Insidious
Page 85

“You deserved to be destroyed, both of you. Like you destroyed Connie.”
They heard a fist strike flesh, heard Markham moan in pain. Cam started forward, but Daniel grabbed her arm.
Markham was panting now, screaming back, “It doesn’t matter. You’re insane! You murdered all those helpless, innocent young women. I had to stop you. Even after all of it, you tried to kill Gloria Swanson. Because I was sleeping with her? Are you completely insane?”
There was silence and then Doc spoke, his voice dreamy. “Connie was my third, you know. She was the worst of them, really, taking up with you. You’re responsible for her death, no one else. Do you know, each of them was better than the last? I fancied it was like a ballet, every move smooth and exact. They all died so beautifully, and I whispered to them to repent their sins but they couldn’t, their throats were cut open.”
There was the sound of a fist striking flesh again and another cry of pain.
Cam moved quickly along the narrow hallway, went down on her knees and looked into the second bedroom. Markham was duct-taped arms and legs to a chair. Deborah’s desk chair, Cam recognized it. Everything else looked the same as Cam had seen it Wednesday morning. The chair sat in the middle of the room, Doc leaning over Markham, his knuckles bloody from the many blows. Markham’s face was swollen and discolored, a deep cut over one of his eyes. A small maglite was propped up on a backpack, lighting Markham’s bloody face.
Markham’s words were liquid with blood. “There are hundreds, thousands of actresses. You said Connie was the worst because she slept with me. Everyone sleeps with someone. It’s only sex. Why? Why my Connie? Why all of them?”
Doc raised the knife and both Cam and Daniel aimed their Glocks at him, center mass. Then he slowly lowered the knife and spoke, his voice emotionless, thin as parchment. “You want the truth? All right. Back at the beginning, before I understood how corrupt and venal this business is, I wanted Deborah to succeed. She wanted it more than anything, more than she wanted me, probably. Of course you know why Deborah didn’t get any of those roles, you scum. It was because she was loyal to me, she didn’t sleep with any of you lechers to get ahead. So I decided I would help her.
“You know what? I found I was quite good at it.” His voice had dropped, became confiding. “It’s not as well controlled as surgery, and I really am a superb surgeon. I didn’t have to practice much to be a first-rate killer.”
There was a long moment of silence. Cam thought if she could see his face there’d be a huge smile on it. He was revving himself up. They heard him announce, his voice excited now, “It’s how I became famous, in the end. Time for me to go now, Markham, time for you to die. There are pretty young senoritas waiting for me.”
Markham had gone beyond fear. His voice sounded eerily calm. “They’ll get you, you know they will, no matter where you go, they’ll find you. They’ll never stop.”
“You think I don’t know that? I know this part’s over. There’s always an end of the line. That’s why I came for you, Markham. Did you think I’d leave you behind? They’ll come for me tomorrow with more questions and their lie detector, and what they’ll find is rubble and a burned body. They’ll think my grief for Deborah drove me to kill myself. By the time they know better, I’ll be gone, an obscure village doctor they’ll never find.”
Doc’s voice suddenly caught, and he sobbed. “You know what, Markham, you evil bastard? If you hadn’t killed Deborah, none of this would be happening.”
Markham barked out a strangled half laugh. “Of course it would. You’re a serial killer.”
Doc’s shadow lengthened and he raised his knife.
67
* * *
“Put the knife down, Doc. Now!” Cam jumped to her feet and raised her Glock.
Doc whirled around, shock clear on his face. He screamed, “No, it’s impossible! You can’t be here!” He shoved Markham’s chair toward them and dove for the open window.
Daniel followed Doc through the window, rolled, and tackled him, landing with all his weight on his back. He grabbed his wrist, twisted it until Doc dropped the knife, and pulled his arms back to cuff them. Doc kicked himself up to his knees, twisted, and got an arm free. He held a small pistol in his hand.
“No!” Cam yelled. She and Doc fired at the same time. The bullet knocked Doc backward onto the ground. Daniel fell off him, onto his back.
She was at Daniel’s side in a moment, saw blood spreading over his chest. She pressed down on the wound hard with both hands. He was struggling to breathe. She pulled her cell out of her pocket, dialed 911, forced herself to calm, and told the dispatcher to send an ambulance, officer down. She looked briefly over at Doc, lying still now, silent. She wondered if he was dead. She hoped so.
Harder, she had to press harder. “Stay with me or I’ll make sure Missy makes your life miserable. Daniel, breathe!” She heard his breath bubbling, saw him spitting up as he tried to suck in air. He was bleeding into his lung.
His breathing eased. He whispered, “Where did he get a gun?”
“Not important. Be quiet and don’t move an inch. Breathe, Daniel, help is coming.”
“Cam, the gun—how . . .”
She leaned over him, whispered, “We’ll have a talk about that later. We started this together, Daniel, and we’ll finish it together.” His eyes were vague, cloudy, and she leaned close. “Think about the dozen kids you and Missy are going to have. Daniel, focus!”
“Missy,” he whispered, his voice liquid, and she’d have sworn his eyes brightened. She heard sirens. She kept pressure on his chest, the wet of his blood warm against the burns on her palms. “Hang on, Daniel, the cavalry’s near.” A moment later she heard the front door burst open as the EMTs came pounding through. His eyes were closed, his head to the side. She pressed her fingers against his neck. His pulse was thready, barely there. She kept pressing with the heels of her hands until the paramedics told her to move.
“He’s got a bullet wound in his chest. I’ve been pressing down as hard as I could.”
“That’s good, now move.” The paramedic quickly applied a pressure bandage. “On three,” she said to the other paramedic behind her, and together they lifted him onto the gurney.
“Will he live?”