by Linda Berry
Lauren entered the restaurant and immediately spotted Holly sitting in a cozy booth overlooking the water. She had ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, and she lifted a wine glass in salute as Lauren slid into the seat across from her. Holly’s dark eyes sparkled with good humor, and her white teeth flashed against skin the color of mahogany. A combination of ethnicities had worked genetic magic and produced in Holly an exotic, almond-eyed beauty.
“Am I late?” Lauren’s sullen greeting stood in sharp contrast to her friend’s enthusiasm.
“No, I’m early.” Holly’s smile didn’t dampen. Since her second marriage in June to a successful electronics executive, she seemed drunk on love, radiating perpetual good humor. Lauren was thrilled for her friend’s good fortune, considering the misery her first husband, a serial philanderer, had put her through. But today Lauren couldn’t manifest anything but a dark foreboding.
“You obviously need a drink.” Holly poured wine into Lauren’s glass, then sat back and studied her friend. “I got quite a scare when I read about you in the paper yesterday. How’re you holding up?”
Lauren shrugged. “Working the case is helping.”
“Making progress?”
“Some.” Lauren sipped the Chardonnay. It tasted delicious, and expensive. “Hard-ass Camino clipped my wings. There’s only so much I can do on my own time.”
“Camino’s a pill. Glad she’s on your side of the bay.”
After they gave their orders to the waitress, Lauren related her disturbing encounter with Melissa’s assailant that morning. Holly listened with obvious concern, and unique understanding. A forensic nurse for over a decade, she now headed the Rape Crisis Center in Oakland, and was an authority on sex offenders.
“This just happened?”
“Yeah. They gave up the search just before I left.”
“He just disappeared?”
“Poof. Into thin air ….”
“Wow. He’s clever, and really frightening. I don’t like it one bit that he’s singled you out. He could follow you. Find out where you live.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind.” Anger edged into her words. “I’m worried about Courtney. We have to catch this guy, fast. Hopefully, you can help. You have info about this case?”
“Oh, I have info all right. My nurses did the forensic exams on both Oakland victims. Under my supervision.”
A chill touched Lauren’s spine. She leaned forward in her seat. “You witnessed the exams?”
Holly nodded with a sickened expression. “Yes, ma’am. Some of the strangest stuff I’ve ever seen. Haven’t been able to get those girls out of my mind since.” Creases furrowed Holly’s brow. “Poor kids. Terrified. Strangled nearly to death. The blood vessels in their eyes hemorrhaged, and that sick bastard’s ligature marks practically tattooed on their throats.”
“A weave pattern? Something with sharp pointed edges?”
“Exactly. Left puncture marks. The lab couldn’t identify what was used.”
“That image won’t go away,” Lauren said, releasing a slow breath. “This assailant is playing close to the line.”
“You’re right. The next victim might not be so lucky.”
“I pray there won’t be a next one.”
“Amen.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me about Melissa.”
“Exceptionally pretty. Dark hair, Caucasian, busty, shapely figure.”
“Yep. That’s the type he goes for. Both Oakland girls are well developed. No race preference. Ginger Florendo is Filipino. Bernadette Myers is black.”
The two fell silent as their entrees arrived: fresh seafood, rice pilaf, and sautéed vegetables. Holly squeezed lemon juice over her ahi tuna, speared a bite and chewed. “Hmmm. So good.”
“They do a great job here.” Lauren slid her seafood kabobs off their skewers and chewed a perfectly grilled scallop. “Rape kit find anything?”
Holly patted her mouth with a napkin. “Not much. This offender is smart. Careful. He cleaned the girls up afterwards. Washed away all trace material. All DNA.”
Lauren mulled this over, disappointed, but not surprised.
“We found traces of blood on the girls. Both were virgins.”
“Poor kids.”
“Horrific experience.”
They both lapsed into silence. Lauren asked, “Were your girls bathed with an unusual scent?”
She nodded. “An exotic blend of oils. One ingredient is Frankincense.”
