In the beginning, Judy tried to include Ox in some of the decision-making, but when asked his preference in reception refreshments, he responded, “I like those little weenie things in barbeque sauce”. That pretty much ended Ox’s involvement.
It was decided that the ceremony would take place in the Community Christian Church with Pastor Bob officiating.
Ox and I were given the task of contacting the cleric and making the arrangements for the church and reception hall. I guess they figured that we couldn’t screw that up too bad.
Pastor Bob welcomed us and invited us into his study.
“How may I be of service to the law enforcement community today?”
Ox got right to the point. “We want to talk to you about getting married.”
“Really?” he said, feigning surprise, “I knew that the two of you were partners, but I wasn’t aware that it had gotten this serious.”
That’s why I love Pastor Bob. If he wasn’t a clergyman, he probably could join Jerry onstage as a standup comic.
Ox looked confused.
“Just kidding,” Bob said. “Since I know that Walt is already married, may I assume that we’re talking about Ox and the lovely Miss DeMarco?”
Ox nodded.
“Good, then let’s get down to business. My fee. It’s Christmas and we need more animals for our live nativity scene --- sheep --- we need two sheep. That’s my fee, two sheep.”
Now Ox was even more befuddled.
“Ox, lighten up! Of course I’d be honored to officiate your wedding --- and no sheep.”
After we discussed the pertinent details, Bob said, “Sorry to hear about your fellow officer. Such a tragedy.”
“It’s not just officer Mason,” I said. “This guy has murdered six people that we know of and may be responsible for three more. What goes haywire in someone to make them do something like this? How can someone have no conscience?”
“Interesting that you mention conscience,” he replied. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Well --- I --- uhhh --- I guess it’s that little voice inside us that tells us when something’s right or wrong.”
“Very good! Strictly speaking, conscience is defined as an aptitude, faculty, intuition or judgment of the intellect that distinguishes right from wrong. In everyday terms, it’s what makes us behave well when no one is looking.”
I shook my head. “That still doesn’t tell me why this guy has no regard for human life.”
“Walt, there are some that believe that morality is inherent in all humans; that we are born with a sense of right and wrong; that it is part of our DNA, our cultural heritage.
“I personally do not subscribe to that philosophy. I’m more of a blank slate guy.”
“A what?” Ox asked.
“Blank slate. Blank page. I believe that from the moment of birth, from that very first time that a child suckles at his mother’s breast, a child begins to develop values and a sense of what’s right and wrong.”
“Example?” Ox asked.
“Sure. If you were a child growing up in Switzerland, China, Vietnam or Korea, the consumption of dog meat is a part of everyday life. However, in the good old U.S. of A., it would be unconscionable to even consider Lassie fricassee. So which is right and which is wrong?”
“I see your point,’ he said, “but what does dog meat have to do with our case?”
“What I’m trying to point out is that a person’s sense of right and wrong are formed by what he sees, hears and feels as he his growing up.
“Here’s the kicker, many serial killers come from abusive childhoods. If a person does not learn and believe that his own life is valuable and worthwhile, how is he going to acknowledge the value of another human life?
“In order to form a healthy conscience, a person has to believe in his own self-worth. Someone, at some time in his life, has to make him believe that he is something special. It could be the biological parents, a grandparent, a teacher, coach, Scout leader or ---- a clergyman. That’s why I do what I do.”
“So, it’s just possible,” I said, “that someone like the Librarian sees no value in anyone else’s life because he sees no value in his own.”
“Now you’re getting the idea. I truly believe that these horrible crimes are not being committed because of the presence of something evil, but rather because of the absence of something good.”
Our little chat with Pastor Bob didn’t get us any closer to catching the Librarian, but it did give me a better understanding of how he was capable of committing these horrible acts.
Oscar was jubilant.
His latest deed had pushed the sentimental Christmas stories off of the front page.
He felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he read the headline, “Kansas City Officer Slain By The Librarian!”
Not a single person in his life had thought he was worth a damn. He never knew his old man; his mom was always so tired from working two jobs she just wanted to collapse when she got home, and to the babysitters, he was nothing more than a little piss ant and a paycheck.
To the kids at school, he was a geek and a nerd, and no girl would be caught dead with him on a date.
And now, he was still invisible to his co-workers at the hospital. Just another guy with a bedpan full of crap.
If all of them just knew that HE was the creator of that headline, that HE had accomplished something that few had ever done --- committed the perfect crime.
They would never know --- they couldn’t know --- but HE knew, and it filled him with the greatest sense of self-worth that he had ever known.
His latest kill had taken the cops by surprise. He knew that wouldn’t happen again. Every cop and his partner would be inseparable --- and vigilant.
His next kill would have to be even more creative and well planned.
There is nothing that stirs the human emotions like the funeral of a fallen hero.
Regardless of whether the individual is a member of the armed forces, a fireman, a cop or even a Peace Corps volunteer, the act of giving one’s life in the service of others is the ultimate expression of self-sacrifice.
