by Owen Parr
13
I made it back to the pub after the photo shoot had been completed. Father Dom, as agreed, had not stayed for that. Angela was not comfortable sporting her mini bikini around Dominic. I, in turn, had no such issues, but, unfortunately, a new murder had occurred, and duty called. Mr. Pat, Agnes, and our undercover model, Angela Asis, were waiting for me. The tension was in the room. I could cut it with a knife it was that thick.
Angela, now dressed in her usual wear, asked in a somber tone, “I heard the killer struck again.”
I needed to relax. Once I sat down, I put my legs up on the conference table and crossed my ankles. “I’m afraid he did. And, I’m sure the mayor’s press conference pushed him to do it. This animal wants credit for his horrific actions.”
Mr. Pat inquired, “Same MO, Joey?”
“Same. Except for this time, he made a mistake. But, was able to correct it before we found the body. He did leave footprints, from which the CSU team was able to estimate the size of the killer’s shoe to be an eleven.”
“Anything else?” Patrick asked.
I pulled out my phone, searched for my photos, and handed Mr. Pat the phone. “You’re looking at a photo of an imprint on our vic’s right breast. Slide the photo to your right, and you’ll see an enlarged imprint.”
Angela and Agnes both walked behind Mr. Pat to look. Pat moved the phone to the right so that they could take a better look.
Angela commented, “It’s an oval shaped something or other. What do you think it is?”
“We have no clue,” I replied, frustrated. I got up to light a cigar.
Agnes sat down at the conference table. “Send me the pics so that I can file them on my laptop, would you Mr. Pat.”
“Here Patrick, I’ll do that,” I said, taking the phone back and slightly biting down on my cigar with my front teeth before lighting it. “I’ll send you photos of the scene and the footprints also.”
Angela, joining Agnes at the conference table, asked, “So, what do you think happened? That imprint is a result of something that was under her breast. For the imprint to form, it had to have been there for a while before the killer removed the item.”
I turned on the exhaust system over the office area, the same type we had at the bar and the new cigar club. With a torch-type lighter in the shape of a pistol, I light my cigar and returned to the conference table. “My observation and deduction are that the item was under our vic’s breast after he strangled her and sliced her breasts. First, he strangles them, and then he turns them over, slices their breasts in the form of a cross, and then turns them over, face down, again. During that process, whatever the item is, it got caught by the victim. After all that, he goes around the apartment, cleans and removes any evidence, and then leaves.”
Patrick was making a frown when he pulled a chair out to sit. “What am I missing?”
“Sorry, Mr. Pat, my fault. I was not specific,” I replied. “In this last instance, it seems the unsub realized that he left something behind after he left the apartment. That’s when he came back, picked the lock, went in with wet shoes, looked for the item, and then removed it. A little after eight in the morning, the precinct received an anonymous call about the dead body with an address. That call, I’m sure, he made himself from a public phone in the area.”
“So we know the item is his. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered to come back for it.”
“Exactly, Angela,” I said, letting out some cigar smoke. “At the crime scene, someone suggested a broche, possibly an earring. They both make sense, but, the likelihood of them belonging to the killer is pretty low. What we need to figure out now is what kind of item would a man be carrying that has that shape and can fall off so easily?”
Agnes opened her laptop. “I’ll start a list.”
As if on cue, Angela, Agnes, and I flinched and then turned our heads in the direction of a snapping sound in the room. It was the seal on a bottle of water that Patrick broke.
Jaysus Mary Joseph, you guys, are jumpy! The comment would have customarily produced a chorus of chuckles. Not today. A surreal surround sound of nervous sighs filled the room while Patrick took a sizable gulp before he resumed the conversation. “So, … how big is the imprint?”
“We measured the imprint to be one and a half inch by an inch,” I replied.
Another lull. This time everyone became pensive, trying to wrap their heads around this mysterious object our unsub used. Angela was the first to break the silence.
