by Frank Zafiro
“Wonder what he wants down there?” she muttered.
My eyes shifted back to Grace, the prostitute I talked with a few days before. She wore tight blue jeans and a tighter pink sweater. We were standing in the doorway of a closed television repair shop.
“Who knows.” I said finally.
“By the way, what happened to your face?”
“I fell.”
“Looks like you had a fight with your pimp.”
I smiled, but kept my eyes focused on the activity a couple of blocks away. A long-hair stepped out of the Brotherhood’s clubhouse and wandered over to the cop. His head turned up and down the street, never focusing in on Grace or me.
“Who’s that?” I asked with a nod down the street.
“That’s Detective Tower.”
“No, the biker.”
“That’s Marco.”
Grace jumped up and down slightly to keep warm. “I’m on the clock now.”
“What?”
“If you’re gonna tie up my time answering questions, then you’re gonna have to pay for it.”
“Fine.”
I watched the cop’s interaction with Marco and he seemed totally disinterested. His arms were crossed and he sat on the fender of his unmarked patrol car.
“How did you know the cop’s name?”
Grace stopped her jumping. “What?”
“You called him Detective Tower. How did you know his name?”
Grace studied me before answering. “He came by a few days ago and chatted with me.”
“What was he after?”
“He was looking for the killer of a couple of girls. I think he was also looking for you.”
“What?”
“He asked about you, baby.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He asked if anyone else was looking into the girl’s murder.”
“What did you tell him?”
Grace shrugged. “Nothing.”
I grabbed her arm and squeezed. “What did you tell him?”
“Oh, baby that hurts,” she said playfully
I squeezed her arm harder.
Her face turned dark. “Nothin’. I swear, I told him nothin’.”
My eyes searched hers for the truth. Years of lying to men for a living made it impossible to prove she wasn’t playing it the same with me. I let go of her arm and turned my focus back to the street. Marco shrugged and walked back inside the clubhouse. Before the clubhouse door shut, another biker stepped out and walked over to the cop.
“Who’s that one?”
Grace squinted as she stared down the street. “Hooper.”
I nodded and kept watching.
Grace put her arm on my back and rubbed lightly. “Who are you lookin’ for, baby?”
“No one.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
“No.”
She dropped her hand from my back and stopped her cooing.
“We gonna stand here all day?”
“What do you care? You’re getting paid.”
“People are gonna start watchin’.”
I glanced around the neighborhood. The few people walking in the neighborhood were focused on the spectacle down the street, not us. “They’re watching the show, just like us.”
From inside my jacket, I pulled out a pack of Camels.
“Can I get one of those?”
I shook a cigarette free for Grace and one for myself. While I stuffed the pack away in my jacket, she waited patiently for me to light her up. I flicked my Zippo and she inhaled deep and hard on the cigarette.
I turned my attention back down the street. The cop still was seated on his fender with his arms crossed over his chest. He was obviously busting their chops for some reason.
Grace exhaled some smoke in my direction. “Where you from, honey?”
”Nowhere.”
Grace dropped her cigarette to the ground and smashed it with the high-heel of her red shoe.
From down the street, Hooper waved dismissively at the cop and walked inside the clubhouse. A few ticks of the clock later and another punk strutted out. The cop and he talked for a moment. Before I could ask Grace who the latest biker was, the cop stood up and the punk took a half step back. The cop’s body language was terrible. He looked like a novice poker player who’d just been dealt a straight flush.
“Who’s that?”
Grace’s hand slid up my triceps before she whispered. “That, baby, is Rowdy.”
My body went hard and my heart crashed against my chest.
“Don’t do nothin’ stupid, sugar.” Grace’s voice was soft in my ear and her fingernails dug into my arm. “I know that’s who you’re lookin’ for.”
I glared at her.
“That’s who he’s lookin’ for, too.”
“What?”
Grace pointed toward the show we were both watching. “That’s who the detective kept asking me about.”
Down the street, Tower shifted his weight repeatedly, like a boxer in slow motion. Rowdy’s head was on a swivel. He looked up and down the street constantly. In the short time he talked with Tower he’d already smoked four cigarettes.
“Did the cop say why he wanted to talk with Rowdy?”
