Iceman by Rex Miller

Author:Rex Miller [Miller, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror, Fiction, General, Horror - General, Crime & Thriller, Modern fiction, Mystery & Detective - General, Mystery & Detective, Detective, Fiction - Mystery, Psychological, Crime & mystery, General & Literary Fiction
ISBN: 9780759240407
Publisher: E-reads/E-rights
Published: 2003-03-05T05:00:00+00:00

Buckhead Springs

If ever there'd been a day when Eichord didn't need to come home to noise and aggravation, it was today, so perhaps that's why the little guy was on his mind so much as he threaded his way through the drive time outbound to Buckhead Springs. He decided he would will the night to be a good one. He wanted a little quiet time, and then dinner, and then some TL & C and early to bed.

When he'd interviewed the old couple in Vega, and the Amarillo people, he'd reached out for all the Spoda trails, paper and otherwise. Between MCTF and the locals it was all starting to funnel down his way now. Massive, useless, time-wasting printouts from the tangled tentacles of law enforcement. Man-hour-eating wild-goose chases that were endearing him to his colleagues in Buckhead not at all. All the wheelchair possibilities. All the institutional possibilities. Identikit feedback. Just the hospital records alone were impenetrable, it seemed, even with the computerized brain of the task-force sorting chaff.

Around a quarter to four he tried for the second time to pick up the gist of some material Doug Geary had sent him. A weighty thesis with the lighthearted title Proximal Root-causes of Homicidal Violence, jointly published by a think tank of clinicians. For the second time he read, “frustration, threat, or jealousy, for example, which can be subdivided into responsive and/or reactive aggression, sexual/social aggression, predatory/destructive,” he rubbed his eyes. All the slashes were making him constantly reassess and redefine each phrase. What the hell was wrong with these academicians? Couldn't they write a simple fucking sentence? This/slash/that—the mad slasher strikes again. I am tired/slash/bored, he thought.

“The proximal causes are multidisciplinary,” he read, “societal, political, environmental, military, industrial/technological, religiostic, economic, organizational...” He skipped a paragraph, stifling a yawn. “...intellectualized value-judgments reached within the scholarly/academic communities and practical-solution-related theory generated experientially within...” Boring boring fucking boring. He closed his eyes and rubbed, yawning until his jaw cracked.

It wasn't even four and he felt guilty, so he picked up some of the reports and started wading through them, reading and making notes with his felt-tipped pen as he read, and by four-thirty he had completed an ornate set of printed notes that surrounded a huge legal-pad-size doodle of a stick figure in a wheelchair, titled in big printed cartoon letters ARTHUR SPODA? A stick figure of a man in a chair holding an icepick over the question mark. Enough, he said, round-filing it and getting up with a sigh. Nothing was more tiring than nothing.

Jonathan, as if he'd read Jack's mind somehow, was again on his all-time best behavior. He'd become particularly docile in Donna's hands, or so Jack thought, when she'd started using their videocassette recorder to tape an afternoon cartoon show that was a great fascination of the boy's. Two shows really, a kid-participation show of a man dressed as a fat clown, and a cartoon show of the most violent hero-villain antics imaginable. Eichord was especially grateful for

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