She lazily turned her head in my direction as I hopped out, barely hearing her protest. "Where am I gonna go?"
Drawing my gun, I tried the front door, but it was locked. Looking in the window, I didn't see a thing, no lights on inside. But she was there. I could feel her despair, her helplessness. I walked around to the side, and sure enough, the side door was unlocked. I slowly made my way in and let my eyes adjust to the dark. Feeling my way around, back against the wall, I flicked on the kitchen light. Nothing there. I peeked my head around the corner and saw her. Lying prone on the living room floor was a young woman, maybe 30 at most, naked from the waist down, eyes closed.
She's not dead, I thought, that much is clear, but I wasn't sure why she wasn't moving. As I approached, I saw the tears streaming from her eyes. She still hadn't opened her eyes or turned her head to face me, even though she had to have heard me by then. I checked her pulse, heart still beating, but damn, her muscles were tight. I wasn't sure, but I thought she might be sleeping.
"It's alright, ma'am. It's over." No response. I had two guesses as to what happened, and they were both rape. I decided to concern myself with the details later. In that moment, I needed to rush back outside and carry Maiko in, since I wasn't sure how long we'd have. When she saw the other woman, she squirmed, but was too weak to put up much of a fight. "No..."
"Sweetheart, please. Just for a few minutes. Then I'll make sure she gets help. I promise. She'll be fine. She's out cold, won't even notice or remember a thing. Please, baby, stay with me." I knew I couldn't make her do it. If I even placed her hands on this woman, she'd never forgive me for not giving her a choice. I brought her this far. The rest was up to her.
Just when I thought I had lost another battle, and maybe the last, her arms moved towards the woman. I saw a single tear falling from each eye. She hesitated. I offered no words, just a squeeze of her shoulders, silently egging her on. Finally, she placed her hand on the unconscious woman.
After just a few minutes, Maiko was feeling well enough to stand. Before I let her process what she had just done, I hugged her tight and led her away as she wept. It was obvious that she regretted it, but it gave her a few good weeks of near perfect health. So to me, it was worth it.
After we got home and I laid her down in bed, I drove to a pay phone a few miles away and called in an anonymous tip. I learned the next day the woman was fine, and gave a statement, which I snuck a peek at. She didn't remember a thing, not even anything about her rapist, which I found odd, but didn't give much thought to at the time. Lately, I've been giving it quite a bit more fuckin' thought.
At the time, this seemed the perfect setup. Any time Maiko started her inevitable decline, I would wait until I sensed some trauma nearby, then would bring her to the scene. Each time, she resisted less and less, until it became routine. What wasn't routine at first was the crime scene. It wasn't always a rape; sometimes it was an assault or mugging. In some cases, we were led to a dark alley, and I was on high alert. Other times, into a home. But every time, the assailant had always been gone by the time we'd arrived. Not surprising; why would they stick around once they got what they wanted? A few times, though, when they were out in the open, I was sure to bring Maiko back to the car, and then call it in right away, to get these people help. For years before this, my squad was always impressed that I'd sniff these things out before the local beat uniforms. But now I was taking it to a new level.
The rapes were different, though. They became more frequent, and I picked up on a pattern. There never seemed to be a struggle, even though I knew the women were in distress. I immediately assumed this was the work of a serial rapist, who had gotten good at somehow incapacitating his victims quickly. Rape wasn't my area of expertise, pardon the poor phrasing, but I took an interest in this string of stunned women for a few reasons, not the least of which being that they gave Maiko an easy target. I even tried zeroing in on the attacker's feelings, but anytime I did, all I picked up on was a sort of cold confidence, an almost lack of emotion. The most I ever got from him was a twinge of regret, not for what he was doing--he seemed to actually enjoy it on some level--but that this had become his life, consumed him.
Our routine had become so routine, in fact, that I eventually stopped making the anonymous phone calls to report a suspicious man leaving a house. For one thing, the women were always fine afterwards, at least physically, and couldn't recall a thing, other than the obvious trauma of being raped. Many of them didn't even want to file a report, and after I stopped calling them in, most of the women never even bothered to report anything, which is all you need to know about rape culture.
