by Kenneth Eade
When Angela arrived, Detective Tomassi toured the crime scene with her and then briefed her on Father Brown’s theory of who would be the next victim of the Honeymoon Stalker.
“We can’t assume anymore that his intended victims are participants in same-sex marriages. This victim, Gerald Portren, was an ex-boyfriend of the last victim.”
“And now Father Brown thinks the next victim will be a woman.”
“Yes. What are we supposed to do now? Look up every gay woman in Santa Barbara and Ventura Counties?”
“Obviously, we don’t have the data or the manpower for that.” Angela sighed. “But we can’t give up. There must be a clue to follow here somewhere. We just have to find it.”
The Ventura Medical Examiner as well as Dr. Perez had finished their examination of the body.
“I don’t have to tell you, Rolly, that the cause of death was multiple stab wounds: approximately a six- to seven-inch blade. Looks like the work of the same killer.”
“And the time of death?”
“Within the last two hours.”
By this time, a considerable amount of spectators had arrived. Tomassi pulled aside one of the photographers. “Make sure you get detailed pictures of the crowd.”
***
Brent and Jack had hit a dead end. They decided to go back to Brent’s place and take Father Brown out to breakfast to pick his brain. They stopped by Spudnuts on the way home to pick up some fresh donuts and coffee for Salinger.
When they entered the house, Brent put the box of donuts and steaming coffee in front of the deputy.
“Thanks, guys.” Salinger opened the donut box and looked at the sticky, spongy selection of sugar-glazed American pastries. “Uh, this isn’t all for me, is it?”
“Bon appétit!” Brent waved to Salinger and he, Jack, and Father Brown left.
“Hey, where are you guys going?”
“Let’s just say some of us don’t do donuts.”
***
He stepped into the shower, turned on the water, and let the hot jets pummel his blood-soaked body. Red water cascaded from his hair, down his chest and legs, and swirled in a whirlpool at the drain. He opened his mouth and tasted the blood as it poured from his head. He spit and looked down. He was hard again, and he began to masturbate.
He felt overwhelmed with shame and guilt. I am a servant of the Lord. This is His work. Why should I be so excited? It is a sin. I must cleanse myself.
He lathered the washrag and scrubbed his skin until it was as red as the water. “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth!
“And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary!”
He prayed until his swelling subsided, then emerged from the shower, invigorated and angry. The unholy woman is next. She who uses her body in an unnatural manner.
***
Andersen’s on State Street was a quaint bakery and café with the quaint feel of the California/Danish village of Solvang about it. They settled at a table inside, near the window, and ordered breakfast.
“Father, this lunatic is killing people and using the word of God not only as his excuse, but as his mandate. Something’s wrong here.”
“It’s true that the Old Testament said that if a man shall lie with another man, both shall be put to death; but you have to remember the context in which that passage was written. Life was very harsh in Old Testament times for the Israelites. They did not have prisons, and stoning to death was the penalty for many crimes.”
Father Brown explained to them why he thought the next victim would be a woman.
“The Old Testament mainly spoke about homosexual relations between men being a sin. There was nothing mentioned about female homosexuality. But the New Testament has some verses in Romans that have been interpreted that way by some biblical scholars.”
“Well, how can you interpret it one way or the other? I mean, doesn’t it say what it says?”
“You have to remember that the Bible was written many years ago, in Greek, at different times, and by different authors.”
“I’m Jewish, so it’s all Greek to me.”
“Very funny, Jack. Go on, Father.”
“Saint Paul most likely wrote the book of Romans, and in it, Romans 1:26-27 discusses the subject of sexuality. Those were the verses referred to on the wall of the last victim.
“It talks about women giving up natural relations for those that are unnatural, and men giving up relations with women in favor of those with one another.”
“So, he’s after a gay woman now?”
“I think so.”
“The question is who?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
There were four crime scenes, now, to analyze. Latent prints lifted from the bus murder matched only the prisoners who were still in custody and the three SBSD deputies and, of course, Joshua Banks, who was still the primary suspect. The attacking truck had been reported stolen and was found, but there were no latents at all found inside – not even smudges – which indicated that the driver was either wearing gloves, wiped it clean, or both. Blood types from the bus were matched to the victims. No blood identified as Banks’Banks’ was found on the scene.
Since the bus murder was a different case under different circumstances and didn’t fit the pattern, the task force decided to concentrate on the murders that had occurred at the homes in Santa Barbara, Ventura and Oxnard. They had the full resources of the FBI’s data bases and laboratory services to assist them in their investigation, and gained more manpower from the Santa Barbara and Ventura County Sheriff’s Departments. They had compiled a full psychological profile on the killer, whom they assumed to be Banks.
Detective Tomassi left Salas in charge of the Ventura case while he and Angela worked the Oxnard case for clues. A total of 36 latent prints were taken from the scene and samples from the blood in the bedroom and living room, as well as the carpet in the corridor, were obtained for typing and DNA analysis.
