Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery)

by Jon Bridgewater

  “What did he think you could do? Check your datebook for girls the right age?” Grady smiled, obviously tickled at his question, as he waited for Russell to tell him why he was really here.

  “No, smart ass, he heard something that puzzled him and he asked me to look into it. You remember Hernandez, the cop that lost his leg a few years ago when his partner was killed in that drug bust gone bad?”

  “Yeah, that was a shame. The kid that died was young, just out of the academy, wasn’t he?”

  “Yep, the same guy, and yes, the kid was young only like twenty-three, I think. Anyway, he‘s working the homicide desk downtown and said something to Storm about his having caught ‘another murder’ at the Dome.” Russell looked over at Grady. “Do you know anything about any other murders that have taken place around the Dome area during this time of year?”

  “Yeah, seems like I did hear something about something like that, but I don’t remember it having anything to do with the Show, just some unknown girl found dead near the Dome. I don’t think the case was ever solved, in fact, I think the coverage died out fairly fast, almost as soon as it happened.”

  “So you don’t remember anything about the Show being tied to it?”

  “Not that I remember, but I could be wrong,” admitted Grady, watching Russell’s face as if trying to find what his friend could be looking for.

  “You think there’s anything in the archives about it?’ asked Russell. “Or you got any idea where we would start to look?” Grady’s interest was piqued now, and like anyone who works in the news media, his curiosity would get the better of him. Unanswered questions irritated newsies.

  “Let’s go look,” said Grady, as he rose from his seat. “We should start about a year ago; I think there was one about then. Let’s see what we find.” Russell accompanied him as they found their way to the climate-controlled storage area that held many of the news reports and investigations from the past ten years.

  During the last couple of years most of the archives had been moved to a computer data base, making it easier to retrieve and do a search. However, since Houston had a significant number of murders every year, it would take awhile to wade through them all to find similar cases. After about an hour of looking through the archives and researching old press releases, they found a case that appeared to be very similar. The naked body of a young girl named Stephanie Gilmore had been found by a cabby in a vacant lot just across Old Spanish Trail from the Dome complex. Her throat had been cut and her clothing tossed aside with her purse and identification. She was from Huntsville, Texas (only about fifty miles from Houston) and had worked for a law firm downtown. They found nothing more about her or her murder, but both Grady and Russell thought they had found something that might lead Storm to more killings.

  Russell looked at Grady. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything to anyone about what we are doing and hide our research. Right now I need to report what we’ve found to Storm. I will be back as quick as I can and we’ll see if we can find more.” With that, Russell left and Grady printed the material, put it in an envelope in his backpack, and deleted their searches. If there was a story here, it would be his and Russell’s; breaking a story like this would be a great way for an old guy to go out.

  Russell called Storm’s cell phone to tell him what they had found. He got Storm’s voice mail so he left a message and went back to Grady.

  Chapter Eight

  Just the Facts

  The M.E.’s office always had that combination of cleaning solutions and chemicals in the examining theaters that created an aroma that permeated even the cement walls and stainless steel examination tables of the rooms. Storm would often don a surgical mask, not that he worried about germs, but to stifle the smell. But today he put aside his normal aversion for the place and found Alisha still examining the body of Leslie Phillips.

  “Any news?” asked Storm, bringing Alisha back from her concentration on the girl’s body.

  “Well, I can tell you she died of exsanguinations, and from the bruising on her neck, she was asphyxiated before she died.” Turning to look at Storm, the plastic face mask covering her head, she then put it in layman’s terms for his benefit. “Someone simply choked her till she almost passed out and then cut her throat and she bled to death.”

  “She died before her throat was cut?” Storm was confused, but then, everything else about this case was confusing—why not the way she died? he reasoned.

  “No, not what I said, she lost too much blood for that, anyway, but she was probably closer to unconscious then dead. See the bruises on her neck? Whoever did this had their hands around her throat, thumbs in the back, attacking her from behind. The instrument used to cut her throat was sharp, no jagged edges. It was clean and swift like a razor or a scalpel. The killer cut the arteries while holding her head down, knowing it is easier to cut the throat with the windpipe directly in front of the blade. It also eliminates any chance she might scream or make a sound. Our killer simply choked her as a way of gaining control of her.”

  “Then you’re telling me they knew what they were doing and we could possibly be looking for a doctor or someone in the medical field?”

  “That or a professional assassin; somebody trained in how to kill someone easily and most importantly, quietly,” agreed Alisha.

  Storm asked a rhetorical question, more to himself then Alisha. “Why would someone hire an assassin to kill this girl?”

  Alisha just shook her head, showing the same bewilderment as Storm.

  “When will the final report be done?”

  “You will have it tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  Alisha frowned and resumed the grizzly duty of autopsying the young beautiful girl. The killer was good; nothing much had been left behind to assist her in determining the killer’s identity. She had preformed a rape kit on the girl and found semen and a spermicidal. Someone, maybe the killer, maybe not, had had sex with her using a condom, but it must have broken. Alisha had combed the pubic hair to see if she could find any hairs not belonging to the girl. She found a couple, so if they were lucky and found a suspect, they could match the DNA samples.

