tied into this very database. If he had known how to access it, everything he was requesting was there waiting for him.

Finally, after another 45 minutes of waiting, the return fax arrived. There were a few numbers from the afternoon in question, so Sudhir started calling these as priority No. 1. The first was to her parents, and he politely informed them of who he was again and apologized for calling. It was an awkward conversation, but he was moving quickly and had not realized whom he was calling before they answered the phone. The second two were friends of hers; and he responded to them, saying he was sorry but was calling them by mistake.

The fourth didn’t answer on the first try so he called again. The second try somebody picked up the phone, so Sudhir politely said, “Hello, who is this?” There was a pause at the end of the line, and the response came back of “Who is this?” Sudhir gave the obligatory answer of “This is Detective Takhar of the Palo Alto Police Force, will you please tell me who this is?” At that point the phone went dead.

Sudhir was immediately convinced that this was a bad sign – a very bad sign. He repeatedly tried to call the same phone number again and again, but it went straight to the recorded message stating that this phone’s voice mail was not set up.

He, then, called the phone company and told them the story; and after another hour plus on the phone, he was told that the number he was calling was pre-programmed. It was sold in retail stores across America, and there was no way to track down the owner or the phone in any way. The panic was beginning to set in as Sudhir now knew for certain that Jill was in trouble, and he had no idea how to help her.

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he was missing something. There was an oddity about the voice, a familiarity of some kind that he couldn’t understand or place. It was almost as if he were talking to a friend in the brief verbal exchange, and that instant bond was baffling. Could he be so far removed emotionally from society that the one connection he felt subconsciously was to a killer; and if so, what did that say about him? Is it true that in order to catch a murderer you have to feel and connect on a level, lowering yourself to who and what the killer has become?

He told his captain immediately to ensure that he was aware of the pending doom Sudhir felt would have to be conveyed to Jill’s parents. His captain tried to put a calmer spin on the synopsis, but he too had to admit that the likelihood of Jill returning was growing slim. Shit, this was more than Sudhir had signed up for when he became a small-town police officer in a college area known for parties and corralling underage drinkers.

He decided to drive down to University Street and meet up with Mike and Scott so he could inform them of his discoveries. It was their investigation, as well after all, and he did not want to make more enemies than he already had. He made the short drive for what seemed like the 100th time in the last 24 hours and parked in the exact same spot he had the night before. He then called Mike’s cell phone number and was informed they were at Starbucks a couple of blocks away.

At this point they had not found out much. Sudhir was not thoroughly convinced they were even trying. They stated they had walked around to several of the local restaurants and bars in the 10-square-block area, but as of now they were not having any luck. Sudhir asked them for the picture of Jill they were using, and Scott stated they had just placed the entire file back in the car less than 10 minutes ago. He could retrieve it if Sudhir did not have his own.

Sudhir opened his file and had remembered to include the photo of Jill that had been given him by her mother earlier this morning. He then decided he would walk the same path and ask around himself. He was gaining (as he had hoped) a little more respect for the two detectives, but he just wanted to look as he had nothing else to do that afternoon. He couldn’t face the fact that he was incapable of helping Jill.

Sudhir spent the next few hours going from store to restaurant to bar to store, showing the picture to anyone who would listen. He finally did get a slight nod of acknowledgement at a local Italian restaurant where a waiter was pretty sure that he remembered her from the night before. It seemed that she had been in, having dinner with a gentleman who was very nondescript. The waiter could really give no details other than Caucasian, average build, brownish hair, and an odd bite.

He seemed to remember Jill as the two had ordered a bottle of red wine, and he remembered the gentleman drank most of the bottle, while Jill only had one small glass. Either the patron was a heavy drinker and could hold his alcohol or maybe he was inebriated enough to have made a mistake. So far, Sudhir was not finding out much that would lead to a conclusion.

He did talk to somebody by chance in the garage who apparently worked in one of the local restaurants. The man parked in the same spot most every evening and did remember the night of the exploding car. He also remembered a green Volvo XC90 SUV that had been parked in the corner close to the stairs. He remembered it because it was the same car that his sister drove and had the same small dent on the back of the trunk that his sister’s had. He had thought at the time in a laughing way that maybe the dent came as part of an option package. Leather seats, Bose speakers, and a small dent on the trunk lid in the back of your car. Sudhir did not think much of it at the time but noted it anyway.

As it was now well into evening and he was not used to staying out late, he decided to head home. The kids would be going to sleep soon, and Janine had already called him several times, trying to figure out why he was not performing his daily tasks. What was he thinking by not being there to function as a father, watching the kids and checking homework? She could not and would not be the slave of the house. She was a working woman, as well and earned more money than he did in his thankless job.

He was actually looking forward to getting home so he could have a glass of scotch. The day had really worn him down, and he was not used to getting this far into the evening without a little kick to help rejuvenate him. Sometimes he was surprised at just how reliant he had become on the taste of alcohol.

He made it home in time to grab his kids and give them a couple of big hugs. He heard about the fight that Matt had been in that day and how he had to sit on the wall. Sudhir might define it more of a scuffle than a fight as 12-year-old boys are not quite ready to make the jump to fighting yet. At least Matt was not. He also heard about the bad mood that mom was apparently in, and how she did not like the fact that he was not home when he was supposed to be. Kids get the brunt of many conversations that a rational, non-married person might think they should not hear.

After getting the kids tucked in and telling Tracey her bedtime story, he plopped down in his favorite worn brown leather La-Z-Boy recliner and turned on the TV.
Bonanza
was on Nick-at-Nite, and he would be able to catch the last 40 minutes. He had always loved Little Joe. He remembered growing up, wishing he were left-handed so he could pull a gun out with the blazing speed and accuracy that Little Joe could.

He managed to get through about 10 minutes before Janine laid into him. She chewed up 15 minutes on her own, going through the long list of things that he had managed to screw up in the 14 hours since he had last seen her. It was amazing to him the things that he could do wrong in the span of one day. He let her vent; and once she finished, he got up and poured another glass of scotch, sat down in the recliner until the next thing he knew it was 2 a.m. He must have fallen asleep in the chair again. He seemed prone to doing this the last few years as the alternative (his bed) was occupied by his wife. He was not at all happy dealing with her unless he was forced to.

He got up, turned off the TV, and headed off to the warmth and comfort of his down pillow, hoping that his wife had not taken that again, as well. Another day would begin tomorrow, and he would have the pleasure of doing it all over again. Day in and day out. God, life was monotonous and unfulfilling. As impotent as he felt in his marriage, he now was transferring that same emotion to his job. He needed to find Jill and hold her in his arms. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay and see the eyes of her parents light up as he pulled in front of her house, seeing her run to their waiting embrace. He knew that Jill was not a child; but every time he conjured up her image, it was of a little girl, scared and all alone.

Instead he lifted his legs and felt with each step he was heaving concrete bricks attached to each of his feet. He trudged down the hallway to the cold bed awaiting him. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked forward to slipping between the sheets next to his wife. It had been several years and no amount of synthetic heat emanating from the furnace would warm the widening gap of freezing unspoken words that were sifting between them at this point.