It had been a surreal experience, witnessing my own funeral staged by the Secret Service. I had watched as friends, family and fellow officers paid their respects and honored my memory. They were totally unaware that in a few short months, I would be back among the living.
Unfortunately, there would be no such miracle for the widow and ten-year-old son of Officer Mason.
As I listened to the bagpipes playing Amazing Grace, and watched as the color guard folded the flag that draped the casket, I was heartsick, knowing that this senseless act of a sociopath had changed the lives of this family forever.
Somehow, the scales held by Lady Justice had gotten terribly off balance and we had to do something to make it right.
Oscar watched the officers exiting the police building after the shift change. They might be working in pairs while on duty, but they certainly would be going their separate ways at quitting time.
A young officer climbed into his car and headed south on Oak Street.
Oscar slipped into traffic a few car lengths behind.
The officer wound his way to Westport Road and turned west, parking in front of twin six-plexes sitting side-by-side.
He took a small knapsack from his back seat, punched a security code into the front door lock and disappeared inside. Home safe and sound.
Oscar examined the alley between the two buildings and saw that it contained the trash dumpsters for the apartment’s residents.
He looked at his watch and noted the time.
Yes, this would be perfect!
At precisely five o’clock, Oscar flipped on the TV and scrolled to the ‘Movies On Demand’ channel. From the selections offered, he chose One For The Money, based on the Stephanie Plum mystery/comedy series by Janet Evanovich.
He hit ‘select’, paid his fee and watched as the credits started rolling.
He turned the sound up loud enough so that it could be heard out in the hall, but not so loud that it would draw attention.
He quietly slipped out of his apartment, raised the window at the end of the hall that opened to the rusty old fire escape bolted to the back of the building and climbed to the street below.
He drove to Westport Road, parked on a side street a block away from the twin buildings and walked to the alley between the two.
He crouched down behind one of the big dumpsters and checked his watch. If the cop followed his regular schedule, he should be coming along in the next ten to fifteen minutes. If he stopped off for a beer with friends or went grocery shopping, the plan would have to be aborted for the evening. There would always be another night.
He watched as car headlights moved along the street. Finally one pulled to the curb and he saw the cop reach into the back seat for his knapsack.
He was ready to put his plan into action.
He positioned himself with his back on the ground just behind the dumpster with only his head visible from the street.
When he heard the footsteps approaching the building, he cried out in an anguished voice, “HELP ME! --- SOMEBODY! --- PLEASE HELP ME!”
“Who’s there?” the officer said, peering into the alley.
“Please! I think it’s my heart,” Oscar wailed. “I can’t breathe!”
The officer knelt down beside Oscar’s body and immediately his hand shot up plunging the stun gun into the officer’s neck.
The officer dropped to the ground instantly and Oscar dragged his limp body behind the dumpster and placed it in a sitting position against the brick wall.
He plunged the knife into his chest and when he was certain that the officer was dead, he placed the book in his hands.
He peered around the corner of the building and seeing no one, walked to his car a block away.
After completing his ritual of disposing of the evidence in the river, he drove back to his apartment, climbed the fire escape and entered his apartment just as the movie was ending.
His timing was perfect.
The next step in perfecting his alibi would be easy.
His landlady had been helpful in his last kill, so he might as well use the old battle-axe again.
He unscrewed a light bulb from his bathroom, went to the landlady’s apartment below and knocked.
“Miss Fishburne,” he said when she answered, “sorry to disturb you, but I just blew out a light in my bathroom. I wonder if you’d have a spare? If you do, I’ll get another one tomorrow and replace it.”
“I think so,” she said. “Let me go check.”
She came back with a bulb. “Sixty watt is all I’ve got. Will that do?”
“Absolutely,” he said, exchanging bulbs with her. “Thank you very much.”
He turned to go, but she stopped him, “Oscar, would you mind turning down your TV. I could hear it way down here. I’m surprised that I didn’t get complaints from the other tenants.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so loud. I’ll turn it down and be more careful in the future.”
Oscar smiled as he climbed the stairs back to his apartment. This had gone even better than he had hoped.
CHAPTER 23
We had just buried one fellow officer and now we had lost a second.
“The body of Officer Carter was found early this morning behind a dumpster at his apartment building,” the Captain announced at squad meeting. “He was found by another resident that was depositing his trash before leaving for work.
“The Librarian?” someone asked.
“I’m afraid so. The book that was placed in the officer’s hands this time, Cop Hater, by Ed McBain, leaves little doubt who he is going to stalk next. Apparently it’s about the murder of three police officers. I’m guessing that with Officer Carter being his second victim, he’ll be planning another kill --- maybe very soon. Watch your backs --- watch each other’s backs. We have to get this guy before he kills again!”
After the squad meeting, the Captain pulled Ox and me aside.