  There was some bruising, but that could come from consensual sex. It was the anal abuse that was the most troubling. Alisha had removed the paper bags on the girl’s hands used to preserve any evidence on the hands and took scrapings from under the girl’s nails, but found no skin or other trace. This meant the victim hadn’t inflicted any damage to her assailant, and there were no defensive wounds on her arms or legs, which indicated she hadn’t fought back.

  Alisha bagged the evidence, recorded it, and passed it on to the property room for them to hold till someone would need it, and then sat down to write her report from the notes she had made and the audio tape she had recorded while doing the autopsy. When the report was completed, she would drag her tired butt home after another long day. It seemed to her it would be nice if once in a while Houston would have a day without a killing, but she knew that was too much to hope for in a city its size.

  * * * *

  Storm drove back to the office to check in with the lieutenant one more time, hoping to snag Hernandez before he left. Sunset came early this time of year and by the time he got to Reisner Street he had to turn on the lights to see inside the dark parking garage. He never understood why they couldn’t change the hours for the garage lights when daylight saving time switched back to regular time, but they couldn’t seem to get it right. He didn’t fear the lack of light, but darkness depressed him. With darkness came too many hours for idle thoughts, too many hours to think of Angie, and now, too many hours to think about Leslie Phillips. In both cases he wanted answers to the how and why they had died.

  As he entered the division offices he saw Sgt. Hernandez and was reminded that he needed to talk to him again. Hernandez’s earlier comment was still bothering him and he hadn’t heard back from Russell as of yet. The shift change was happening and Hernandez would b
e getting off, so this would be a good time to ask him more about what he had said

  “Sergeant,” Storm waved Hernandez over. “How are things on the desk, Sergeant?”

  “SOS, but keeps me off the streets and gets me another day closer to retirement.”

  “This morning you said something that’s been bothering me all day. What did you mean by ‘another murder at the Show’?”

  “Listen, Detective, I shouldn’t have said anything. I really don’t want to get into this and besides that, it’s not my place.”

  “You mean you won’t tell me what you meant or you don’t want to?” Storm’s eyes burrowed into Hernandez’s face.

  Hernandez looked around and over his shoulder before speaking. “OK, but you didn’t get this from me.” It was clear what he was about to tell Storm was not a mere rumor, but something someone wanted well hidden. “There have been other murders at the Dome. I think today’s may be the seventh.”

  “How come I never heard about them?”

  Looking Storm in the eyes he said, “Sorry, Detective, for the way I have to put this. They started when you were, let’s say, ‘not doing so well.’”

  “You mean when I was drinking?” Storm acknowledged what Hernandez meant.

  “Yes, Detective. Right after I was put on the homicide desk five years ago, a young girl was murdered down there. No one was ever found for it; in fact, no one was ever really a suspect. It ended up as one of the unsolved cases. Like this one, the mayor’s office and some pretty big people from the community put pressure on us to bury it.”

  Storm felt a throb beginning in his temples. At least now he had an explanation as to why Nagel from the mayor’s office had been at the Show offices with Dakota Taylor that morning. He looked at Hernandez. “You said there were more?”

  “Yes, Detective. Like I said, I know there were others, I think seven, including yours.”

  “Were they all young like this girl?”

  “As I remember it, yes.”

  “They were all found at the Dome?”

  “Yes, I think they were all found somewhere on or around the grounds.”

  “Are there any official records of the murders or anything that will tell us more?” asked Storm

  “I’m sure there is, tucked away somewhere probably in the unsolved case files in the file morgue.”

  Storm knew he had pushed Hernandez as much as he could for the moment. “Thanks, Sergeant. You can be sure this will remain between us, but if I think of something else, can we talk again?” He wanted Hernandez to know he wouldn’t betray his confidence but also wanted to make sure the sergeant knew it wasn’t over.

  “Sure, Detective. I am close enough to retirement now and what with being wounded, what are they gonna do to me?” Hernandez snickered. “I had a hunch you’d be back again. I’ve been itching to solve a case like this for a long time. And maybe we can find something from other cases that might help solve your wife’s homicide. Hey, I’m in.”

  “By the way, Sergeant, the girl’s name is Leslie Phillips and she worked for Tejas Petroleum downtown. Tomorrow morning will you get hold of personnel at Tejas Petroleum and find out who were her next of kin and notify them that their baby girl won’t be home for Easter?” Although Storm realized he sounded more than a little sarcastic, he also knew Hernandez understood and would take care of the notification Monday morning first thing. He would check with him later that day to see if anything came out of the phone calls.

  Storm moved on down the hall; it was time to face the lieutenant.

  The lieutenant was waiting for an update, and outside of the girl’s name and the possibility she might have been killed by a professional, Storm didn’t have a lot more to tell him. She had had sex prior to her murder but that could have been consensual. They still hadn’t found the crime scene and if the killer was as good as Storm was beginning to think, they might not ever find it. Seeming satisfied with the progress of the day’s work the lieutenant dismissed Storm and wished him a good night.