Secondly, Maiko had seemed to become numb to the whole ordeal, a sort of denial, so I no longer saw the need. We never talked about it beforehand or after. We just did it and went about our lives. That is, until Melissa Templeton showed up dead.
I'll never forget the sinking feeling in my gut when I first saw her. Maiko and I were just there, in her house, the evening before. But now she was here in front of me and Troy, dead, an arm severed and flung across the room.
"What do you think, Frank? Doubt it was a chainsaw; none of the neighbors heard a sound."
I didn't answer right away, for obvious reasons. The reason I gave Troy was that I hadn't seen an arm torn off since a machine accident I’d seen as a kid in my dad’s factory. It took me a few minutes to stop freaking the fuck out and get back into the mindset of my job, the reason I was there. Though as Troy and I gathered evidence, or rather, the dearth of it, I immediately kicked myself mentally for getting lazy. Somehow, I knew I should have kept those calls going, and now it had come back to bite me right in my ass. A woman was dead, and it was partly my fault.
Now, my new concern was whether Maiko and I were being followed. Was the asshole that did this tracking us, or the serial rapist? I considered starting the anonymous calls again after Maiko fed, but without knowing if the killer knew who I was and what I was up to, I decided it would be more prudent to just catch him, as I've proven to be quite good at over the years.
The challenge was making him think I'd left the scene with Maiko, and lie in wait without putting her in any danger. She also couldn't know that the last girl died after we left her like that. I was afraid she'd stop and leave me for good. So a couple weeks later, after her first feeding since Melissa Templeton, I hurried Maiko back home and made an excuse to leave, doubling back to our last stop. But I wound up sitting there, in my car, down the block, for hours, no one else in sight. Some stakeout.
This made me figure that the Templeton murder was a fluke, a one-time coincidence. Until a few weeks later, when Maiko and I visited the home of one Tracy Stemple. Of course, I didn't know her name until the next morning, when Troy and I were called to her house. She was missing a leg. Well, not missing, really. It was on the other side of the room.
I realized at that moment that the killer had to know who we were, what we were up to, and somehow knew I was waiting for him last time. Now he was just fucking with me, daring me to track him down. He wasn't gonna come to me. I also realized that if he'd been watching us, he may have already known where we live. I didn't leave Maiko home alone after that, not for a long time. I'd be sure to leave for work together, or come home before her. I wasn't gonna let this fucker touch the woman I love.
I trusted that he'd be easy to track down. If he was this brazen, this emboldened, he was arrogant, cocky, and would slip up real soon. They always do. But when the third victim showed up a few weeks later, not only did he clean his tracks again, he got even more elaborate. That's when I first suspected he wasn't acting alone. It was coordinated, two or three people working together meticulously. Had to be. I just needed to figure out how they pulled it all off.
Once Maiko found out about the murders, she was a little upset, to put it mildly. It didn't take much to convince her that she hadn't killed these women, once I explained the severed limbs. What was harder was persuading her to continue our work. Even though
we were in deep shit, I knew nothing would be gained from letting Maiko die. These women would still get raped. These killers would still find them, or someone else, to tear apart.
So yeah, that's how I got here, I guess. Fuck me.
The newest wrinkle was the letter. After eliminating Isabel from the nearly infinite list of suspects, I next thought of the killers. Was one of them a woman? Possibly. Maybe she was the one who was ballsy enough to walk into my precinct with a menacing letter addressed to me. But female serial killers are very rare, though more common as part of a group. And what would they gain by threatening me with exposure? If anything, I'd expect them to mock or taunt me for not nailing their asses yet. The note made no allusion to blackmail. Its author seemed to want justice.
We're no closer today to finding the identity of our killers than we were when we first found Melissa Templeton, nor do I have any good leads on the rapist. My search for the latter is complicated somewhat by being one of the few people who know they're not the same person. I have yet to prove it, so the most I can do is suggest it to Troy as a possibility, which he doesn't seem receptive to, given the evidence. If I was him, I'd feel the same. But I know it's true. I just have to find the data to back it up.