“We’ll have to wait for the data matching reports on the blood and the prints. I made a full sweep here and didn’t find anything. No sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle, no weapon. It’s like he sneaks in with a key or something and attacks them in their sleep.”
“He must have disarmed the alarms. The other two houses had them.”
“Maybe one of your electronic experts can take a look at them.”
“I’ll get them on it. I’ll work the scene after they remove the body. Can I have your log?”
Tomassi handed her his log book. “Great. I’ll go back over to Ventura and help Salas wrap up things there. We can meet after and compare notes.”
“We should put the whole team on alert to keep their radios on them at all times. We have to be prepared to roll on a moment’s notice.”
“Good idea, Wollard.”
After Tomassi left, Angela went over his notes and discussed the case with the officers on duty and the forensics team. She walked through the scene carefully. You must have left something behind.
After the body was removed and the photographers and print experts had finished their jobs, she walked the entire house, checking everything. She double checked the front door, which had been left ajar - probably by the killer. It didn’t appear to have been locked and there were no latent prints that had been found on it. Portren did not have an alarm system. She checked the sliding glass doors and back door for evidence of forced entry. Like Tomassi, she found none; but the back door had no deadbolt, and although it was locked, it could have easily been opened with a credit card.
She inspected all the windows and took note of the type of curtains and drapes. She examined the kitchen. All in all, the kitchen was in pretty good shape. Portren had been a good housekeeper. No visible blood. She shone her bright UV light on the sink and could see that it had already been treated with fluorescein. There were traces of blood, which meant that the killer had probably cleaned at least his hands
here. There was no visible sign of blood at the front door area, which they presumed was the point of exit.
No cigarettes, butts, or ashtrays. Portren must have not been a smoker. She examined the blood spatters in the master bedroom, sketched them, and took her own photographs to scale. She looked under the bed and mattress to ascertain if anything had been hidden there.
After Angela had examined the entire house thoroughly, she looked at the property outside. In the backyard, she carefully searched for any signs that the killer may have used the back or sliding glass doors to enter or exit. In the front, which she and Tomassi concluded was the exit path, she found what appeared to be a few drops of blood, photographed them, and made sure the forensic team got samples for testing.
The Seafarer Road location was still buzzing with activity, even though most of the forensics team was already in Oxnard. Salas had done the same thorough examination of the interior and exterior of the house.
***
“Jack, you should go over all the databases you can to see if Banks ever threatened any gay woman.”
“I thought you didn’t think Banks was our guy.”
“Well, he hasn’t surfaced since the bus killings, has he?”
“No.”
“Then, if he’s not our guy, in order to help him, we have to try to catch him. And if he’s the killer, that’ll help Angela and her team as well.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then he has a lot of explaining to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
When Rhonda Salas finally got back home that night, she was exhausted. She hung up her jacket and secured her gun in the gun safe in the bedroom closet, then went into the kitchen to see what there was to eat. She opened the refrigerator and looked inside. Great. Last week’s leftovers. She couldn’t remember when she had last enjoyed a home-cooked meal, but certainly didn’t have the energy to cook one tonight. She found some tomatoes and cucumbers that didn’t look too old, and took them out to make a salad. There were some chicken legs in one of the leftover containers, so she threw them into the microwave.
After dinner, Rhonda decided to treat herself to a luxurious hot bath. First she straightened up a bit, chucking some dirty clothes from the hamper into the washing machine and starting a load of wash. Then she ran the bath with a generous amount of salts, pushing the water with her hand and adjusting the temperature until it was perfect. She shed her bra and panties and immersed herself into the comforting swirl of bubbles and hot water, sighing in relief. Just what I need. It feels so good.
Even though she was off work, she couldn’t help but think about the case. Hopefully something would come back from the lab with a DNA analysis or a print match that they could use for a lead.
Even though Tomassi was convinced it was Joshua Banks, she wasn’t so sure. How could a blowhard like him turn into a calculated killing machine that seemed to leave no identifiable clues behind? It’s like we’re chasing a ghost. And there was the religious angle which, when mixed with homophobia, gave the case another dimension of terror. She herself was a recovering Catholic and could never escape the memory of her father pointing his finger at her and calling her a sinner when she finally confessed to her parents that she had come out.
***
When Brent finally gave in and called Angela, he received a cold reception at the end of the line.
“How many times have we discussed not interfering with active investigations?”
“I’m sorry, Angie, but I still have a client with a chunk of retainer money sitting in my trust account. Technically, I not only have the right, but also the obligation to pursue my own investigation.”
“You should have at least informed me so I could have set up a proper sting.”
“Why don’t you come over and we can discuss it?”
A pause on the phone, then: “Why don’t you come over and we don’t discuss it?”
“Let’s not and say we did?”
“Something like that.”
