Jeff smiled as he caught a glimpse of the college student in his rear view mirror.
The trip back to their Malibu house took another 45 minutes. They took the 90 and the traffic was stopped on both sides as the helicopter medical evacuation team loaded the motorcyclist into the van. He was obviously in bad shape.
“You see honey. That’s what made me late.” He said as they passed the wreckage.
“I didn’t mean I didn’t believe you. I’m just tired and want to get home. I’ve had a long week. Will you just let it go? Take some money out of your trust fund to pay the mortgage in the meantime. I’m sure the property in Malibu will sell and then you can replace it. Right now, all I want to do is get some sleep. I’ve had a long busy time over the past week. (She had. She and the other flight attendant had been making so much love in the last 72 hours she was sore. She didn’t want any part of her husband.)
He felt the same way about her. He had been busy himself. “He grinned as he remembered the stunned look on the blonde’s face after he stabbed her at Dockweiler Beach the previous night. “I’ll get the money tomorrow.”
When they got home, Jeff unloaded the bags and, as Sherry was leaving the garage, she turned to him. “Jeff would you please cut the baggage tags off my bags. You know how I am about that. Use the knife that I got you for our anniversary.” She then turned and went inside heading for the bedroom.
Jeff went back into the car opened up the glove box and pulled out the titanium handled Blue Moon Machete utility knife she had given him for their anniversary a month earlier. He opened it up and was immediately shocked by what he saw.
The 4-inch blade was now only three inches. The blade apparently had broken off earlier.
Chapter 11
Fred McCallister tucked his shirttail into his pants and stared down at his belly, which was protruding over his utility belt.
“I’ve got to do something about that…..later.” He thought.
Fred weighed 250 pounds and was a little shy of 6 feet. He knew he needed to lose some weight. Every time he visited his doctor, he chastised him (which he hated) but being chastised was not enough to motivate him to do anything about it. So, every year for the past seven, he packed on a couple more pounds. It’s easy to do when you’re in your 60’s. He didn’t beat himself up too much about it, though because he knew in three weeks when he moved up to Bridgeport, California, which is about an hour and a half north of Mammoth Lakes, he would be getting a lot more exercise. The cabin he had purchased with his wife, Frannie, did have electricity, but it also had a wood stove and he would be chopping wood and walking miles to go trout fishing when he got there. Just getting more exercise would cause the weight to drop off naturally.
Bridgeport is a small town an hour north of Mammoth Lakes on Interstate 395, seven or so hours North of Los Angeles. There’s a small Marine training base there, but not much else. In the 2010 census, its population was under 600 and this was perfect for Fred. His wife had died five years earlier and he had bought the property with her to enjoy in retirement. Frannie was an outdoorsy kind of woman and he always wanted to be with her up there, but the colon cancer that took her came on very quickly. Within four weeks of being diagnosed, cancer spread and she was dead. Fred almost quit the force then out of grief but managed to stay for a few more years to get his maximum retirement.
Fred parked his car and walked up the steps towards the coroner’s office. On his way up, he ran into Captain Palmer, the chief. Palmer had risen through the ranks very quickly, and before joining LAPD, he was an Army Captain in special ops. He was awarded the purple star in Afghanistan for being wounded during a fight with the Taliban.
Palmer saw Fred and raised his hand to say hi. “Fred, how are you doing? I hear you’re about ready to retire.”
“Yep, about three weeks I’ll be heading up towards Bridgeport to my cabin. Trout season is opening soon and I aim to be hip deep in some of those backwater streams when it does.”
“Bridgeport. What a desolate place! I’ve been up there a few times in the winter to cross-country ski. Beautiful country but there’s not a lot else to do there.”
“Frannie and I bought a place before she passed and we had always planned on being up there together. She liked to fish. So do I. Now it looks like I’m heading up their solo.”
With this comment, Palmer grimaced. “I understand, Fred. I know Frannie was taken from you very quickly. It was a terrible thing that she had to go through. My wife lost her sister to the same thing. Awful!”
“It was definitely horrible. But in a way, it was a Godsend she passed so quickly. For the last two weeks she was alive, she was in constant pain, so much so that they had her on a morphine pump. I’m glad the Lord took her quickly.”
Palmer put his hand on Fred’s shoulder and patted it.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my wife. We’ve been together for nearly 19 years. She’s quirky at times, but in a good way. I’m so sorry about Frannie!”
Palmer changed the subject. “Well buddy, I’ve got to get going. I have to get down to City Hall and testify in front of the city supervisors. They’re trying to cut our funding again. I have to show them the crime rate statistics, which show major crimes increasing in direct proportion to the workforce cutbacks we were forced to take the last six years. It’s black and white. As our workforce dropped, crimes of all types increased. So I hope they listen this time. The early release program put in by our wonderful governor has only exacerbated the problem. We’re holding our own, but we can always use more officers on the street.”
“I know exactly what you mean! I can’t wait to get the hell out of the city and get up to Bridgeport and start trout fishing.”
Capt. Palmer nodded in agreement and headed toward his car. Fred continued up the stairs toward the corners office. He walked down the long empty hall down to the morgue and knocked on the door.