“Could it be a pin of some kind that’s attached to the killer’s lapel, or, maybe a medal?”
Patrick opined, “A pin perhaps, but, a medal? Who carries medals?”
“Guys,” I warned, “don’t limit yourselves, think outside the box. It may be nothing obvious.”
Agnes had now flashed the picture of the imprint on our seventy-inch television screen. Angela got up from her chair, and scrutinizing the photo, she made an acute observation.
“It’s obvious to me that the unsub didn’t want to leave it behind. I’m sure it’s a personal item of his.”
Patrick put the bottle down, got up, and moved closer to the screen, “Agnes, can you improve the quality of the photo?”
Agnes, right on it, was madly ticking in dimensions to make adjustments. “Working on editing as I speak.”
“What are you seeing, Mr. Pat?” my curiosity suddenly peaked.
“Come here a second,” Patrick said. “Look in the middle of the oval. There seems to be a couple of lines, maybe a logo, or a letter of some kind.”
I got up, put my cigar in the ashtray, and moved in for a closer look.
Agnes said, “Hang on a second, I’ll put up a lighter enhanced version of the pic.”
We waited a couple of seconds, as the new photo flashed on the screen.
“Agnes, enlarge the image; just show us the section Mr. Pat is referring to.”
While the new image had lost some of its resolutions, there was no doubt that some logo or lettering was embossed on it. It wasn’t obvious, but it was a new clue, nevertheless. I said, “This is good, it may narrow it down.”
Angela smiled and patted Mr. Pat on the back. She added, “Good pick up, Pat.”
Mr. Pat gave her thumbs up.
“How did the photo shoot go?” I asked, pointing to Angela.
She smiled, “Great. You missed my Miami Beach look.”
I didn’t reply, while Mr. Pat and Agnes gave each other curious glances.
Agnes added, “I’ll be putting up the profiles, across all social media, in a few minutes. Also, I’ll request joining all the groups, using various other profiles. I have those ready to go.”
“Perfect. I hope this works. We need to find this guy now.” For the first time, I was beginning to feel like we were getting somewhere with the case. I picked up my cigar and moved it to the side of my mouth.
Angela leaned forward on the table, “I have a question. If you are under the assumption that our unsub may be a member of your, and hopefully very soon my, precinct, isn’t he likely to recognize either you or Detectives Farnsworth and Charles, while you’re spotting me? That is, assuming he makes contact.”
I had accumulated a long ash on my cigar, which, by the way, is a sign of a good cigar. Flicking it off on the ashtray, I replied, “That’s why I’m bringing in Larry and Harry whom you haven’t met yet.”
Are they part of the team here?” Angela asked.
“They were private detectives working for Bevans and Associates, a criminal law firm. Now, they work for us. So, the moment you get a bite on one of the social media sites, they’ll be tailing you, with us in the background.”
Patrick asked, “What are the detectives from the precinct doing?”
“Yes, Cagney and Lacey. Those two were very upset this morning. The captain had them check for prints and locally known sex crime suspects, instead of investigating the latest crime scene. He also sent them to find public phones within a two-block area. They may be
pissed, but look at this way: if the unsub made a call from one of those, we might get lucky. Patrick quipped, “That should keep them busy for a while.”
“I hope so, Mr. Pat,” I replied, laughing.
Agnes said, pointing to me, and then Patrick, “Back to the imprint. I need to start looking at what you guys carry in your pockets to get an idea as to what may have been the imprint. Okay? So, empty your pockets.”
I smiled, “Good idea, Agnes, except you’re not going to find much on us, but I’ll comply anyway.”
Both Patrick and I began taking things out of our pockets.
I put a four-inch pocketknife on the table that I keep in my right front pocket, then, a wallet from my left back pocket, a handkerchief from my right back pocket, and some cash and keys from my left front pocket. “Not much there, Agnes.”
Angela looking at the items, asking, “How many men carry a handkerchief these days?”
