“Captain Mendez,” he offered, struggling against the mental cacophony playing out before him in the flash of each victim’s face.
“Captain Mendez?” the female voice asked. There was an air of confidence about it that Alex instantly recognized.
“Mrs. Greyson,” he offered. The mixture of sarcasm and cordiality was in no way subtle. “How can I help your ratings again this find October morning?”
“I want an exclusive interview with you.”
He made no effort to muffle his bemusement at the suggestion.
“I’m serious,” she reiterated. “The public doesn’t know you. Not that they knew Captain Peterson much better. He was still known. They were comfortable with him. So, how about we declare a truce and you give me a chance to mea culpa? Just give me one hour and I’ll make sure the public loves you.”
“The only public that matters wants me to do my job, Mrs. Greyson. I have a killer on the loose and I need to find him.”
“You can’t spare an hour for the citizens of Longview?” she pressed. A sudden nervousness grew in his gut.
“I don’t know how to put this any other way except to say that I don’t have an hour to spare. I spend an hour with you and this guy kills somebody else. What then?”
“What then?” she asked. “What then, indeed.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Greyson. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“Sure you won’t change your mind?”
“No, I won’t change my mind. What would you have me do? Neglect my civic duty?”
“No,” she whispered, “I suppose not.”
“I could use your help, Mrs. Greyson. We’re on the same team. How about some team participation here?”
“What would you have me do?”
“I think you know the answer, Mrs. Greyson. I’d ask you to go easy on me. You are right. Nobody knows me. And I didn’t ask to have Danny’s job. He’s not just a colleague. He’s my best friend. I’d ask you to understand I’m giving this everything I have. I’m already fighting to catch a killer. Don’t make me fight the media too.”
“Whatever you say, Captain Mendez.”
“One other thing?” He loosened his tie a little as he leaned back in his chair.
“Yes?”
“If this ends up on tonight’s broadcast with some twisted words that I didn’t really say, you need to know that my chief not only heard our first conversation, but he’s been sitting here the whole time and can confirm every word I just said. Slander and Libel are very naughty things, Mrs. Greyson. A responsible journalist would be above those things. You ever pull a stunt like that again and I’ll have you in jail so fast your head will spin.”
“Threatening a pregnant woman?” she said, her voice filling with vindictive resentment.
“No, I’m not threatening anyone. A threat can be idle. I am stating a fact. If you don’t want your baby to be born in a jail cell, I suggest you stick to factual stories, not that tabloid garbage you tried to pull on me.”
“Duly noted,” she said, her voice steadily brimming with irritation.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Greyson.”
Without responding, she had ended the call.
As he went back over the conversation in his head, Alex mentally kicked himself several times for what could be another edited foot in the mouth moment.
Sighing, Alex opened up his email and sent the chief a detailed description of the conversation he’d just had. It wouldn’t do much good in the grand scheme of things, but he did have it on record now. And the timestamp would preempt any news report.
Better to be safe than sorry, he thought to himself.
Chapter 17
Friday, October 14
9:28 a.m.
With his trainee catching up on his rest, Alex decided to continue on himself. He still wasn’t used to the idea of being in charge. Despite holding the rank of Captain, he just wasn’t comfortable delegating duties for an investigation under his command. He was used to being a follower, although Danny had more than once told him that there existed some metaphorical list of officers who would have followed Alex into the worst of Hell. What he should have done was send officers to interview Shelley Ferguson. What he should have done was allowed Tabby to send a runner to his office, or send someone out there to follow up. But what he should have done wasn’t what he did.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the Medical Examiner’s office, Alex found himself amazed at the building’s appearance. Though built in the last month, the filthy brick structure looked as though it had been constructed decades ago. The lawn, though trimmed, was unkempt and the bushes were nothing short of scraggly. The blue-green opaque windows adorning the side of the building nearest him looked as though they had not enjoyed a washing in their entire existence, which wasn’t all that long, truth be told.