Hyman Jablonski, a short, rotund Jewish man in his late sixties, looked up from his work. He had a female cadaver on the autopsy table and yelled out towards Fred. “Come on in I’m finishing up now.”
Fred walked in and saw the body of the woman that had been murdered at Dockweiler Beach lying on the stainless steel table. He saw the standard Y incision which was cut from each shoulder to the lower end of the sternum and then downwards in a straight line over the abdomen to the pubis area. The body cavity was empty and the internal organs were in separate stainless steel bowls where they had been weighed. Her liver was in one, her intestines in another, and the kidneys and heart in two additional stainless steel bowls.
Her brain was in another.
Had he not seen so many of these throughout the years, the gruesome sight might have made Fred queasy, but he had grown numb to seeing a body cut up as so many cattle are after they are slaughtered. Still, Fred was shocked by how beautiful the young girl was. Her skin was porcelain and she had a Cupid’s bow mouth. Her figure was stunning.
“So what was the cause of death?” Fred asked Hyman as he approached the table.
“Hyman adjusted his Ben Franklin readers and looked over them at Fred. “Why are you here, anyway? Aren’t you about ready to retire?”
“Yeah, Hyman, I am. But I was in on the initial investigation on this and wanted to do some follow-up work. I have a few more weeks. I want to keep my mind busy until I finally punch out.”
Hyman pulled his surgery mask down. His curly black and gray hair was dripping with sweat. His Yamaka was pinned to the top of his head.
“We’ve been through a lot Fred,” Hyman said.
“Yes, we have over the years. I’ve always enjoyed working with you. You remember when we captured the Night Stalker. It was partially a result of the good forensic work that you and your boys did here in the coroner’s office.”
“That was over 30 years ago. I’m surprised you still remember it.”
Fred quipped back, “I don’t have Alzheimer’s. I’ve got old-timers disease. I can remember the old day
s, but ask me where I ate lunch today and I wouldn’t have a clue.”
Both of them laughed. They were both in their 60s and knew exactly where each was coming from.
“So what was the cause of death?” Fred asked again.
“Very simple. It looks to me like whoever did this knew how to handle a knife. The first blow that was struck entered right below her windpipe and then the knife was pulled to the right abruptly. It severed the girl’s neck almost to the spinal column cutting her carotid artery in the process. The girl bled out in minutes. He probably came up to her from behind for more leverage.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, the perp had anger issues.”
“What you mean?”
“Look here on her chest. There are several postmortem stab wounds.” Jablonski pulled the sheet down past her pubic bone and pointed to a gaping one-inch in diameter hole, right above her vagina.
“These were all inflicted after she was dead. I don’t know why anyone would do such horrific acts to someone who was already dead. This was pure evil and hatred.”
“Did you get any DNA samples? She was raped, right?”
“Yes, she was raped, but the perp used a condom. We checked her fingernails, but there were no DNA samples. By the looks of the ligature marks on her wrists, the perp overpowered her, raped her and then killed her. After which, he mutilated the body. This is the third such victim we have seen in the last seven months. All were young. All were attractive. All were blonde. But they all had the same type of post-mortem stab wounds, including the one above the vagina. In each case, the modus-operandi was nearly identical. We have a serial killer here on our hands.”
“I haven’t seen anything in the press. How are you able to keep this quiet?” Fred asked.
“Headquarters wants to keep a lid on it to not panic the public. The murders are random. They’ve ranged from the beach area to West Covina, to Big Bear. A tri-agency task force is working it, but it’s all within police channels. They don’t have anything solid yet. All we have is the corpses and the similar ligature marks, similar neck slashing, and the same vaginal wounds.”
“My God in Heaven! This guy’s a monster!” Fred stared back at the body. The girl was so lovely.
“Such a waste!” Fred said. “I’ve seen enough here. I’m about ready to lose my breakfast.”
“I understand. To me, it’s like working in a butcher shop. The soul is gone. All these cadavers are pieces of meat to me. I’ve been doing this for 35 years. So I have a strong stomach. Nothing much bothers me anymore!”
Fred turned and left. “I’m headed over to forensics. I want to see what they processed from the crime scene. I want to see if they have any solid evidence that might lead us to this bastard.”
Hyman finished washing his hands and gave Fred a handshake. “Goodbye, my friend. I may not see you before your retirement ceremony. It’s been really good working with you over the years.”
“Yeah, Hyman, you have to come up to Bridgeport and see me. We could do some fishing and some drinking’.”
“I’d love to do that. Anything to get out of the city and have a little bit more of a normal life.”
Fred walked up to the second floor where the forensics lab was. His friend, Joe Carotola, a short little Italian man in his 60’s met him at the door.
“Good seeing you, old man!” Joe said escorting him in. “I got your call. We finished processing the crime scene, and we have a couple of things.
First, the perp was pretty thorough. No fibers of any sort. No DNA.
We got a smeared shoeprint in the entryway, but we have no way of knowing if it’s his or if someone else made it before we got there.”
“Anything else?” Fred asked.