I smiled, took the cigar out of my mouth, and replied, “Right? Very few, I think.”
Patrick emptied his pockets, and other than an iPhone, he had the same items in his pockets, including a handkerchief.”
“Look at that, two out of two,” said Angela laughing.
“You’re no help, guys,” said Agnes.
“Here’s what you need to do, Agnes, wait until we get our first shift of regulars, the Wall Streeters, at around four-thirty, or five. They’re wearing suits, so, more pockets. Have a couple of them empty their pockets, and see what they have.”
Patrick in his Irish brogue said, “These lads may hesitate to do that, you never know what they may have in their pockets.”
We all laughed.
I added, “I’ll corral a couple and get ‘em to do it here in our office.”
14
The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Larry and Harry had stopped by and met Angela. I gave them the background on the case, plus their role to play if we got a bite on the social media chumming we were doing.
Being so busy with the new crime scene and later at the pub, I hadn’t realized Detective Lucy was nowhere to be found. I picked up my iPhone from the conference table and called the precinct to speak to Captain Johnson. “Captain,” I said, as he answered the phone, “where’s Lucy, I haven’t heard, or seen her.”
“My fault, Joey,” he began, “I’ve had her working with the FBI’s office. They were helping her with the ViCAP research and the profiling of the unsub. I should have mentioned that to you.”
“No problem. Does she have anything new?”
“On the profile, it’s almost identical to what Special Agent Belford laid out for you. He’s pretty good.”
I made a face but didn’t comment on that. “What about ViCAP?”
“They found some fascinating stuff; nothing exact, but something to work with. Why don’t you come over and we can review together? She’s on her way back?”
“I guess I can do that. What about Detectives Farns and Charles, did they get anything on the public phones?”
“No, that was a dead end. They’re out visiting the usual suspects. By the way, they’re not very happy with their assignment.”
“Well, someone has to do it. Tell you what, we have the social media profiles up on all the sites, and we are monitoring them for any hits. Why don’t you and Lucy come over? I’ll order lunch. We can review the ViCAP information here.”
“Works for me. I’ll divert Lucy to the pub. See you in a few.”
Wanting to check up on Marcy, I gave her a call while I waited for Lucy and the captain.
“Hi, Mancuso, how’re you?” she sounded pretty chipper.
“All’s good. How are your firearms exercises coming along?
“Great! Tony and I are going out to the range now to practice one more time. I plan on taking the FBI’s test in a few days.”
“Aren’t you rushing that?”
“I feel good where I’m at with it. I need to get back to work.”
“Is Tony there now?”
“He’s on the phone. You need to talk to him?”
“Not really. Don’t want to bother him while he’s in his “Spock with the Enterprise” mode. You know, the Wi-Fi, black tooth thingy that lives in his ear?”
“It’s Bluetooth, Joey. And, he’s not using it.”
“Really? Well, that’s unusual. Just tell him his profile seems to be right on.”
“You got it.”
“Be well. Love you!” I said, hoping for a like response. What I got wasn’t what I expected.
“Talk to you later.”
And that was that.
Our pub was opening at two in the afternoon. For the time being, it was quiet, with only the staff getting ready. I was in the mood for beer. Reaching into the cooler, I pulled out a very cold Brooklyn Lager.
Lucy and Captain Johnson arrived together. As usual, the sound of the city rushed into the pub as the front door opened, along with an artic flow of air. The temp was down in the twenties.
“Welcome,” I said, “let’s go to the office. I have sandwiches ready for us. Tell Riley your drink preference.”
They greeted Agnes, who was working in her area with four monitors, tracking the activities in the various social media sites.
“Where’s Angela?” the captain asked.
“She went to meet with her husband,” I replied. She said something about renting an apartment.”
As we walked into the office and left the pub behind, Lucy asked, “Joey, when are you opening the cigar club?”
“O’Brian’s Cigar Club and Spirits is almost ready. I am hoping to open in a couple of weeks.”
