First to Die

Chapter 51

KATHY AND JAMES VOSKUHL were having their first dance- and to break with tradition, it was a rocker. The driving beat of "La Bamba" jolted through the brightly lit atrium of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. "Everybody!" the groom shouted. "Rock and roll! Join us!" Hip young girls with dyed hair and wearing shiny green and red prom dresses- sixties style- swung around on the dance floor, their partners in retro silk shirts, Travolta like. The bride and groom, having changed into party garb, joined in, butting thighs, whooping, arms in air. It almost ruined everything, Phillip Campbell thought. He had wanted her in white. And here she was, sweaty red-streaked hair, cat-eye- shaped glasses, a tight green dress. This time, Kathy, you've gone too far. Forty tables, each with the likeness of some rock and roll icon as a centerpiece, filled out the Great Hall of the museum. A glittery banner that hung from the glass roof proclaimed: James and Kaihy. After a loud crescendo the song ended. A throng of sweaty wedding guests milled back toward their tables, catching their breath, fanning themselves. Waiters in black waistcoats scurried about the room, filling wineglasses. The bride went over and embraced a happy couple in formal dress. Mom and Dad. Phillip Campbell couldn't take his eyes off her. He saw her father give her a loving look, like, We've come through a lot, honey, but now everything will be all right. Now you're part of the club, trust funds and Country Day, little peach-haired grandkids. The groom wandered over and whispered something in Kathy's ear. She squeezed his arm, flashing him a smile that was both affectionate and coy. As he walked away, the tips of her fingers lingered, as if she were saying, I'll be right along. With a hitch of his belt, the groom drifted out of the main hall. He glanced back once or twice, and Kathy waved. Campbell decided to follow, hanging back at a safe distance. He went down a wide, well-lit corridor off the atrium. Halfway down, James Voskuhl glanced back once, cautiously. Then he opened a door and went in. The men's room. The killer moved forward. No one else was in the hall. He felt an irrepressible urge building with force. His fingers made their way into his jacket pocket, touched the cold heel of the gun. He flicked the safety off. He could no longer control what was going on inside his head. Go in, a voice dared him. Do it. He entered a filmy, sallow light. No one at the urinals or sinks. The groom was in a closed stall. A pungent smell filled his nostrils: marijuana. "That you, love?" the groom's affectionate voice called out. Every wick like nerve in Campbell's body stood at attention. He mumbled something barely audible. "Better get in here, hon," the groom gulped, "if you want the end of this bone." Phillip Campbell pushed open the door. The groom looked up, bewildered, the tip of a joint on his lip. "Hey, man, who the hell are you?" "I'm the one who kills useless worms like you." With that, he fired. Just once. James Voskuhl's head snapped back. A splatter of red sprayed against the tile. The groom rocked once, then crumpled forward in a heap. The echo of the gun blast seemed to concuss the entire room. It left an effluvium of cordite that mingled with the pot smoke. A strange calm took over Phillip Campbell, a fearlessness. He pulled the groom's head back and set him upright. Then he waited. The sound of the outer door opening and echoes of the distant party rushing in went right through him. "That you, Vbsk?" a woman's voice called out. it was her. The bride. "What're you smoking in there, tar?" Kathy giggled. She went over to the sinks, and he heard the sound of running water. Campbell could see her through a crack in the stall. She was at the sink, thrashing a comb through her hair. A vision came to him. How he would set this up. What the police would find. It took everything he had to control himself- to let her come to him. "You better save me a hit or two, mister," the bride called out. He watched her dance over to the stall. So close now. So unbelievably delicious. What a moment. When she opened the door, it was her look that meant everything to him. The sight of James, red drool leaking from his mouth. The startled recognition of the killer's face suddenly clicking in; the gun aimed right at her eyes. "I like you better in white, Kathy," was all the killer said. Then he squeezed the trigger- and a blinding white flash exploded through the cat-eye lenses.