“And I don’t want you to,” he replied. “I just want you to be here for me now, like I am for you.”
Relieved, he thanked Lisa for her decision and promised to keep in touch regularly. Lisa, though strong and firm, remained dangerously in love.
NINE
During the early morning hours of May 15th – six days after Clare Moore’s body was located in the dumpster - the nude, battered body of a woman was found at the bank of a river, several miles from downtown, Los Angeles. It was the fourth murder in less than one month.
Before arriving at the scene, Nick and Lou had a pretty good hunch that the reported discovery was just like all the others they were meticulously investigating.
“Same M.O., detectives,” said Ray Hoffman, a uniformed police officer who was one of the first to arrive on the scene. He was familiar with certain details of the recent ongoing murder investigations.
“Same M.O., huh?” Nick's voice was as flat as his demeanor as he watched the coroners work.
“Yup. Coroners say she's been here for about twenty-four hours at least.”
“Here or dead?” Nick asked.
“Dead,” the officer replied.
Chief Tuyler pulled up on the scene. He immediately went over to view the remains. “This one's pretty messed up,” he said to the detectives, minutes later.
“She's been here a while, except, this isn't the spot she was killed at,” Nick said.
“I’m sure you have an interesting theory behind that assumption, detective,” Tuyler remarked.
Nick knelt down beside the bloody corpse of the young woman whose lifeless eyes seemed to be gazing up at him. It was an eerie sight to behold even to the most hardened police officer. Among other things, her throat had been slashed and stab wounds covered the chest and abdomen.
“Another senseless death,” Nick said. “See, there's a slight blood-trail.” He pointed at the sand.
Tuyler and Lou observed closely.
“It’s leading over there to the north,” Lou indicated as Nick clumped through the bushes. The fine blood trail extended approximately thirty yards away from the dead body, all the way around to the other side of the river, near the thickets.
“It starts here,” Nick said, pointing to a spot where a few large pools of blood had evidently soaked through the sand. “He wanted us to find her.”
“Yeah,” Lou agreed. “This is where that animal butchered and slaughtered her.”
“He's obviously trying to tell us something since he makes no attempts to hide his victims' bodies,” Nick added.
“But what?” Tuyler asked.
“Don't know,” Nick heaved. “I guess he wants to make a name for himself, and using these women to bring him close enough to that dream doesn't bother him one bit.”
Lou headed toward the crowd of onlookers in hopes of finding a possible witness that could help the case. Minutes later, a teenage Latino boy hastily advanced from the back of the crowd and waved the detective down.
“Sir, I know that girl!” He said.
“You do?” Lou was intrigued.
“Her name’s Haley Freedman. She’s in my gym class. Her parents are two hot shot doctors. I think her dad’s name is Norman or Nolan.”
“Are you sure of this girl’s identity?” Lou asked. “You’re quite a distance away from the body.”
“I was in the area the same time as the guy who called it in. We both found her here, except, he did the calling.”
“Where is he now? I wasn't informed of anyone assisting the police when they arrived,” Lou said, his suspicion aroused.
“He took off,” the boy answered. “We both decided to since Haley was so messed up like that and we were skeptical about getting involved.”
“So why’d you stay?”
“Haley was my friend, sir. We may not have been very close, but we were still friends. I thought about it and knew it would be wrong for me to just disappear without even taking the time to identify her body for the authorities.”
“Wise decision, Kid. So what's your name?” Lou asked.
“Vanderbilt Rockenheimer - Van for short.”
“Well, thanks for your help, Van.”
“Sure thing, officer, but I must warn you...when Mr. Freedman hears about this, he’s gonna have a fit.”
Van described the man he claimed had made the 911 call. He, however, clearly expressed to the detective that he personally had nothing to do with the crime and could provide the authorities with an alibi, if necessary.
Haley was a nineteen-year-old art student from Bel-Air. Her parents, Nolan and Marjorie Freedman, two prominent surgeons in Los Angeles, were on their way to the county morgue to identify their daughter's remains.
Nick and Lou, who were waiting just outside the morgue, watched the Freedmans hurry down the corridor. It was evident that Mrs. Freedman had been crying.
“Mr. and Mrs. Freedman?” A male attendant asked as the couple approached the doorway?
Nolan nodded. “Yes.”
“Right this way,” the young man said, leading them into the cold chamber.
“I feel terribly ill,” stated Mrs. Freedman, suddenly finding her legs inordinately weighty as she slowly and reluctantly approached the wall chamber. Her husband held her closely.
“Are you all right, Ma’am?” Doctor Parker asked, sensing the woman’s grief.
Mrs. Freedman gulped, then nodded, clinging ever so tightly to her poker-faced husband. Doctor Parker advanced a little closer. “Are you both ready?” She asked.
“Yes, go ahead,” Nolan Freedman said, his voice shaky.
Parker rolled out the steel drawer, then slowly pulled the sheet down to the victim’s neck.
“Oh no, Haley! Oh my God! Tell me this is just a nightmare!” Marjorie cried.
Nolan, visibly shaken himself, immediately steered his wife away from the dreadful sight of their daughter and out into the corridor. Marjorie slumped onto the cold tiled floor as her husband attempted to console her.