“Just that he was lookin’ for him.”
Tower and Rowdy finished their conversation and Rowdy hurried back in side. The detective got into his car, flipped a U-Turn and headed back into downtown.
I reached into my pocket and grabbed my money clip. From it, I peeled off three twenties. “Thanks for the info, Grace.”
“Any time, sugar.”
I jogged back to the Club Tip Top, looking over my shoulder as I ran. I could barely see the front of the BSC clubhouse when I got to the bar. With my foot, I pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. From inside the club, a loud male voice yelled, “Shut the fucking door.”
I stayed where I was and watched the BSC clubhouse until Gina showed up. We stepped outside of the bar and watched the clubhouse together.
“Did you find who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, I did. I need you to get your car. Bring it around so you can watch the front of the clubhouse. Do it a block away so you can see who leaves.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes intently focused on mine.
“When a guy that looks like Howdy Doody comes out, I want you to follow him and tell me where he goes.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“No.”
“Then where will I find you?”
“Back at the Davenport.”
Gina touched my arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Wrap up a loose end.”
The little dancer eyed me suspiciously.
“Trust me.”
“This Howdy Doody guy, is he the one who killed Serena?”
“And my daughter.”
Gina nodded once in understanding and hurried away. A couple minutes later her Toyota turned onto Sprague from Napa and drove towards the clubhouse. When her car stopped, I started jogging eastward on Sprague.
“Dookie,” I yelled across the street.
The skinny black kid ran across the street.
“Remember me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Suck your dick?”
I shook my head at him. “Where’s Rolo?”
Dookie shrugged. His eyes weren’t focused and he swayed as he stood in front of me.
“Find Rolo, tell him to meet me at The Hole.”
“Why should I help you?”
I leaned over him. “Tell Rolo or when I find him I’ll tell how you wouldn’t help a friend of his.”
Dookie stepped back away from me and looked around. He eventually walked off to the north and I kept heading east towards The Hole.
Forty-minutes later, Rolo strolled in through the bar with Rhonda on one arm and his cane in the other. They walked over to my table and Rolo slid into the booth across from me while Rhonda dropped in next to me. Both of
them studied the damage to my face.
“What happened to you?” the big man asked.
“I fell.”
“Must have been some fall,” the pimp said.
I flashed my eyes to Rhonda and then back to Rolo. “This is business.”
The pimp jerked his head toward the bar and Rhonda slid out of the booth.
“What’s the scoop?”
“I need a favor.”
“Favor’s cost.”
“They always do.”
Rolo leaned back and crossed his arms. “You responsible for Sammy G. gettin’ deep-sixed.”
“You a cop?”
Rolo smacked the table and laughed. “What’s the favor?”
“Do you know anyone good with fire?”
Rolo scratched his chin with a massive hand. “I could find someone. Why?”
“I need a hotel room torched. Room 204 at the Palms.”
“204,” the big pimp repeated.
“The Palms.”
“I got it.”
“Do it from the outside. You don’t want anyone walking into the room. Got it?”
Rolo snapped his fingers a few times as he thought. “How big of a flame do you want?”
“Hot as hell and as big as a volcano.”
Rhonda strutted over with a drink for Rolo and put it down in front of him. “Can I come back?”
Rolo patted her ass. “Still talkin’ so start walkin’.”
Rhonda shrugged and walked away. Rolo leaned his massive frame across the table. “This thing you propose is going to cost you large.”
“I understand.”
Rolo’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips. “Ten thousand.”
All right.”
Rolo leaned back and crossed his arms. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
I pulled out a wad of cash from my wallet. “That’s five hundred. A down payment.”
“I ain’t no bank. You bring the cash before the job is done.”
“Schedule it for tonight. It needs to be done. I’ll be back with the rest of the cash.”
I slipped out of the booth and walked up to the bar. The bartender walked over to me and turned an ear in my direction.
“Call River City Taxi. Ask for Axel. Tell him to pick me up here.”
“Any music today, sir?”
We were headed westbound on the freeway toward downtown.
“No, thanks. Axel. I need a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to deliver a package.”
Axel checked me out in his rearview mirror. “I like you, sir. I do. But I don’t feel too comfortable with that idea.”