The sidewalks, too, were given way to spider web cracks that told of seriously shoddy workmanship or perhaps vandalism. Thus is the result of giving the contract to the lowest bidder.
As he entered through the huge glass doors, a sudden burst of cold air caused goose bumps to sprout on Alex’s uncovered forearms. He didn’t mind the cold. But the sudden shock of walking into a seemingly refrigerated building sent shivers to his very core. Rubbing his forearms, Alex took a split second to relish the burst of cool air.
Entering the main lobby, Alex saw Janelle Porter. Positioned directly to his left, the tiny blonde teen occupied a dark-stained, ornate desk that was – to Alex at least – far too large and stuffy for her. Dressed in blue jeans and a maroon and white shirt bearing the logo of the Texas A&M Aggies, Alex resisted the urge to throw her a thumbs-up and scream, “Gig ‘Em!”
“Hey, Janelle,” Alex offered, genuinely pleased to see her, “Is your aunty around?”
“Yes sir,” she confirmed, motioning to the double doors near the far end of the lobby. “I’ll buzz her and let her know you’re here.”
Picking up the receiver on her desk, Janelle keyed in the code that would buzz autopsy. After a few seconds, she quietly announced Alex’s arrival. Given the layout of the place, Alex was surprised by the lack of acoustic reverb.
“She said you could go on back.” Pointing to the doors at the far end, Janelle continued, “Through those doors, turn right and it’s the first left, I think. Unless she’s in the freezer, then it’s the end of the hall. But that might be wrong too.” She giggled. In other situations, Alex might be annoyed by this less than helpful set of directions. But, for some reason, Alex liked Janelle. And her giggle possessed something of a kindness that would largely have been missing in many other modern teens. A nervous apology, perhaps, for not possessing better knowledge of the M.E office’s inner workings.
“Got it,” Alex smiled, “Thanks.”
She just might be better than Tabby one of these days, Alex thought to himself.
“Captain Mendez? Can I ask you a question?”
Alex turned toward her.
“Sure,” he replied, taking a couple steps toward Janelle. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m just wondering what it’s like to be a cop. Do you enjoy it? Is it scary? Is it hard? I don’t know what to ask, really. I’m just curious. Sorry, I don’t mean to be so nosey. Just having a hard time trying to figure out what I want to be, yanno?”
“Well,” Alex said, trying to keep his tone both friendly and authoritative, “Do I enjoy it? Yes and no. I don’t enjoy standing over the dead bodies by any means. But I do enjoy it when I’m able to bring the perpetrators to justice. Is it scary? At times. Mostly, it’s paperwork, research and thinking outside the box. Meeting with your team members, networking with other agencies when necessary. The good thing about police work is that you have a lot of brothers and sisters to get your back when you need it. You’re never really alone. The down side is that, occasionally, one of the bodies you kneel over happens to be that of one of your Law Enforcement siblings. Honestly, that part sucks.”
&nbs
p; When she looked unsatisfied by his answer, he continued, “You can always call the station and ask to do a ride-along some time. We have citizens do that rather frequently. Mostly, wannabe writers who are struggling to get the scene right in their latest book, but whatever works. If you want to do that, just tell them that you’re a personal friend of Captain Alex Mendez and they’ll hook you up.”
Smiling, she said, “Okay!”
“I’ll warn you now,” he said, “Riding along may well be the most boring thing you’ve ever done. I’ve never heard one person yet say that it was exciting.”
With her curiosity apparently satiated, Alex turned and headed into the innards of the Medical Examiner’s office.
Entering through the double doors, Alex found the inner hallway to be yet another shocking temperature change, albeit in the other direction. Almost instantly, a single bead of sweat gathered on his brow. As he entered the cool autopsy room, Alex was relieved by the goose bumps that had been such a shocking sensation just minutes ago.