Nick approached the couple with much empathy. “Mr. and Mrs. Freedman, I'm Detective Myers and over there is my partner, Detective Riley, we’re terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Are you, detective? Are you really sorry?” Nolan charged, much to Nick’s surprise. “How can you even bring yourself to utter such words to us? You people are responsible for protecting the innocent like my Haley in there!” He was now in Nick’s face. “That creep is out there roaming the streets like a wild animal - cutting short innocent lives - and all you can say is you're sorry? Doing your job is having nothing to feel sorry about. The time you took to tell us that, you could have been out there trying to get that bastard off the streets!”
Lou stood nearby, completely appalled by how innately cruel Nolan Freedman appeared to be, in spite of his grief. He calmly approached his partner, touched him on the shoulder, then turned to Nolan and said, “Sir, there are papers you have to sign before you leave. Dr. Parker will assist you with that in the second room over there to your left.”
“Come on, Marge,” Nolan said, assisting his sobbing wife. Starting down the corridor, he looked back at the detectives grimly and uttered: “Hell hath no fury like I do right now. I'm going to cause such hell and havoc in this state, you people are going to wish you had done your jobs in the first place!”
TEN
The clacking sound of an old trolley steadily approached Annie as she placed a few items into her grocery cart. She was wearing a fitted, sleeveless dress and matching slippers. Her long, silky hair had been pulled neatly into a ponytail and she toted a large straw-knitted bag on her left shoulder. Soon, the clacking sound stopped as a trolley pulled up alongside of her.
“Hi, how are you?” A tall, husky man asked whose stare almost mesmerized her.
“I'm sorry, do I know you?” Annie replied, as she rested a can of peaches in her cart.
“I'd be surprised if you did. I ‘um couldn't help noticing as I approached,” he started with a brief, i
nnocent smile, “how lovely you are, even from behind.”
Annie chuckled at the stranger's bold choice of words. “Is that what you say to every girl you meet?” She continued along the aisle.
“I couldn't rehearse something like that unless it came directly from my heart. And besides, not everyone looks that good from behind.”
The man appeared to be in his mid to late forties. His hair was jet black and he wore a goatee. Annie was instantly attracted to him, but she successfully concealed it.“Well, it's not every day that one meets a guy who thinks with his heart and not his...” Her eyes fell, though subtly, below his waistline.
“I’m sorry," he said, extending a hand. “So foolish of me. I'm Ray Matthews and you are...”
“Annie.” She returned the handshake.
“Do you shop here often, Annie?” He asked.
“Yes, usually once a week.”
“Just once a week? What if you're short of something before the week is out?”
“Once a week,” she repeated. “I try to stick to a routine because I have a handicapped brother at home. I'm usually there to take care of him.”
“I see,” Ray leaned slightly on the trolley as he pushed it along. “Well, I'm in here practically every other day. I live alone and find it sort of difficult to pick up everything I need in one shot. Oh, don't mind the trolley,” he laughed. “As you can see, it's quite empty. I end up coming back here for any knick-knacks I didn't get the last time,” he explained.
“Well, I usually make a list of what I need before I get here and try to purchase enough of everything to last a week, maybe a few days more, so that the next time I come, I wouldn't have to spend as much time grocery-shopping,” Annie said. “I'd have that spare time to do other things, you know?"
“Makes sense. When I grow up, I want to be just like you,” he smiled.
In some ways, Ray reminded Annie of Tom and she thought that was a good thing.
“So, what do you do?” Annie asked, reaching for a bag of rice from the shelf.
“I'm a realtor. Actually, I’m a partner at Crabs and Matthews on Sunset.”
“Oh, I heard of you guys,” she said. “You all did that commercial with the prim couple who just had to find the perfect abode to suit their puppy’s luxurious taste.”
“Yeah, that's us. We're the professionals,” he replied. “Maybe I can assist you with some real estate in the future.”
“You're trying to sell me real estate now? I bet that was your motivation for stopping and chatting with me in the first place,” she simpered.
“If you have absolutely no idea that you’re the most beautiful woman on the face of this earth and that any man would be honored to just talk to you, you're lacking a great deal of self-esteem. I would never sell realty to a woman like you, Annie - I'd give it to you.”
Needless to say, Annie was impressed already. Ray assisted with her grocery at the counter, then stood quietly behind as the cashier struck up the items.
“Ninety-nine, eighty-four,” the cashier said as the packing boy stuffed the items in plastic bags.
Annie reached into her purse.
“No, no. I'll get that,” Ray insisted, handing the cashier a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
Annie was shocked. “You really didn't have to do that.”
“I know, but I wanted to,” he said, placing his groceries on the counter.
Though packed and ready, Annie waited for Ray. He walked her to her jeep, set the grocery bags in the trunk, then stood there staring at her as he did the moment he had met her.
“How about dinner tonight?” He asked, as Annie stood by the door.
“I'm sorry, Ray. I can't. My brother… you know,” she replied.
“So, what about if we had dinner at your place? I'd bring over the ingredients and make a delicious meal for everyone,” he offered.