“Frankincense? Woody, piney?”
“Uh huh. Reminded me of an educational seminar I did in Greece. Some churches use oil blends with Frankincense in some religious ceremonies. Smelled very similar.”
“Greece? Strange.”
“Everything about this case is strange, and macabre.” Holly chewed, swallowed, and continued. “We found three fibers in Bernadette’s hair, the first victim.”
“What kind of fiber?”
“Wool. Dark. Coarse.” Holly resumed eating.
Lauren watched her impatiently. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Lucky to get that. He wore vinyl gloves, douched and washed the girls down with antiseptic soap. Got even more careful with the second victim, Ginger. Spent more time with her. Kept her clothes. Applied the makeup. Combed all particles out of her hair.” Holly started to pour more wine into Lauren’s glass.
Lauren put her hand over the top. “No more for me, thanks.”
“Eat up, your food’s getting cold.”
They both focused on eating and Lauren finished her scallops.
Though her eyes expressed concern, Holly lightened her tone. “Share dessert?”
“Yes, ma’am. Something with lots of chocolate.”
They looked up as the waitress approached. Holly ordered two cappuccinos and a slice of double fudge chocolate cake. The waitress left and Lauren dove back into the case. “Do you know the locations where your girls were found?”
“Honey, I know all.” Holly spoke with the tone of an insider. “People know I keep my mouth shut. The officers who found Ginger clued me in.”
Lauren sat straighter in her seat. “What did they say?”
“You ain’t heard weird until you hear this.” Holly leaned in and lowered her voice. “The patrol cops were called to a burglary in progress around midnight. When they arrived at the address, they found themselves parked in front of a mortuary. They checked it out, found a rear door cracked open, no sign of forced entry. Inside, nothing seemed amiss. Then in a viewing room they saw a body in a casket in the middle of the room. Inside was a nude woman holding a red rose. At first, they thought it was a corpse, but it was Ginger, our second victim. Unconscious, white makeup, red lipstick.” Holly pulled a manila folder from her giant handbag, opened it, and handed Lauren a photo of the girl lying on the crimson silk of the casket, as coldly beautiful as sculpted marble.
A chill passed along Lauren’s spine.
The waitress returned and set down the coffees and cake. They both took bites. Warm gooey chocolate melted in Lauren’s mouth. “Hmmm, that’s rich.”
“Delicious.”
Lauren let Holly eat most of it. The extra five pounds around her waist was nagging at her.
Holly savored the chocolate and squinted out at the bay. The afternoon sun was bright on the water, and her beautiful profile was momentarily etched in gold. Her diamond wedding ring sparkled and brought back memories of her June wedding in Golden Gate Park. Clearly, her new husband adored her, and he loved her three children as if they were his own. Lauren couldn’t help but smile. She sipped her cappuccino and waited while Holly scraped every last bit of fudge off the plate.
“You could just order another piece.”
“Sorry. I pretty much ate this whole piece myself.” She pushed the plate away. “Calorie overload. Enough for one day.” Holly sipped her coffee.
Impatient, Lauren said, “Tell me about the first victim.”
“Anonymous call came in, again at midnight, about a disturbance at
a small cemetery behind a neighborhood church. A woman’s screams. The cops scoured the grounds, and found Bernadette lying face up at the bottom of a freshly dug grave. One prepared for a funeral the next day.” Holly handed Lauren a second photo. Unlike the other victims, Bernadette was dressed in her school uniform, clothes carefully and modestly arranged. Her arms were crossed, but no makeup, no rose. Her hair wasn’t fanned out but fell haphazardly around her shoulders. “He kept her bra, panties, and shoes.”
Lauren studied the photo in silence, digesting the information. “Not so meticulous. Looks rushed.”
“Right. His first go ’round. Does seem hurried. The unmistakable ligature marks are what tie this victim to Ginger. He obviously spent time between the two assaults thinking how to finesse his skills.”
“Now it’s pitch perfect.” She met Holly’s steady gaze. “Give me your take on this offender.”