“We did find a two-inch blade which was covered in the victim’s blood. It’s from a manufacturer that sells his products online. It’s called a Wild Boar Limited Edition Fire Texture Russian custom folding knife. It’s also known as the Bear Blue Moon Machete. It’s made in China by Masterknife. It has a titanium handle. The knife is eight inches overall length and has a 4-inch blade. We have 2 inches of the tip of the blade which we found lodged in a crack in the bathroom.”
“I know. I was the one who found it. Any chance we can determine who owns one of these in Los Angeles?”
“I gave the information to Detective Reddick. He’s contacting the vendor now. I would imagine, in a couple of days we might have a lead of who owns one of these knives in the local area. I also understand they sell them at high-end cutlery stores in malls, so that might help narrow the search.”
“Or widen it, depending on how good the shop’s sales records are,” Fred added.
“Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, it’s a start.”
“Thanks, Joe. If you get anything else, let me know.”
“I will, buddy. Enjoy your retirement. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, and I’m sorry about your wife.”
“Not a problem, amigo. I’m at peace. Thanks for helping. If you get any solid leads, keep me in the loop.”
“I will, buddy.”
Fred walked out still wondering how anyone could be so savage. Maybe the knife might give them a positive lead to go on.
Fred knew that he probably wouldn’t be around for the end, of the case, but he wanted to do what he could while he was still working. He needed to keep his mind busy until retirement. After that, he could leave all of it behind him.
Chapter 12
Stephanie picked up the phone and called her friend, Sharon. She wanted to brag about her new boat. She also wanted to tell her friend why they bought it.
“Hey, honey, what’s going on?” Stephanie asked. “I know we haven’t talked a lot in a while, but I have some exciting news to share. First, I wanted to tell you that I’m trying to get back together with my husband. You know I said we were fighting when we spoke about three weeks ago.”
Sharon interrupted. Stephanie had made it quite clear she and John were not only fighting but also coming close to ending their marriage. In that earlier conversation, she told her that a divorce was likely. Now the situation seemed to be quite different.
“You mean you’re getting back with that asshole you don’t even like? What about all the talk of divorce? So what’s going on? What can you tell me?”
“We decided to give our marriage one more try before calling it quits. I’m on the fence here, Sharon. Some days I love him. Other days I hate him. We haven’t been able to spend quality time with each other and we’ve grown apart over the past year. So, we decided we’d commit to trying to spend more time doing something we both have dreamed about.”
Then she blurted it out with no further explanation. “We bought a $400,000 Bavaria Yacht. We have it down in King Harbor in Redondo Beach. It’s either that we’re going to get back together or we’re not. It depends on how we get along sailing. We start lessons next week. The yacht is beautiful and if we don’t get back together immediately, in the meantime, I want a place I can run to so I can be away from him while we try to work out our differences. If we don’t make it and we divorce, I got him to agree to give me the yacht. Besides, it’s a place I can hang out and meet other younger men. You know what I mean?”
Now this was the Stephanie that Sharon knew. Stephanie had been adamant in her earlier calls. Things seemed to be falling into place. “I totally understand. So what else is going on with you and John?”
“Nothing. That’s the main problem. There is absolutely nothing going on in the bedroom. Our sex life is zero. I think he wants it that way or he is seeing someone else. I don’t know if he is or not. I only know that I need more. I’m frustrated as hell.”
“Continue.”
“I’m horny, Sharon. I need to be with somebody that can satisfy me and make me feel comfortable. John is not doing it for me anymore. I’ve tried. I’m giving him as much space as I can, but I can’t continue to function this way anymore. That’s why we decided to get the boat. I think that maybe it will
be a place I can go away from him for a while and maybe find some fulfillment. Even though our Malibu house is wonderful and I like all of the trappings of it, I don’t feel good about inviting a stranger over. It’s creepy. At least when we get the boat squared away, I’ll have a place to go.”
“So you’re talking about having an affair?”
“Not only am I talking about it, but I’m also seriously considering it. That’s the only reason I agreed to buy the sailboat in the first place with him. I need to get my life in order. I need to have somebody who loves me, trusts me, and who will adore me. I’m worth it Goddamit.”
“Everybody wants that, including me.”
“But you have your husband. You told me you were very satisfied the last time we spoke. Have things changed?”
“Not really but I wasn’t quite honest with you last time.”
“What do you mean, Sharon? What didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, we agreed to come clean. I mean total honesty with each other. We agreed that we would be together but only if we could be one hundred percent honest with each other. So I told him about…
Stephanie interrupted. “You didn’t tell him about your affair with your dentist did you?”
Sharon hesitated,”Uhh, huh.”
“What did he say?”
He didn’t say anything at first. He acted shocked, but inside I think he suspected something was going on. He can hide his emotions far better than most men can.”
“Go on,” Stephanie urged. This was exciting her. She had always thought Sharon and her husband, Brad, were the perfect couple, that is, until Sharon confided in her about the dentist. But that was two years ago.
“So what did he say?” Stephanie asked again.
“When he finally started talking, he told me not only did he have an affair with his ex-wife, Melinda, but that it was continuing to this day. That comment floored me. I had no idea. Here I was feeling guilty for a one-night stand I had and he’d been fucking his ex-wife for the past three years. Do you know how it made me feel?”
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