“Sounds like a good invitation. I’ll be right over.”
***
Rhonda finally sank between the sheets for a well-deserved night’s rest, but she still couldn’t sleep. Visions of the bloody crime scenes flashed through her head all night, and it seemed like she slept with one eye open.
In the middle of the night, that eye did open just in time to see a shadow moving in the corridor, illuminated by the moonlight. Am I dreaming? No! Somebody’s in the house! No time to get my gun. Think! Think! She hit the panic button on her radio extension, which was clipped to the extra pillow on her bed just as the figure appeared at her door.
He came at her fast, and she kicked him in the groin, which caused the knife to land off-target, cutting into her left shoulder. Crying out in pain, she rolled out of the way, grabbed the pillow and deflected his next stab, which exploded feathers all over the room.
“The cops are coming, motherfucker!”
He hesitated, which allowed her to get a good look at him. He was wearing a black sweater and had on a mask. There was no way to identify him. He’s going to cut me again! But I have to keep moving! Then he lunged at her again. She hunched her back, moving out of harm’s way as he swiped the knife in front of her midsection, then grabbed his wrist with her right hand and hit the back of his hand as hard as she could with her left, and heard the knife fall to the floor. Then Rhonda ran for her life. She ran out into the corridor and headed for the front door. She felt the warmth of the blood dripping from her shoulder wound but couldn’t think about doing anything about it. She had to get out of there.
***
Tomassi had fallen asleep, fully clothed, on his couch, and responded to the panic call right away. He lived about five minutes away from Rhonda’s by car. He was first at the scene, where he found her running down her street in what used to be a white nightgown, now in a bloody shade of pink. He quickly opened the door, and she got in.
“Rhonda, I…”
“Go get him! He could still be in the house!”
Tomassi handed his handgun to Rhonda, took the shotgun from the gun rack and ran to the house, just as two VCSD cars and two Santa Barbara PD black and whites pulled up.
Tomassi quickly gave them instructions. Four officers went into the backyard and the entire front was illuminated with blasts of light from the patrol cars.
He burst into the house, with two deputies in tow, blasting his path with light. As the other deputies watched the perimeter, Tomassi ran through each room, looking for the attacker. He found a back door to the house was open, and called for the deputies.
Three more SBPD cars and two sheriff’s vehicles came screeching up to join the manhunt. They formed a grid, working out from the house with two SBPD units covering the streets and the rest of the officers canvassing the neighborhood on Tomassi’s instructions as his team searched through the back yards for the killer’s escape route.
Angela pulled up to Detective Tomassi’s car and found Rhonda lying down in it, holding Tomassi’s weapon. She had lost a lot of blood. Angela called the Fire Department, put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, and tied it with her shirt. She covered Rhonda with her jacket like a blanket.
“Hang in there, Rhonda: help is on the way.”
Rhonda blinked and moaned.
“Don’t try to talk, just relax. The paramedics are coming.”
And Angela waited with Rhonda for help to arrive. Waited and prayed that Rhonda wouldn’t be the next victim of the Honeymoon Stalker.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Tomassi took off on a hunch and decided to follow the distant sounds of the barking dogs, which seemed to set a pattern. He must be going through back yards. Toward the park!
Tomassi punched the button on his radio as he ran. “Davis, I think he’s headed for the park. Get units on Arrelaga, Santa Barbara, Garden, Sola and Anacapa. Surround the park.”
“Copy.”
***
He heard them in the distance as he eme
rged from the bushes.
They think I’m in the park.
He opened the door to the old car and climbed in. His pride ached more than his groin, which was uncomfortable. He had underestimated the woman. Still, she had been chosen.
It must be God’s will that she lived.
He had to put the second plan into action. This part of the job had been finished; just not the way he thought it would be. He pulled out on Victoria and headed toward State Street. That would be the best place to blend in.
A couple of police cars rushed by him, headed the other way, their lights blazing. Probably on their way to surround the park. God had given him the gift of super intelligence to accomplish these tasks, but he didn’t understand why He had decided to let her live. His word is not to question.
As he turned left on State Street, he blended in with the early morning traffic. State Street was Santa Barbara’s main street. They wouldn’t be looking for him there. He would hide from them in plain sight.
Suddenly, as he passed Anapamu, the inside of his car was illuminated from the reflection of the red light in his rear view mirror. He reached for the gun in his glove box and tucked it under his butt, just in case.
The officer approached, and tipped his hat.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning.”
“May I see your license and registration, please?”
He presented his license and the papers from the old car. The officer shone his light on them and then looked at him. He kept his hand ready to go for the gun.
“Do you know why I stopped you, sir?”
“No, officer, but I’m running late for work. Is it something serious?”
“Well it could be. Your right brake light is out. I’m going to write you a fix-it ticket. You won’t have to pay anything if you just replace the light and show us proof at the station.”
“Is it going to take a long time?”