Holly’s brow furrowed. “He’s got a complicated MO. Doesn’t fit any typical category. I’d say this individual is highly compulsive. Ritualized. Patient. Takes his sweet time scouting locations, abducting the girls. Takes them somewhere, and does God knows what. Then he applies makeup, bathes them, and anoints them with scented oil. Somewhere along the line, he rapes and strangles them, and finally transports them to his staging area. You know the rest.”
“Are they unconscious the whole time?”
“We can’t be sure.”
“He’s infatuated with death. Having control of an unconscious woman seems to be his turn-on. The whole corpse thing … he could be a necro.”
Holly shrugged. “True, necrophiliacs have the desire to possess an unresisting partner. However, the necro offenders I’ve come across are the real deal. They break into mortuaries. Dig up bodies at cemeteries. They like their victims really dead.”
Lauren shuddered. “Our offender’s corpse is a facsimile.”
“Yep. He’s his own class of crazy.”
“I’d like to get hold of the lab reports.”
Holly gave Lauren a knowing look.
“What?” Lauren asked.
Her friend’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You got the perfect resource for that, Lauren.”
“My dad?”
“He knows everybody. Have him use his contacts.”
Lauren frowned, her fingertips drumming the tabletop. “I don’t know, Holly. He’s retired, and in poor health.”
“All the more reason to fire him up. Once an ME, always an ME. Oakland hasn’t been the same without him. He was the best.”
“Yeah, he was the best.”
“After you see him, call me. I want to help.” Holly finished her cappuccino, put her cup down. “This case has its hooks in me, too.”
“I could use your help right now. You’re friendly with a sex inspector in Oakland. Maybe she’d let us talk to Bernadette and Ginger. I’m compiling a list of possible suspects. I’d like to run some names by the girls. See if anything connects.”
Holly mulled it over. “When will your list be ready?”
“I’m heading back to the station now. Just need to run the names through Sacramento.”
“Give me a couple days.”
“You got it.” The waitress set down the check and Lauren lifted it off the table. “I’ll take care of this.”
“I thought you might.” Holly grinned. “That’s why I splurged on the Chardonnay.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VALENCIA STATION was at its lowest activity level in the late afternoon, which allowed Lauren to get to the computer room without drawing attention to herself. At the entrance, she nearly collided with Peanut Farrell, who was on her way out.
A weight lifter and weekend athlete, Peanut leaned comfortably against the doorframe and crossed her muscular arms. “What’s up, Starcrazy? Can’t stay away from this vacation resort on your day off?” Peanut’s tanned face and shaggy mane of sun-bleached hair gave her the appearance of an aging surfer girl. Alert brown eyes framed by pale lashes met Lauren’s. “Wasn’t your run in with ‘The Strangler’ enough for one day?”
“The Strangler?” Lauren jiggled the keys in her pocket, impatient to get on the computer.
“Didn’t you read today’s paper? That’s what our media pal, Peter Duff, coined him. Has a nice sinister ring, don’t ya think? Just the ticket to get the public scared witless. By the way, Camino came by and picked up that little surprise gift The Strangler left us in the park. Got her nose bent out of shape that it came from you.”
“Yeah? That’s her problem.”
“Got that right.” Peanut lowered her voice and a wicked grin appeared on her face. “So, what’s going on between you and the captain?”
“Nothing.”
“Rumor has it you gave him a hard-on yesterday.”
Lauren cringed.
“I laughed my guts out when I heard that. Christ, you and Monetti. There’s a match made in primate heaven.” Peanut made suggestive snorting noises while thrusting her hips in and out. She laughed heartily at her own antics.
“Don’t believe everything that travels down the wind tunnel,” Lauren said. Peanut tended to be rough around the edges, but she was a good cop, and Lauren liked her.
“Uh huh.” Peanut winked. “Careful what you rope and hogtie, cowgirl. Might come back to bite you on the ass.” Still chuckling, Peanut sauntered out the door.