“We need you to find out where Roach was last night between six and seven o’clock.”
“You want us to bring him in?” Ox asked.
“Not this time. Not unless we have something solid. If we drag his ass down here again and he’s got a rock solid alibi like before, that Romero woman will be filing harassment charges. Just nose around and see what you can find out. Check his credit cards again. See what he’s been up to.”
Our first stop was Roach’s apartment building.
The landlady opened the door on the first knock. She must have seen us coming. She probably doesn’t miss much around the neighborhood.
“Good morning officers. If you’re looking for Oscar, he isn’t here. He left for work earlier.”
“Actually, we’d like to talk to you. Do you know if Oscar was home last evening.”
“What’s all this about, Officer? Has Oscar done something wrong?”
“No ma’am, not that we know of. We’re just doing some follow up.”
“Well he was home for sure. He was playing his TV so loud I heard it clear down here. I had to tell him to turn it down.”
“So you actually spoke to him?” I asked.
“Sure did. He come banging on my door about seven o’clock dragging an old, burnt out light bulb.” She reached over to a small table beside the door. “Here’s the damn thing. I forgot to pitch it in the trash. Borrowed one of mine and said he’d replace it today. I ain’t holding my breath.”
“I’ll be happy to get rid of it for you,” I said.
“Sure,” she said, handing me the bulb. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, ma’am, thank you for your time.”
When we were back in the cruiser, Ox asked, “What’s with the old light bulb?”
“Just a hunch,” I said. “I’ll let you know when we get back to the station.”
While I was taking a leak, Ox ran Oscar’s credit card activity.
“Only one transaction in the last couple of days,” he said. “Looks like he rented a pay-per-view movie from his cable company.”
“Porn?”
“No, actually, it was a mystery/comedy based on the first book in a series of novels.”
Just then, the Captain walked up. “What did you find out?”
“Looks like Roach has a solid alibi --- again,” Ox said. “His credit card shows that he rented a movie at five and his landlady saw him at seven. As far as we know at this point, he was in his apartment the whole time.”
“Hang on just a minute,” I said.
I unscrewed the light bulb out of a desk lamp, burning my fingers, and screwed in the bulb that the landlady had given me.
It came on.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Ox exclaimed.
“I don’t see the significance,” the Captain said.
“Maybe it’s possible that Roach took the bulb to his landlady just to establish his alibi. He probably never figured that anyone would check to see if it was really burnt out. He could have been gone from five to seven and just gotten home in time to exchange the bulb.”
The Captain rubbed his chin, “I don’t know --- that’s pretty thin. Haven’t you ever had a bulb go out, you flick it with your finger and it comes back on?”
Actually, I had experienced that several times.
“This, along with all of the other stuff we have on Roach,” I said, “still makes him the number one suspect in my book.”
“Problem is,” the Captain said, “everything we have is circumstantial. We don’t have a damn thing that actually ties him to the killings.”
The Captain was right. If Roach was indeed our man, we needed more.
Oscar spread the morning paper out on his kitchen table.
The headline screamed, “The Librarian Claims The Life Of A Second Officer!”
The crime reporter was comparing him to the likes of Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey
Dahmer, but the comparison that thrilled him most was to the Zodiak killer, who to this day, had never been caught.
The article went on to say that the police have had few leads and have found no hard evidence at the crime scenes.
He laughed when he read the ‘few leads’. As far as he knew, he was the only lead and his alibis had been airtight.
He knew that the cops were still looking at him because old lady Fishburne had told him that the big cop and the old man had come nosing around the building on the morning after his second cop kill.
So far, all of his kills had been random, except for Ed and Larry, of course, but these two cops were beginning to get on his nerves. The same two had dragged him downtown twice and seemed to be dogging him every step of the way. This was getting personal.
The first two cop kills had been as easy as the homeless guys and the hookers. Maybe it was time to up his game.
Maybe it was time to hunt the guys that were hunting him.
The Captain was ecstatic.
A tugboat operator on the Missouri River had spotted something round bobbing next to a tree that had been washed from the bank.
He thought it was a basketball or maybe a soccer ball, but on closer inspection, it looked like a human head.
Police were notified and the object was secured. It was indeed a human head.
Most of the flesh was gone, but dental records indicated that it was the head of Marvin Atwater, my old tenant, and one of the Librarian’s first kills.
The crime lab identified strands of something matted in the remains of the scalp as burlap.
It appeared that the Librarian was disposing of the crime scene evidence by sinking it into the river in burlap bags.
One of the officers who was an avid fisherman said that the bag had most likely been ripped open by the spotted gar that roamed the river.
Apparently these creatures were voracious feeders and having sensed the meat in the bag, tore it open with their razor-sharp teeth.
With this discovery, the Captain launched a dragging operation between the major bridges that crossed the river and the spot downstream where the head had been discovered.
[Lady Justice 10] - Lady Justice and the Book Club Murders Page 12