“Not bad. I caught a sea bass that was definitely a keeper.”
“Did you keep it?”
“Of course I kept it. It’s in my freezer now. I’ll give you a call when I decide to cook it. I’ll provide the fish, you bring the beer.”
“Deal.”
“I was also going over the lab reports from the medical examiner’s office.”
Jack nearly choked on his coffee. “You have the lab reports? How in the hell did you get them?”
“I stopped by the office on my way over here. Figured it would be quicker than waiting around for them to send the reports to us.”
“Damn it to hell, I’ve been waiting all morning for those reports. I even called twice to check on them, and they promised to send them to me as soon as they were finished. I’m supposed to be the lead detective on this case, but a fat lot of good it’s doing me. They didn’t even bother to tell me that they had already given the reports to you. I swear, I don’t get any respect.”
Bill leaned forward and patted Jack on the back of the hand. “I still respect you.”
Jack snatched his hand back. “Fuck you, Moats. Eat shit and die.”
The older detective roared with laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
“So, what do the lab reports say?”
Detective Moats pulled one of the file folders from the stack, and slid it across the table to his partner. “Here, read it for yourself.”
Opening the folder, Jack read through the stack of reports. According to the tests, there were indeed two different victims. Based on bone, blood, teeth, and hair samples, and DNA testing, the forensic examiner had determined that the first victim was a Caucasoid female, between forty-five and sixty years of age, and around five feet five inches tall, with type O positive blood.
The second victim, whose remains had been found in the Dumpster, was a Caucasoid male, between twenty-five to thirty-five years of age, around six feet tall, with type A positive blood. The testing also determined that the second victim had been a heavy user of alcohol and Flexeril.
“Damn, it is two homicides.” Jack flipped to the next report and read down the page. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Bill leaned forward, but couldn’t read the report upside down.
“It says that a high concentration of hydrochloric acid, along with the enzyme pepsin, was found in the soil sample taken from beneath the remains of the first victim. A similar chemical combination was found on the bone and teeth samples.” He glanced through the report about the second victim. “Hydrochloric acid and pepsin were also found on the remains of the male victim.”
Jack looked up at his partner. “Hydrochloric acid? You think the perp might have put his victims in an acid bath to get rid of the bodies?”
Bill took a sip of coffee and nodded. “It’s a possibility. That would explain why we only have a few pieces of bone, teeth, and skin to go on. Acid can eat a body up pretty fast. But you’ve got to remember that hydrochloric acid and pepsin also occur naturally in nature.”
Naturally? I’m not sure about where you live, but it doesn’t occur naturally in my neighborhood.”
“Sure it does, and right in your own body. Hydrochloric acid and the enzyme pepsin make up the digestive juice in your stomach.”
“Digestive juice?” Jack frowned. “Jesus, Bill. Are you trying to tell me that the victims died of a massive case of indigestion?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I was just stating a fact.”
Jack was about to make a comment, but was interrupted by the shrill ringing of Bill’s cell phone. “Why can’t you pick a normal ring?”
“I like to be different.” Detective Moats answered the phone on the second ring. It was a short conversation, but Bill was frowning by the time he hung up.
“Bad news?”
Bill nodded. “Finish your coffee, we’ve got work to do. That was the station. A third body was just discovered.”
“Another victim? Jesus, that makes three in three days.” Jack downed his coffee and stood up. He also unhooked his cell phone from his belt, wondering why it hadn’t rung. “But why did the station call you? Don’t they know that I’m lead detective on the case?”
“Yes, but they also know we’re working together, so it doesn’t really matter who they call first. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you answer my phone the next time it rings.”
Jack laughed. “Bite me, Moats. Just bite me.”
The remains of the murdered woman had been found behind a gift shop in the old section of town, only a few blocks from the bay. The owner of the gift shop lived above the store, and she had found the body after letting her little dachshund out to do pee that morning. The wiener dog had actually been rolling in the remains when the owner came out to call her back inside.
At first the dog’s owner didn’t know what her puppy had been playing with. The remains were scattered around the alley that ran behind the gift shop, and it was hard to make out what it was. She thought someone had dumped food scraps in the alley, or maybe something had fallen off a truck. There were several restaurants in the area, so it might have been garbage meant for a Dumpster.
But then she saw the naked lower torso of a woman. Just the legs and pelvis, vagina, and part of one hip. Nothing more. The feet were also missing, torn off at the ankles. Scattered around the torso were pieces of flesh and bone, ranging in size from a few inches to half a foot in length.
Jack Colvin looked down at the remains of the dead woman and felt his stomach do a slow roll. It looked as if she had been shoved headfirst into a wood chipper, or as if a pack of wild dogs had ripped her to pieces.
They also found the victim’s tattered clothing and shoes in the alleyway: black work shoes, black slacks, and a white, long-sleeve shirt. It was the kind of clothing waiters and waitresses often wore, which might mean the victim had been employed in one of the local restaurants. The pants and shirt were torn and dirty, but they did not have any blood stains, so the victim had not been wearing the clothing when she died.
