by Bill Bernico
“Thank you, Betty, no,” Kevin said.
Betty left and closed the door behind her. Kevin watched as Matt devoured the donut, pulled a tissue from the box on Kevin’s desk and wiped his fingertips. Kevin saw Matt looking around for a place to throw the sticky tissue and held his trash can up for Matt. Matt dropped the tissue into the can and Kevin returned it to the place behind his desk. Matt licked the last of the glaze off his fingers and looked at Kevin.
“Are you sure you’re ready now?” Kevin said.
“Sorry,” Matt said. “It’s been a hectic morning. I haven’t even had a chance to pick up a bite this morning. What have you got for me?”
Kevin pulled the bottom folder out from under the latest case and opened it in front of him. He glanced at the contents and then up at Matt. “My men have been all over this case and they’re all coming up with nothing. I don’t know, maybe they’re getting burned out by all the murders they’ve seen over the years. Maybe they’re getting lax. But I just thought I’d run some of this past you and see if any new thoughts occur to you; something we hadn’t thought of yet.”
“Let’s have a look,” Matt said as Kevin turned the folder around to face Matt. Matt flipped through the crime scene photos and the autopsy report and finally picked up the report Kevin had filed shortly after the murder of the twenty-five year old woman who was found in the alley with her throat cut. “And you still have no I.D. on this one?”
Kevin reached over and pulled another sheet out from under the others. He handed it to Matt. “Linda Brown,” he said. “Just got the positive I.D. from her dentist this morning. He recognized his handiwork.”
“And the name led nowhere?” Matt asked.
“It led everywhere,” Kevin said. “Do you have any idea how many Browns there are in the Los Angeles area?” When Matt didn’t venture a guess Kevin said, “Seven hundred and eighty-three; almost four pages of Browns. Even if I put every one of my men on this it would still take us two months to contact all those Browns.”
“And you think I have two months to spare looking into this for you?” Matt said.
“No,” Kevin said. “I guess I’m just ventilating more than anything else. I just wanted to see where you would start if this was your case. Oh hell, I’m grasping at straws here. Help me out, Matt.”
“I’m not sure what it is you think I can do that you haven’t already done yourself,” Matt said. He looked at the photos again. “I wonder what this poor girl did to deserve this.”
Kevin shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing you can do at this point. Just kick it around for a while and let me know if anything I can use occurs to you, would you?”
“Sure, Kevin,” Matt said. “Is that all you wanted?”
“I guess so. Thanks for coming in, Matt.”
Matt left Kevin’s office and closed the door. He walked past Betty’s reception desk and spotted a white box sitting on the corner. He glanced down into it and saw that there were still three more donuts. He glanced over at Betty.
“Go on,” Betty said. “Help yourself or they’ll just sit there tempting me.”
“Thanks,” Matt said, plucking another donut from the box and holding it up to Betty as a farewell salute. Matt drove back to his office, steering with the butts of his palms, since his fingertips were too sticky to risk grasping the steering wheel. Before he took the elevator back to his office, Matt stopped in the restroom on the first floor of his building and washed his hands.
It was nearly noon before Benny returned with a signed contract from his latest client. A woman in Pasadena called Benny to ask about the possibility of having her husband followed. She was concerned that he was seeing another woman and wanted Cooper Investigations to find out for sure one way or the other.
“Sounds pretty dull,” Matt said.
“Could be,” Benny agreed. “But at least it’s income and it’s something to do. The days get a little long around the office when there are no clients.”
“And you thought the life of a private eye was all glamour,” Matt said. “This is reality.”
“Maybe I’ll find a way to make this case more interesting if only to amuse myself,” Benny said.
“Like what? You going to pretend that the husband is an international spy and that you’re James Bond?”
“Nothing that elaborate,” Benny said. “I’ll think of something. What about you? How did your morning go?”
“Well, as for the guy I went to see this morning, turns out there’s nothing we can do for him. No job there,” Matt said. “But I got a call from Kevin this morning. He wanted to show me one of his case files to see if I could come up with any new angles that he hadn’t already thought of. He’s at a dead end with it.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” Matt said. “There’s nothing I can do that he can’t.”
“So now what?” Benny said.
“So now it looks like you have a case and I don’t. Something else will come along sooner or later. I’m not worried about it.” Matt stood and looked out the window, down onto Hollywood Boulevard. He turned back to Benny. So, when are you going to start this new case of yours?”
Benny glanced up at the wall clock over the office door. It was almost one-thirty. “A few minutes after two,” he said. “The guy’s a first shifter who works the six-to-two shift. And when he comes out from work, I’ll be there to see where he goes and if he meets anyone.”
“Good luck with that,” Matt said. “Oh, by the way, I’ll be out of the office tomorrow during the noon hour. I’m meeting my brother-in-law for lunch. I should be back around one, give or take.”
“How’s he doing?” Benny said. “Is he liking his new job with the police department? Where was that; Pasadena?”