While the temperature was welcoming, the scent of formaldehyde, body fluids and decomposition were nothing short of nauseating. More than once, Alex struggled against the urge to empty the contents of his breakfast on the seemingly sterile tiled floors.
“Alex, how are you?” Tabby said, looking up from her latest autopsy. She was wearing a face shield, latex gloves and a plastic or paper apron over what appeared to be medical scrubs. Her hair was pulled back and rolled into a single bun on the back of her head.
“Doing good, Tabby,” he confirmed. “I’ll be doing better if you’ll tell me you’ve caught this killer for me.”
Chuckling to herself, Tabby continued to work on the body of Marisol Velasquez, AKA Harmony Winters.
“You can come closer,” Tabby said, noting Alex’s trepidation. “She won’t bite.”
“Not worried about her,” Alex chuckled.
“I won’t bite either, Alex. Lisa’d knock my teeth out.”
Laughing, Alex nodded, “Yeah. That she would. So, what have we got?”
Pulling back an opening in the chest cavity, Tabby removed a portion of the intestines.
“What we have is a woman who worked out a lot and was not into junk food. Her colon is the healthiest I’ve ever seen.”
“You bring me down her to show me her colon, Tab?”
Motioning for Alex to bend down, she handed him a mask. Placing the mask over his face, he asked, “Help me out here? What am I looking for?”
“See the lungs?”
“Uh yeah, those two big things right there? I took A&P in college, Tab.”
“Notice anything strange about them?”
“Bones,” he said, in his best DeForrest Kelley impression, “I’m a detective, not a doctor!”
“The lung tissue is anything but new. Former smoker, it’d be black. This is not black. Her lung tissue died. The same for the heart. Her heart tissue showed signs of necrosis. It is almost blistered. Minor, but definitely there. At first look, I would have diagnosed her with some form of plague. With the information from the FBI, I know what happened, but whoever did this is cruel. If what I’ve been reading about hydrofluoric acid is true, none of these victims died quickly.”
“He wanted them to suffer?”
“He wanted them to be in anguish.” Tabby said. “This would have literally eaten them alive from the inside out. Victim 1 had more in the system, I’m guessing. Lungs were almost greenish white. Exhibited a puffy nature. Vic 2 showed less degradation of tissue. The mix is strong, so the victim dies before much damage can be done, but a stronger circulatory system and the victim could suffer for minutes. Upwards of an hour, maybe. I think that’s what happened with victim number one. She was likely in a lot of pain. She would have eventually struggled to breathe, but her nervous system would have also been in chaos. Until the organ tissue of the lungs and heart just died. I haven’t gotten to the brain yet, but I expect to find much the same thing. Alex, you are dealing with an evil person. He doesn’t want to kill. He wants to steal their lives from them while they watch. He wants to destroy them, slowly.”
“That your professional opinion?” Alex asked.
“I’m not a trained psychiatrist or profiler, but yes. You are dealing with somebody who has a lot of rage. I would look for someone who wasn’t popular in school. Someone who was abused, of course. Abuse is common among most who kill. But I think we’re talking rejection here.”
“But why target prostitutes? And why would he leave bible verses at the scene?”
“Hmmmm…” Tabby stopped working on Marisol Velazquez and covered her with a sheet. Turning her back to Alex, she triggered the sink with her foot and washed the human fluids off of her gloved hands. Grabbing paper towels, she carefully removed the gloves and wrapped them in the paper towels before grabbing a clean pair of gloves and transferring the soiled wad into a hazardous material bag. Sealing it tightly, she threw the bag into an orange container and washed her hands, scrubbing rather briskly.
“Obsess much?” Alex joked.
“Can’t be too careful with that stuff,” Tabby said, absently. “Alex, this stuff maims. It kills. It ruins tissue. You get this stuff on your epidermis and you will probably live, but you will not want to. You’ll be in pain. A lot of pain. And, very likely disfigured for the rest of your life. I know it’s not what I get paid for, but I’ve honestly been asking myself why this person is injecting such a solution when torturing these girls by making them live disfigured would almost seem the more evil course of action.”