Lauren heaved out an audible sigh. So it begins. Rumors picking up speed. Thank God it was Jack’s day off. The last thing she needed was a public run-in with him today to fan the fire. She glanced at the clock. Gotta get on and off the computer, fast.
Running queries on private citizens without probable cause was a breach of police procedure, but in this case, she reasoned, the end justified the means. None of the men on her hot list of names would catch a glimmer of what she was up to, but if she wasn’t careful, Jack might. Printouts of all suspect names run through CLETS were routinely sent back to the station. Running all the names in a row would wave a red flag in Sacramento. They, in turn, would wave it back at Jack. Hopefully, her queries would go unnoticed if she ran just a few names at a time. If Jack called her on it later, she sure as hell better have something worthwhile to show him. Going with her best hunches, she selected five suspects. If they all came up clean, she’d come back tomorrow, run five more.
Lauren rubbed her hands together. Today she was feeling lucky. She logged onto the computer and typed in the coach’s name, Craig Tenney, and waited. The data would show if he had any local arrests, state or federal warrants, probations or paroles. Tenney’s file popped up and she quickly scanned it. Clean as a whistle. Her shoulders sagged. Just a parking ticket violation four years ago. The man was a freakin’ Boy Scout. She scanned the remaining information—social security number, driver’s license number, his registered vehicle. Tenney owned a Dodge van. Dark blue. Five years old. Perfect for transporting unconscious bodies around town.
She jotted down notes, then typed in James Perez. Her excitement rose as she scanned through his file. Bingo! Courtney’s math teacher had a record. Busted five years ago for a 647A, 647B and 236 of the penal code. Lewd and lascivious act, soliciting an act of prostitution, and false imprisonment. Two felonies, one misdemeanor. Serious business. What was the false imprisonment all about? Lauren read on. Perez’s lawyer made use of section 32 of the penal code. Evidence not clear and convincing. A well-used dumping section to bargain all his charges down to a single misdemeanor.
Lauren shook her head. The deal put no teeth in the punishment. For his first offense, Perez got one hundred hours of community service. She hated these deals, but they lubricated the machinery, kept cases flowing past logjams that choked the justice system. Perez oiled his way out of a tight squeeze, deflecting the label of sex offender, and now legally continued to work with children. She jotted down the arresting officer’s name. Perez deserved closer scrutiny.
Lauren ran the names of the two juveniles, Kevin Dugan and Chris Larsen. Both came up clean. Principal
Lasko was right. Nothing had ever been reported on Larsen’s alleged date rape of Karen Tully.
The next name on her list, Dill Lafferty, hit pay dirt. The landscape contractor at Cypress High had some shining nuggets concealed in the dark tunnels of Sacramento’s database. Lafferty had been arrested three years ago for furnishing drugs to a minor in a secluded area. He got diversion and walked away after taking a ten-hour class that warned about the danger of drugs. She read on. Lafferty owned a black Ford cargo van. She jotted down the license number and name of the arresting officer.
Sitting back, Lauren reflected on her findings. Out of the five men, two had committed felonies: one performing a lewd act, the other giving drugs to a minor. Lafferty and Tenney both owned vans. And though the juveniles had no record, Kevin Dugan recently showed unstable behavior and missed his track practice the night of the attack. Chris Larsen had an alleged history of date rape.
With plenty to keep her busy, she logged off and left the station.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LAUREN chaperoned Courtney to the mall on Sunday with a single-minded purpose: selecting clothing that would both camouflage her daughter’s sex appeal, and meet a fourteen-year-old’s exacting fashion standards.
Not to be outwitted, Courtney brought reinforcements—two soccer mates—Katie and Emmy. Once washed up on the shores of the mall, the girls took charge of the terrain like seasoned veterans. They rifled through mountains of discounted merchandise, tested the patience of numerous sales clerks, and performed a marathon of outfit changes that would have exhausted star athletes. Nothing reached the cash register without Lauren’s approval. Six hours later, mission accomplished.