To that end, I've been researching all the rape cases reported in the last year. Even though I know they’re never at the crime scene at the same time, I wonder whether the rapist knows the killers. It’s a thin thread to pull at, but maybe if I find him, he'll lead me to the others. Christ, listen to me. If Troy was here, I'd definitely be picking up his vibe that I'm grasping at straws. I've become all too fuckin' familiar with it. I sense he thinks I'm bumbling this shit pretty bad. I can't say I disagree with him at this point.
As I sip the last of my swill, I stare out towards the bay. It's the shitty end of the bay, for sure, right near Smellpitas. Sometimes I wonder how much differently things would've gone had I accepted that gig up in SF. I'd probably hate the fog, the cold, and the hippies. But at least I’d have better views and smells, for the most part. And I sure as hell wouldn't be dealing with this shit. I sigh, get my sore ass up off the park bench, and mosey into the station.
----------
Later that night, I take extra care to not mention to Maiko that I found an interesting bit of information today. Discussing either the rapes or the murders with her has become a big no-no for me lately, not that she ever really liked hearing about the gruesome details of my work in the first place.
I was combing over files on rapes reported in the last year, and damn, were there way more than I expected. What the fuck is the problem with these assholes not being able to keep it in their pants? I ain't no saint, obviously, but I never understood that shit. If you're that hard up, go pay for it. My fellow blue bloods usually look the other way at prostitution, unless there's drugs or underage girls involved. Or if it's an election year.
Anyway, most of them didn't fit the profile of the guy whose victims Maiko and I have come across. There were date rapes, campus rapes, the jogger-in-the-park variety, parties, cars, you name it. Only about a third occurred in the victims’ homes, and nearly all by someone they knew.
Once I'd narrowed it down to just home attacks perpetrated by unknown assailants, it took awhile to find anything resembling our guy. The victims always seemed to describe violent encounters, and either getting hit or fighting back, none of which matched our mark. But then I came across one curious case, where the victim didn't have a scratch on her, and claimed to have been immobilized, but it had happened so quickly, she didn't know how. All she knew was that she hadn't been tasered and was conscious the whole time. She even claimed he had come into her house posing as a gas company employee, gained entry by telling her that she'd had a leak. He even had the right outfit. But PG&E had no record of any employee making a house call that night, or any report of anyone smelling gas in that area. The police report reeked of disbelief and disinterest. The case was still open, but apparently no one had ever followed up beyond the call to PG&E. Buncha fuckin' amateurs. No wonder only 5% of these fucker rapists ever spend a day in jail.
Katherine Fisk. I took down her name and number and made a mental note to contact her the first chance I had, alone. I wasn't ready to share with Troy that I was barking up this tree. He clearly had his own side investigation going on with Agent Bitch, so until I knew more, I was hesitant to share. My main worry was that I would wind up further connecting any of these cases with the ones in Reno. If I did, they'd yank this whole case out from under us. That may happen anyway, if Troy slips up and finds something while the little nighthawk’s perched over his shoulder.
So I can't tell either Maiko or Troy about this nugget, the two people on this rock that I trust the most. This case is gonna fuckin' kill me.
"Mmmmm, whatcha thinkin' 'bout, baby?" she asks, head resting on my shoulder as we watch Reservoir Dogs for the umpteenth time. If only I could tell you.
"What makes ya think I've got anything goin' on up there right now?"
"Well, lets see. You've been quiet all night. And this is your favorite part. You're normally all hooty and hollery when the guy cuts the cop's ear off."
"Those aren't real words, doll. I'm just tired, ya know?"
"Ah, so you're thinking about work." I can't see it, but I can hear her smug smile. If it wasn't so goddamn adorable...
"Fine, guilty as charged, sweetheart. I just didn't want to burden you."
"Oh, I don't want you to, either. But I do know something that'll take your mind off it." She maneuvers into a playful position, straddling me, arms wrapped around my neck. I’m caught off guard a bit. This is the first time in months that she’s initiated, on account of always being pissed off at me lately.