“Getting inside his head now, Tab?”
“It’s just strange to me, Alex. This person has a motive. You don’t just randomly come by Hydrofluoric Acid in liquid form. From what I have read, it has to be manufactured. And manufactured carefully to be safe and of any use.”
“All you need is a badge and a gun, kid.” Alex said. “You’re ready for the force.”
“There’s more, Alex.”
“Okay?”
Handing him her file on the Marisol Velazquez, Tabby said, “The syringe broke. I’m betting that, unless this person was wearing gloves, he got it on him.”
“Tabby, I think I love you! If I wasn’t married, I’d—“
Turning toward the exit, Tabby said, “Follow me, Alex.”
“Where we going?”
“My office,” she said, heading for the hallway. “I think you and I need to compare notes on this fella.”
Chapter 18
Friday, October 14
10:51 a.m.
Alex arrived at the apartment shared by Shelley Ferguson and Marisol Velazquez just as a rush of people seemed to be entering. Judging by the coveralls on one man and the patch on the back advertising the plumbing company for which he worked, many of them seemed to be heading home for an early lunch. Another woman in a waitress uniform had not yet removed her apron, though she’d driven home from the restaurant either without thinking about it or lacking sufficient energy to care.
The apartment building itself was in reasonably good shape, given the part of town in which it rested. Alex could see a couple of suspicious-looking characters standing at the end of the block. They’d “made” him as a cop long ago and were very likely just waiting to see what sort of action was going to go down today.
Today, however, he was less concerned with the petty criminality going on in this part of town than with solving the murders of citizens deemed unworthy of life by some self-appointed god to the subjugated masses of Longview. Still, he radioed for a nearby patrol car to make a pass or two, just to shake things up a bit.
Satisfied he’d taken care of this minor annoyance, Alex entered the apartment complex where, he hoped, Shelley Ferguson would be.
After a confusing search and a dead end, he finally found the right door.
When he knocked, he heard no greeting from the inside. There was no peephole, so the person had no way of knowing who he was. So, he was a little surprised when a person he assumed to be Sh
elley Ferguson opened the door, rubbed sleep from her eyes and greeted him warmly. She was dressed in a flannel button-up shirt that might well belong to some burly lumberjack. It hung just low enough to almost mask the red and black shorts she was wearing.
When he showed his badge, he noticed Shelley Ferguson grew noticeably stiff. Whatever brain fog might have followed her from the land of slumber, she was – or at least appeared to be – wide awake.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she said, feigning both innocence and a flirtiness that would not be uncommon in her chosen profession.
“Ma’am, are you Shelley Ferguson?”
“I, uh—” she began trembling.
“Ma’am?”
“Uh, yes, I—Uh it’s difficult to—“
“Ms. Ferguson, I’m not here to—“
“Bella,” she finally said. “Please. Bella Winters. Everyone around here knows me as Bella.”
“Ma’am, if I could come inside, I’d like to speak to you in private.”
“Surely,” she said, backing away from the door. Her face appeared nervous, but she did her best to hide it.
Opening the door, she headed toward the living room, leaving Alex to close the door behind him.
“So, what’s this about?” Shelley asked.
“Where were you last night between the hours of 8 p.m. and 2 a.m. this morning?”
“I was at home.” She said, suddenly flashing frustration. “What is this about? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Bella! I’m not a Ma’am! Ma’am’s are old!”
“Ms. Winters, I—“
“Call me Bella,” she whispered, albeit a demanding one. “I’m seriously starting to—” suddenly she broke off. Her eyes filled with tears. “No.” she said, shaking her head.
“Ms. Win—Uh Bella, I—”
She crashed to her sofa and reached for her cell phone placed on the end table nearby.
Pressing a series of buttons, she placed the phone to her ear. In seconds, Alex heard the voicemail pick up, though he couldn’t make out what was said.
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