A purse was discovered lying a few feet away from the shirt. The contents of the small leather purse included a driver’s license, several credit cards, money, makeup, a pack of chewing gum, a roll of breath mints, a couple of paycheck stubs, birth control pills, and four condoms. Ribbed.
For the first time in days, they might actually have a name to go along with the remains. At least they had a possible name, because there was no way to be one hundred percent certain of the victim’s identity without further tests. A photo ID wasn’t nearly as useful when the victim didn’t have a head.
According to the driver’s license, homicide victim number three was Cindy Hawkins, age twenty-four, of 1921 Palmetto Drive, St. Augustine, Florida. The paycheck stubs indicated that she was employed as a waitress at Harry’s Seafood and Grill, a restaurant located only a few blocks from the crime scene.
Jotting down the information from the license and check stubs, Detective Moats called the police station and requested a unit be sent to the victim’s address. He wanted to know if anyone was home at the residence: a husband, boyfriend, roommate, or relative. If so, then he also wanted to know if anyone was missing. He sent a second unit over to Harry’s to find out if Ms. Hawkins still worked for the restaurant, and when she had last been seen.
While Detective Moats was making the phone calls to the station, Jack walked back over to take another look at the body. He didn’t take a long look, because just a glance was enough to make his breakfast want to come back up on him. But a quick glance was all that was needed for what he wanted to know. The woman’s vagina was badly lacerated, indicating she had been violently raped prior to being murdered.
Despite the grisly nature of the homicide, there was no blood to speak of on the cobblestone street. It should have been splattered all over the place, bucketsful of it, but the street and the surrounding buildings were damn near spotless. Only a few drops were to be found on the bricks, look
ing as if the perpetrator took time to mop up after murdering and mutilating the young woman.
The lack of blood led Jack to believe that Cindy Hawkins was murdered somewhere other than where her body now lay. But, unlike the two previous homicides, there was clear evidence to suggest that this crime had taken place in St. Augustine. Cindy was a resident of the old city, and she apparently worked in one of the local restaurants. She had not been killed in some other town, in some other state, with her remains dumped in the alley for a little wiener dog to find. She had been raped and murdered in her hometown, which meant there was indeed a killer stalking the city.
Detective Moats walked up to where Jack stood. “I once saw something like this. Years ago, when I was in Alaska.”
Jack turned to look at his partner, but didn’t say anything.
“I was on a two week vacation with a couple of old friends. We were out salmon fishing, and came across a camper that had been attacked and killed by a grizzly bear. The bear had eaten most of him: legs, arms, internal organs. All that was left was the head and chest, the bony parts that the bear probably didn’t want.
“The grizzly had eaten its fill, leaving the remains for the three of us to stumble upon--the naked upper torso of a man, still warm and steaming on a cold October morning. I had nightmares for a year.”
“Jesus, Bill. You never told me that story.”
“It’s not something I like to think about.” Bill looked up from the body. “I only brought it up now because there’s something similar between the bear attack and what we have here.”
Bill pointed at the body of Cindy Hawkins. “Look at her ankles. Look at how ragged the flesh is around the bone. Her feet weren’t cut off, not with any knife. They were either torn off, or they were chewed off.”
“Chewed off?” Jack was surprised. “You’re not suggesting we have a grizzly bear running around St. Augustine, or some kind of wild animal?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Bill replied. “I’m just making an observation. The body of this young woman looks a lot like the camper we found in Alaska. Another thing, there’s not much blood.”
“Which means she was murdered someplace else, and her body was dumped here.”
Bill nodded. “That’s probably the case, but there wasn’t much blood with the camper either. The bear had licked up damn near every drop.”
Jack felt his stomach rumble, and knew the cinnamon bagel he had for breakfast was about to do a slow march back up his throat. “Damnit, Bill. You’re playing hell with my indigestion. I need a cigarette.”
He walked away from the crime scene, ducking under the yellow barrier tape that had been strung around the area. The body of the murdered woman was hard enough to look at without getting sick, but Bill had just made things worse with his story about bear attacks and half-eaten campers. Detective Moats must have an iron clad stomach to be able to think of such things at a time like this.
Choosing a place to stand that was out of everyone’s way, he lit up a cigarette and turned to watch the other officers hard at work. One thing for sure: the three homicides that had taken place in St. Augustine would no longer be just a local case. The State Police would want to get involved in the investigation, maybe even the FBI. Police Chief Harris was probably on the phone at that very moment, calling in the big guns.
Jack sighed. He didn’t mind it so much that other agencies were going to get involved. Truthfully, he could use the help. The FBI had equipment and connections not available to local cops. They also had some of the finest laboratories in the country.
The National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime was based at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. The Bureau also had a rapid response unit known as the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit (CASKU), which was designed to assist local law enforcement agencies with investigative support and technical coordination. He just hated the attitudes of some of the federal agents, who acted as if local police units were nothing more than clubhouses for country bumpkins.