"Are you really up for this tonight?" She's been in good health and spirits for a couple weeks, but the last few days, I've noticed a downturn again. She bites my ear, ever so gently. Guess that answers that question. "...but...it's my favorite part..." She starts to slowly kiss my neck, and away all my defenses are wiped--Shit! "Wait!" Damnit, now? Really?!?!
"Seriously? It's just a movie."
"No, it's not that, Maiko. I just felt something."
"Well I should hope so!"
"No, not that...the other thing."
Her posture slumps, and she slides off my lap. "Oh."
"...Oh? Don't you want to..."
"I've been thinking about it, and...no. I'm done with that."
My heart sinks.
"Babe--"
"I know what you're gonna say, Fudge, and you're right. If I don't do this anymore, I waste away, and this cancer takes my life in a few short weeks or months. I've been trying to think of a good time to tell you this, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that all five of those poor women would still be alive today if I hadn't shown up."
"You don't know that--"
"Yes...I do. And so do you. I was in denial, but I've seen their faces, and now I see them every time I close my eyes. They keep me awake, and when I do sleep, they haunt my dreams. I can't have any more of their lives on my head. I know I'm not the one who kills them, but I enable him. I put them in that situation. I know in my heart that if I don't show up, neither will he, and these killings stop. I think you know it, too, and I think you have for awhile."
I hang my head. She's right, of course, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. "I suspected it right away, and I tried to bait him, but wasn't able to draw him out. I was confident we'd catch him before long, and that we could keep the body count to a minimum." I look up, and she's horrified. "Obviously, that hasn't happened. Just give me more time, sweetheart, please. I have a lead that might pan out."
"I'm running out of time, Frank. I won't put one more woman's life in jeopardy. If you don't catch him soon, I'm as good as dead."
Chapter 16
Will
"Come on, Will! If we don't hurry, we'll get stuck in traffic with all the other idiots who wait 'til sunrise to hop on 17."
Yeah, what a damn shame that'd be. We might even have to just turn around and not even go to Santa Cruz. I don't see what she loves about that stupid place. It's just a tourist trap, with the boardwalk that don't even have no boards on it, the overpriced restaurants, the dumb kids’ games, and the crowds. If I wanted all that, I'd just head to Fisherman's Wharf. The ride to the Cruz and back is the only part I ever like, winding around the mountains on our hogs, all the twists, turns, rises, and drops. It's like our own personal roller coaster. If it were up to me, we'd just drive down there, turn around and come back.
"Aw, it'll be alright, Jess. You know we can just ride between lanes. It ain't even illegal here!" Yeah, Lance, we know. We been here near two years already. He's like a damn broken record sometimes. Next he'll regurgitate how we don't even have to wear helmets. "We don't even hafta wear helmets, if we don't wanna." Jesus Christ.
"Lance, how many times I gotta tell ya? This dumb state says we hafta wear 'em. I don't care what your stupid cop friend said." My jab at the land of fruits and nuts didn't go unnoticed by Jess.
"And anyway, we wanna wear helmets, Lance. Or you feel like reliving another crash with Evel Knievel here and crack open more than just your leg?"
"Jeez, cuz, that was one time. How long you gonna milk that for? Look, he barely even limps anymore."
"Aw, don't you worry, sis. I ain't never ridin' with Speed Racer ever again. Not since I got my own new and shiny." Honestly, I'm glad he finally got his own ride. That old man didn't need it anyway. I got sick of him holding onto me for thousands of miles, endlessly asking how far I thought he could see when we were on the flat plains. I dunno, dumbass, to the horizon, maybe?
I'm also glad because now if one of them breaks down, we won't be stuck with just one. The three of us can't all fit on one bike. We tried it, when my hog broke down in Nevada, but Jess' just wasn't big enough for the three of us and all our stuff. That meant we was stuck in that shitty little town outside Reno for months, 'till we scraped enough cash together to fix mine up.
The Ripper of Blossom Valley Page 15