  * * * *

  Storm had one more stop to make before calling it a night. It was one he made any time he was feeling he might be getting closer to that old friend “the Edge,” and now was not the time to fall off it. His next stop was the cemetery where Angie, his little brother, and his parents were all buried.

  It was almost sunset then and the grounds were quiet. He always stopped and bought roses to put on each of their graves. He picked up red ones for his dad, who had always been there to watch out for him, and for his little brother, who had died way too early. His father had been a disciplinarian; spanking his sons was always on the table, and he was tough, but he was a fair man and proud of his sons. It wasn’t until Storm’s brother died that he saw the grief his father expressed and how it indicated his dad’s deep love for them all.

  Storm’s younger brother’s death had been the result of a head-on collision with a drunk who had escaped without a scratch. The loss haunted him even when he was drinking, and though he knew he was a drunk at the time, he had enough sense to never drive while in his cups.

  He brought yellow roses for his mom because of her love for Texas. She used to say Texas had changed her life and made her the best person she had become. It was her strength that convinced her boys they could do anything they set their minds to. Lastly, he brought white roses for Angie, the love of his life, who had been his strength after he lost his parents.

  When he got to their graves, he arranged the flowers in the vases attached to the headstones and said his hellos to each of them. He cleaned the outer edges of each brass marker, making sure the grass didn’t cover their names or the words of sentiment inscribed on the face. Previously, when he had been trying to quit drinking, being here had made him calmer and eased the heartache, replacing for awhile the desire for a drink. It was here he could draw the courage to battle the demons in his mind and feel closer to those who had given him strength when they were alive. He knew their souls were with God, but he felt their support was still here for him in this place.

  His visit today was different. He was there to tell them about Leslie Phillips and the possibility of other deaths like hers. He explained, telling them about her senseless death and what Hernandez had told him, wondering out loud if there were more related murders. He told them about his visit to Russell and how Russell had jumped in to help as they would all have expected him to do. Smiling at Angie’s headstone, he told her how Russell still had a revolving door on his condo. He also asked them silently all to help him in any way they could, and he said a prayer over them. Finally, as always, he promised Angie that someday he would find the person or persons who had taken her away from him.

  Chapter Nine

  Leslie was Not Alone

  Nights had always been the worst for Storm after Angie had been murdered; it was this time of year when the darkness came early and along with it the damp and cold of a rainy Houston winter. This was the season when Houston had a lot of slow miserable rain storms and those added to the lower temperatures made the city seem even colder and more inhospitable.

  Storm remembered that as a kid he had never liked the cold; the uncomfortable damp of a winter rain seemed to penetrate the skin and settle all the way to the bone. As he got older, the achiness seemed to intensify. He had turned off the lights and turned down the heat when he left that morning, so the dark cold house was not a welcome sight when he returned.

  When he got in he noticed that his cell phone had registered that he had missed a call earlier, and he had a message from Russell. Eager to hear it, he hit the voice mail button and began listening to Russell’s report that he might have some news for Storm, some information on the other girls that had died mysteriously and their bodies found near the grounds of the Dome, and all during the same time of year. He got his friend on the first ring.

  “Hey, Baretta.”

  “What you got?” Storm asked. The anxiety was nearly killing him.

  “I might have something o
n the other girls. Meet me for dinner and I’ll fill you in.”

  “Where?” was all Storm asked.

  “Meet me at the Brownstone.”

  The Brownstone, located inside the 610 loop, was an upscale eatery that Russell frequented. It had been a fixture in the River Oaks neighborhood for years and was frequented by local people and those in the know around Houston. It was an old home with a brick wall running along the street and lush gardens on the grounds. The dining rooms were semiprivate and would give them a chance to talk without disturbing other diners and without being overheard.

  Walking through the door, Storm saw Phillip, the manager. Phillip knew them both and directed Storm to a room where Russell was already seated with his favorite cocktail in hand.

  “What did you find?” Storm hurriedly pulled his jacket off and grabbed a chair opposite Russell, waiting to hear the news.

  “Hey what’s this, no ‘hello, honey, how was your day’?” Russell grinned, trying to lighten Storm’s sour mood.

  Storm jibed back. “OK, fine, hi, sweetikins, how was your day? Now what did you find out?”

  “I went to the office, as you asked, and acted like I was there to check on the weekenders to see if they were busy while I pulled the latest sheets from weather bureau. Chu was running around trying to find someone to scoop, with her hopelessly smitten little camera guy following the next Emmy award winning journalist around like a puppy with a shit eating grin on his face. No big things happening so I went to the coffee room. The good news is, in there I ran into Grady Anderson, you remember him, been around the station for years.”

  “Yeah, I remember him. Isn’t he retired yet?”

  “Marking time but still sharp. You know at one time he ran that place. My first day on the job he was the floor director. Anyway, I recruited him to help me.”