“I'm really sorry, but now is not a good time,” she said firmly.
“Okay, how about I give you my phone number,” he slid a card out of his wallet, “and you can give me a call whenever you're ready?”
“Okay,” she smiled.
“I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. If time is what you need, you can have it. But in the meantime, I’ll be waiting for you, no matter how long it takes. I'll give anything to get to know you better, Annie.”
Her mind suddenly flashed on a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Annie accepted the card and climbed into her jeep. “Thanks for the groceries.”
“Na. Don't mention it,” he quickly interjected.
“It was really nice meeting you, Ray Matthews.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Annie.”
He watched her drive out of the parking lot and away into the distance, convinced at that very moment that he had finally found what he had been looking for all his life.
* * * *
Nick made a hot cup of coffee to revive himself. Stressed-out and tired, Lou craved a tall glass of whisky and a few hours rest, but settled for a cold soda at his desk.
Slumping into his chair, Nick answered the blinking line. “Myers here.”
“What a tragedy, huh?” Went the voice on the other line.
“Braxton?”
“You got it. It's been a while, hasn't it, detective?”
“Yeah, it has,” Nick said.
“I have some info I know you'd be interested in,” Braxton continued.
“I'm all ears.”
“You remember me telling you that I knew where the killer hid the missing limbs?”
“Uh…huh.”
“Well, for some weird reason, he's moved them recently and hid them in separate places. For now, I can tell you where he’s hiding one of ‘em.”
“And where might that be?” Nick asked.
“He has it kept in a red tool-box in a shed on the deserted Coleman's Field.”
“I know where that is. But are you sure of this information, Braxton?”
“You want the info or not, Myers? You know, you're really starting to piss me off.”
“All right, we'll check it out. Just tell me one thing before you go…” Nick started. “I gather from what you said that you've seen the suspect several times. Do you know where he lives or could you at least give me a physical description of this guy?”
“I regret to say that I've never seen his face very clearly,” Braxton replied. “From a distance, it seems as if there's just a dark hole there. And as for his home address, my hands are tied; I have no idea where he lives.”
“What about an approximation of his height and weight for starters?” Nick probed.
“I'm not so good at estimations, detective. But I'm kind of disappointed in you: You want to know too much, too fast. Haste makes waste, remember?”
“Would you stop playing these games, Braxton. People's lives are on the line here!” Nick snarled.
Silence ensued for a while and after Nick had managed to compose himself a bit, he began to wonder if Braxton was still on the line.
“Braxton, are you still there?” He knew that in spite of his doubts about the stranger, he could not risk losing him as an informant.
“I'm here,” Braxton replied moments later. “You've really got to control that nasty temper of yours, detective. It's becoming rather distasteful, to say the least.”
“I apologize,” Nick said softly.
“Anyway, like I said - everything in due time. You guys are lucky I'm doing this in good faith, expecting nothing more than a simple 'thank you' in return. As usual, I advise you to keep your eyes open; you never know what might appear in front of them.”
Minutes later, Nick and Lou were on their way to Coleman’s Field.
* * * *
Coleman’s Field was a large clearing encircled by an old, chain-link fence. Approximately halfway through, stood a wooden, dilapidated shed.
Nick pulled up outside the property near the entrance. The stillness of the area and what they were told to expect made the detectives quite uneas
y.
“Think Braxton knows what he's talking about?” Lou asked as they started through the gate.
“We'll find out very soon, Partner,” Nick replied impassively.
Though anxious to get to the shed, the detectives walked at a moderate pace, keeping alert. The uncanny quietude encompassing the field was pulsating.
“This here's a huge piece of property – too big to be deserted like this,” Lou remarked. He sounded spooked and nervous.
“Who said it's deserted?” Nick countered. “Do we know that?”
“You mean we're passing through this place unaware if a hatchet wielding maniac might have claimed this property and could rush out at us for trespassing?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn't Braxton tell you whether the property is still abandoned or not?” Lou asked.
“No.”
“You didn't ask?”
“No.”
“No? Is that all you can say, Nick? You're a lunatic. You know that?”
“Yeah,” Nick chuckled softly. As he pushed the heavy door of the shed inward, it made an eerie, screeching sound. Nick slowly advanced inside the room; Lou followed after taking one last look around the perimeter of the field. Rusty soda cans, dusty beer bottles, and a few scattered chip bags littered the wooden floor. Nick shuffled carefully into the gloom, noticing the heavy dust on the floor and the intricately formed spider-webs in the cracks and crevices of the ceiling. His nose wrinkled at the stench of urine.
“Geez, the only thing this dump's missing are dead crocodiles and alligators,” Lou said behind him.
“Keep your eyes open for a red tool-box,” Nick instructed, appraising every corner. Then he looked up. “I see something.”
After slipping on some gloves, they reached overhead to retrieve what appeared to be a long, red toolbox from the shelf. Both men struggled slightly under the weight of the metal container.
“What's in here… concrete?” Lou grunted as they rested it onto the floor.
Nick looked around for something to break the heavy-duty lock. “Reach me that maul,” he said, pointing to the tool lying near the door.
Dangerous & Deadly- The Nick Myers Series Page 6