“Burbank,” Matt said. “And from what my sister tells me, he’s liking it a lot. Personally, I’m glad he didn’t go into law. To me there’s nothing more boring than three occupations that come to mind; being a lawyer, an accountant or an insurance salesman. Promise me if it ever gets to the point where those are my only choices for employment that you’ll just put me out of my misery.”
“You can count on me, boss,” Benny said, patting the .38 under his armpit. “I’d better get moving before all the good surveillance parking places are taken.” With that, Benny was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall toward the elevator. He got into his compact sedan and drove to the block where his subject worked. He only had to sit there for ten or twelve minutes before the front gate opened and several people walked out to the street and found their cars.
Alfred Wooster, the man Benny had been hired to follow, was the last to emerge from the business. Benny compared him to the face on the snapshot Wooster’s wife had given him. It was Alfred, all right. Benny watched as Wooster walked to his car half a block away, got in and drove east. He followed at a safe distance. They’d only driven a mile or less when Wooster turned onto a side street and parked at the curb. Benny drove past him slowly, watching where Wooster went before pulling to the curb half a block ahead. He got out and slowly walked toward Wooster’s car. By this time, Wooster had already crossed the street and was standing up on the porch of a white stucco house.
Benny cautiously approached the house but couldn’t see in any of the windows. All he could see from his position on the sidewalk was Alfred Wooster entering the house and being greeted with open arms by a young lady inside. After the door closed, Benny could only imagine what was going on inside. He pulled his notepad from his pocket and jotted down the address before returning to his car. Benny drove around the corner and turned into the alley behind this row of houses. When he got directly behind the house that Wooster had gone into, he stopped, got out and walked up to a garage that opened onto the alley. The overhead door was closed, but the utility door on the side of the garage had a window in it.
Benny softly padded over to the door, cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in. All he could see was a compact car and a few garden tools. He st
rained to get a glimpse of the front of the car but couldn’t. It looked like a Toyota, but he couldn’t be sure from this angle. He returned to the alley and took a closer look at the overhead door. He looked both ways up and down the alley before trying the handle. To his surprise it turned and he was able to lift the door high enough to get a look at the make of the car spelled out on its trunk. It was a Nissan, which could easily have been mistaken for a Toyota. But more importantly Benny got a good look at the car’s license plate. He recited it to himself several times before lowering the door again. He quickly wrote the plate number in his notepad right below the house number. Now he had something to go on when he began looking up the house’s occupant in the public records at City Hall.
Benny got back into his car and drove to the records bureau. He spent an hour pouring over volumes of reverse directories before found what he was looking for. The owner of record of that white stucco house was none other than one Alfred Wooster. Imagine that, Benny thought. He knew this place wouldn’t have the information he was after concerning the license plate number and decided instead to pay Kevin Cole a visit at the twelfth precinct.
Kevin was out of his office, but his secretary, Betty, told Benny that he could probably find the lieutenant down the hall in the lunch room. Benny thanked her and padded his way down the hall until he came to the lunch room. Kevin Cole was the only person in there, sitting at one of the tables with a cup of coffee. Benny walked up to the table and stood there. He cleared his throat and Kevin looked up.
“Benny Briggs,” Kevin said. “You’re about the last person I expected to run into in here. What brings you out my way?”
Benny gestured toward the chair opposite Kevin. “Mind if I sit?” he said.
Kevin shrugged. “Be my guest. Is there something I can help you with, Benny?”
“Well, actually there is, but I’m not sure I should ask since it’s not an emergency or anything,” Benny said.
“Try me,” Kevin said. “All I can do is say no.”
“Well,” Benny said, “I’ve been tailing someone for my client and to make a long story short, about the only thing I have to go on with this case is a license number and I was wondering if you could…”
“You want me to tell you who belongs to that license number,” Kevin said. “Sure, let’s have it.” He held his hand out.
Benny found his notepad, turned to the page with the address and license number and handed the notepad to Kevin. Kevin finished the last of his coffee, rose from the table and gestured for Benny to follow him. The two men walked back to Kevin’s office and closed the door behind them. Kevin got on his desktop computer and opened the vehicle identification screen. He took another look at the number on the notepad and entered it into the search field. A few seconds later he looked up at Benny and announced, “Karen Landry. Is that all you need?”
Benny gestured with his chin toward his notepad. “Does her address match the one I wrote above the license number?”
Kevin checked the screen and then looked at the notepad. He handed the notepad back to Benny. “One and the same. Is that it?”
“That’s it,” Benny said. “Thanks for your help, Kevin. You saved me an awful lot of legwork. Anytime you need a favor from me, you just say so. I’d better get moving.”
“Say hi to Matt for me when you see him,” Kevin added before Benny left the office.
Benny came in the next morning a few minutes before eight to find Matt already at his desk. “Morning, Chief,” Benny said.
“Chief?” Matt replied. “Who are you, Jimmy Olsen?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Matt said. “You’re probably too young to remember the Superman TV show from the fifties.”
“And you’re not?” Benny said. “You weren’t even around then yourself.”
“Good point,” Matt said. “But then I have the complete DVD set of the show. Anyway, how’d it go with your tail job yesterday?”