“Membership going well?” Johnson asked.
“Very well, I think. Without any advertising, just from our patrons and word of mouth, we have over one hundred members signed up. Haven’t billed anyone yet, but we don’t expect anyone is dropping out.”
“What’s it going to cost me to join?” The captain asked.
“The regular membership is one hundred twenty-five dollars per quarter. But for you, gratis. Just keep it to yourselves, ok?”
“Well then, sign me up,” quipped the captain.
The food I had ordered had just arrived—a variety of sandwiches cut in half; tuna, ham, turkey with cheese, and chips. “Sit around the table. I want to hear about this ViCAP research. In the meantime, help yourself. Mangiare, mangiare.”
We ate for a few minutes, as Lucy got ready to brief us on the research. Wiping her hands on a napkin then taking a sip of her diet Coke, Lucy began.
“There are no exact matches for our unsub’s MO; however, once we opened the search parameters, we began to uncover similarities. Let me get to the bottom line. By the way, these are all unsolved murders; murders, or deaths, involving some form of extreme sex, as in choking. There’s a bunch around the country. Many of these, however, are thought to be accidents, people just going too far with the choking. Now, if we add actual strangulation, then the numbers drop. Then, if we add anal sex, the numbers drop even more. We took those and searched for a sliced breast, or breasts, in the form of a cross.”
“What happened then?” I asked, putting down my ham and cheese.
“No hits, other than our murders. So, we went back and inputted any cuts with a knife of any kind,” Lucy paused.
“And?” inquired Johnson.
“We found a couple of gruesome murders, where the victim’s throats were sliced, and they bled to death.”
“Although the conversation is not conducive to eating, I hope you’re enjoying your food,” I briefly interrupted. “Lucy, what’s the bottom line?”
“Okay, Mancuso, here it is. We have unsolved serial killers that fit some of our killer’s MO’s in Philadelphia, Prince William County in Virginia, Washington D.C., Chicago, and now New York.”
I was just finishing my second beer when I posed another question. “Which is the closest, in form, to our unsub’s MO?”
Lucy looked down at her notes, “Chicago. There, the
victims all had like checkerboard cuts on their backs; strangled, with what seemed like a satin band, not red, but blue this time, and anal sex only. And, interesting enough, the apartments were cleaned like ours, nothing left behind. No prints, nada.”
“How about Philly?” I asked.
“Two victims. Very similar, but, no cuts,” she replied, perusing her notes once again. “Let me go on. Prince William County—”
I interrupted, “That’s Quantico, Virginia, right?”
Captain Johnson replied, “Yes, that’s correct.”
Flipping a page, Lucy read from her notes. “In Quantico, three victims were found with a straight line cut on their backs. Whereas in Philly, they had no cuts and were strangled by hand—both hands—using Latex gloves.”
I thought for a minute. “What about in D.C.?”
Lucy flipped another page. “Two ladies in D.C. Same M.O., including cuts on their backs in the form of a tic-tac-toe.”
I drew a tic-tac-toe on a piece of paper, looked at it, and then asked, “The tic-tac-toe—could those be crosses next to each other?”
Lucy considered it. “Maybe, yes. I suppose they could be.”
I asked, “So, all had some form of cuts, except for the murders in Philly. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Lucy replied.
“And,” making sure I understood her correctly, “The Philly murders were strangulations with gloves. Right?
“Correct,” Lucy replied, and asked, “Are you thinking of ruling out the Philly kills?”
I nodded affirmatively. “They don’t fit. I think I’d omit them. What do you guys think?’ Glancing around the table.
Everyone agreed.
“Okay then.” I pulled myself closer to the table and rested my elbows on it. “I assume all the victims were females. Right?”
“Yes,” Lucy replied, nodding her head.
“White females and single?” I queried.
“No, not all white. The two young ladies in D.C. were African-Americans.”
“Were they all employed in some form of law enforcement?” I was exploring every angle I could think of.