If only he and Detective Moats could solve the homicides before any outside help arrived. It would be a real shot in the arm for their careers. When word got out about the third murder there was going to be one hell of a panic in the old town. The mayor and city leaders were going to be screaming for answers, and he just didn’t have any to give them.
Think, man. Think. You’ve been a detective for years. Use your mind. What are you missing here?
The clues might be lying right before him, but damned if he could put them together. The first two homicides had certain similarities, but they were nothing at all like the third. But maybe they did have something in common, maybe his partner’s bear story had some merit after all.
The body of Ms. Cindy Hawkins looked like it had been attacked and partially eaten by a wild animal, and the remains of the first two victims contained a high concentration of hydrochloric acid and pepsin. Hydrochloric acid and pepsin, two chemical substances commonly found in stomach acid.
Could all three homicides have been the result of an animal attack? Were the first two victims eaten, and the third victim partially eaten, by the same beast? Surely not, for even the largest grizzly bear couldn’t consume two and a half full-grown people in just three days. But what if there was more than one animal?
A pack of dogs. Rottweilers, or maybe pit bulls.
Still, Jack didn’t know of too many animals smart enough to toss their leftovers in a Dumpster, like what had been found at the second crime scene. Nor did he know of any animals that raped their victims prior to eating them. But what if they were dealing with some new kind of animal, something completely alien to Florida.
Alien.
Maybe something had escaped from a zoo, or a wildlife refuge, or perhaps something exotic and deadly had been smuggled in aboard a ship. They had been looking for a crazed murderer, when maybe they should have been searching for a land shark, or perhaps a polar bear with a misguided sense of direction, or some other kind of monster.
Monster.
The detective felt his heart skip a beat, an image suddenly coming to mind. Not the horrific image of mutilated bodies and pieces of flesh, or of grizzly bears and dead campers. On the contrary, what he thought of at that particular moment was rather pleasing to the senses, for it was an image of an attractive young woman with long black hair, big eyes, and a great figure.
Ssabra Onih had come into the station early that morning to see him, with a crazy story about a strange creature stalking the streets of St. Augustine. The young woman claimed she had gotten her information from a dead Indian chief, which only added to the incredibility of the tale she told.
Jack had dismissed Miss Onih as just another nut case, attractive but insane. He had even laughed at her story.
He felt a funny sensation start to settle into the pit of his stomach. What if there were more truth to the woman’s story than he was willing to admit? What if she actually knew something? Could it be possible that some kind of beast was running around the old city, an animal no one had ever seen before? If so, then how long did he have before it claimed another victim?
Jack wasn’t sure if he believed in monsters, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He had three vicious homicides on his hands, and he damn sure didn’t want any more. Ssabra Onih might have a screw loose, but that didn’t mean she might not be useful. One thing for sure, he was definitely going to give her a call.
Chapter 19
Ssabra went through the motions of a tour guide that afternoon, reciting memorized speeches with little or no emotion, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of ghosts and her visit to the police station. Luckily, she had done the tours so many times she really didn’t have to concentrate on what was being said. Here was the old Spanish quarters, blah, blah, blah. And over here used to be the military hospital, la de da.
None of the group complained about her abilities as a tour guide. They were quite content with the memorized speeches she spouted at the various historic
sights. Nor did they ask too many questions, for which she was extremely grateful. Her mind was so rattled from the day’s events, she probably couldn’t have answered any questions had they been asked. She could barely remember her own name, let alone answer a question poised by some smart-ass history buff trying to impress his fellow coworkers.
The afternoon tour wrapped up just as the sun was starting to set, casting long shadows over the old plaza. Ssabra had a couple of hours to herself before she needed to get ready for the evening’s ghost tour. She thought about going home for dinner, but she just wasn’t in the mood to go back to her apartment.
Nor was she in the mood to eat at one of the restaurants in town. She had just spent two hours with a large group of noisy people, so the last thing in the world she wanted was to sit inside a crowded diner.
Walking through the Plaza de la Constitution, giving the antique brass cannons little more than a passing glance, she found a bench sitting empty in the shade of a towering oak tree. Glad to find a place to sit down, Ssabra plopped down on the bench, stretching her legs out in front of her.
At one of the benches on the other side of the plaza sat a middle-aged Hispanic couple, obviously worn out from too much walking. The man was short and ruddy, but he had a smile that looked to be a permanent fixture on his face. His wife was tall and thin, with long dark hair that seemed to glisten in the light of the setting sun. She was massaging her husband’s shoulders, at the same time keeping an eye on the three small children playing nearby on one of the old cannons. Every once in a while she would shout a warning in Spanish, advising the children to be careful so as not to get hurt.
The sight of the happy but tired couple and their three children pulled at the heartstrings deep inside of Ssabra’s chest. She and Alan had talked about having children once they were married. They wanted a matched set, boy and a girl, and wanted to have them while they were still young enough to enjoy being parents.
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