“It turned out to be pretty easy,” Benny explained. “I followed my subject as soon as he got off work. He drove straight to some young woman’s house and I saw her wrap her arms around the subject just before the front door closed. I traced her address and license plate number and got a name for the woman. Now all I have to do is report back to my client and collect my fee.”
“Not so fast there, Superman,” Matt said. “How do you know that this woman wasn’t your subject’s niece or aunt or some other relative? You can’t just go back and tell his wife what you suspect. I’d say you’d better check a little deeper into the woman’s background before you see your client again.”
“Plus it’s an extra day’s pay,” Benny said.
“Well, there is that, too,” Matt agreed. “But just to be on the safe side, see what else you can find out about this woman before you jump to conclusions.”
Benny gave Matt the two finger salute and took a seat behind his desk. He logged onto his computer and began surfing the web, looking for anything else he could find on Karen Landry.
Shortly before noon Matt pulled into his sister’s driveway, walked up to the kitchen door and knocked. His brother-in-law, Tom answered the door. “You ready?” Matt said. “I only have an hour so pick someplace close by.”
“How about the Gold Cup on the boulevard?” Tom said. “It’s in the same block as your office, if I remember correctly, and I’ll even take my own car. That’ll give us more time to talk if you don’t have to drive me back here afterwards.”
“Good plan,” Matt said, pointing a finger at Tom. “I’ll meet you over there.” Matt backed out of the driveway and drove straight to the coffee shop. Tom pulled into the space next to him in the parking lot behind the Gold Cup.
The two of them found a booth in the back and slid in. A waitress was on them before they even had a chance to sit up straight. “Coffee?” she said.
Tom held up one finger. Matt said, “Make mine chocolate milk, would you?”
They waited until they both had their drinks in hand before they began the conversation. Matt started things off with, “How do you like being a cop so far, Tom?”
Tom sipped from his cup and set it down again. “It’s better than I could have imagined,” he said. “I’m learning so much, too. I tell you, this hands-on approach is the way to go. Oh, sure, you can read all you want about it from text books, but being on the street gives you first-hand experience that books couldn’t.”
“Sounds like you might still be thinking in terms of being a lawyer somewhere down the road,” Matt said. “And I agree that it doesn’t hurt seeing things from the perspective of the street cop. Are you working on anything interesting at the moment?”
Tom took another sip from his cup before adding, “Well, I’m not, but some of the guys in my squad are. I hear them talking in the locker room and the lunchroom and on the streets.”
“Talking about what?” Matt said.
Tom looked around the room to see if anyone was within ear shot. He leaned in toward Matt. “We’re working on what we think could be a serial murder case.”
“Really?” Matt said. “What makes you think so?”
“Well,” Tom began, “It started almost two weeks ago when a couple of my fellow officers came across this young woman in the alley behind the car dealership. She had her throat cut so deep that her head was almost cut off the neck. I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it. I don’t think I’m ready for that much realism just yet.”
“No kidding,” Matt said. “My friend, Kevin; you remember Kevin. He’s the Lieutenant from the twelfth precinct I told you about.”
“Is this the same lieutenant you were going to talk to about getting me on the Hollywood police force?”
“That’s the guy,” Matt said. “I think I told you that they had a hiring freeze on at the time. Anyway, they found a young woman under similar circumstances. Her head was almost cut clean off, too. I wonder if it’s the same killer you’re talking about.”
Tom spread his hands. “
I don’t know. Did your lieutenant’s first victim have a capital H drawn on her forehead with red lipstick?”
“If he did, he didn’t mention it?” Matt said.
“I’ll mention this to my sergeant tomorrow,” Tom said. “He may want to talk to your lieutenant friend and see if any other details match up.”
Matt thought for a moment and then said, “You mentioned your department thought they were looking for a serial killer. That would have to mean more than two victims. Were there others?”
“The second woman they found was in her seventies,” Tom said. “She’d had her head bashed in and her purse was missing a wallet when they found her. This old woman had a capital O drawn on her forehead.”
“Except for the lipstick on the forehead, it sounds like a different M.O. than the first,” Matt said. “Don’t serial killers usually stick with a method they’re familiar with?”
“Again,” Tom said, “It’s not my case and I’m just getting this information second hand a little at a time. I’m not sure why they think this second murder is tied into the first. But then there was a third woman found and that’s probably what makes them categorize this as the work of a serial killer.”
“What happened to the third woman?” Matt said.
“The third woman was found two days ago just south of Burbank,” Tom said. “She’d been strangled and raped and probably in that order. The guy must have used a condom because he didn’t leave any DNA behind.”
“What else do you know about this third victim?” Matt said.
“Only that her hair had been cut off, probably with a hunting knife.” Tom shook his head. “It wasn’t bad enough that her face was purple when they found her and her tongue was hanging out the side of her mouth. Gees, that must have made her look bad enough without the crude haircut this guy gave her.” He paused momentarily and then added, “Oh, and one more thing, and this is what makes us think it’s the work of a serial killer. The killer drew a red capital letter R on her forehead.”