“Relax, Axel, it’s not anything illegal.”
Axel flicked his eyes up to the mirror and back to the road.
“I’m not sure.”
“Listen, here’s the deal. I need to go the Bank of America downtown. I’m going to make a withdrawal and I’m going to give it to you to take it back to The Hole. I’ll pay you to take it back.”
“How do you know you can trust me?”
“Axel, I know where you work. I know you’re a professional. And I’ll pay you enough so I can trust you.”
Axel nodded and took the Monroe Street off-ramp into downtown.
The digital clock showed 2:15 AM when there was a soft rap on the door. I got up from my chair with my Glock in hand and stepped quietly over to the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
I opened the door and let Gina in. When the door shut I snapped the throw-latch in to place.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Rowdy left pretty quick after you did and I ended up following him to a home in Hillyard.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me then?”
“Because as soon as he got off of his motorcycle he jumped into a white van and was off again.”
“You followed him?”
“He made a stop at a house over in West Central.”
“Where’s that?”
“Not too far from here. But it’s clean across town from where he left his bike.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me then?”
She dropped into the chair and crossed her legs. “The house he went into had so much traffic coming and out that I figured he was there to score some dope. I didn’t think he’d be there that long.”
“How long was he there?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
Gina shrugged. “I was afraid if he left I’d never know where he’d end up.”
“What did he do after he left the drug house?”
“He went down to Sprague again and cruised the streets, talking to some of the prostitutes.”
I pushed myself up on to my elbows. “Did he find anything?”
“A couple of the girls came up to him and chatted, but none of them got into his van. He only did that for a bit, then headed home. I waited there for an hour when all of the lights when out. That’s when I came here.”
“What address?”
“2814 East Asbury.”
I need your car.”
She handed me the keys without an argument, but gave me a disapproving look.
“What?”
Gina pointed at the keys. “Don’t wreck it.”
I found 2814 East Asbury using the directions Gina gave me. It was shortly after three in the morning and the white van was gone. The motorcycle was parked in the driveway.
I sat in the darkness of the neighborhood for an hour before finally giving up and heading back to the hotel.
Wednesday, April 21 st 1045 hrs Investigative Division
TOWER
I sat at my desk, feeling as helpless as I’d ever felt, tapping my pen and looking at the clock every few seconds. I glanced from the clock to the phone, willing it to ring. The Front Desk called whenever someone arrived for an appointment. I resisted the urge to wait for him out there. I had to keep things looking low-key.
Rowdy’s rap sheet was spread out in front of me on the desk. Taken in a vacuum, it wasn’t very impressive. But when I factored in what I thought he did to Fawn and Serena, things began to fall into place. He was a foster kid, which meant he got bounced around from house to house. You want to convince a kid no one loves him? Turn him into a human pinball at an early age and bounce him around the State’s foster program.
I glanced at the clock. About four seconds had passed.
According to his juvenile record, Rowdy’s first arrest was at eight. He set the neighbor’s mailbox on fire. Not particularly imaginative, but I suppose every young pyro thinks it is. Less than a year later, he was arrested for animal cruelty. The report said he tortured a kitten at a foster home. The foster parents kept the kitten and got rid of him.
In Washington State, a child is presumed incapable of committing a crime under the age of twelve. The burden rests with the State to show that the child knew the difference between right and wrong and consciously did something he knew to be wrong. In both of these early arrests, the officer would have had to meet that standard and apparently, he did.
There was another animal cruelty pop when he was fifteen. He chopped off a dog’s leg with an axe and watched as the poor thing howled and ran in circles until it bled to death.
After that came the standard mess of petty thefts, minor assaults and a couple of burglaries. He only had one sexual assault entry, a rape that was investigated but not charged. It ended being a case of he said/she said. As I read the report, I could see where the evidence didn’t stack up and it was a case of 6–5 or pick ‘em.
I looked up. The clock had moved ahead marginally. I glanced at my watch, as if it would tell a different tale. It didn’t. And my phone sat mute.
His last arrest was for possession of marijuana seven months ago. Even though it was only a misdemeanor, he did almost six months on that conviction, a result of his time for the drug arrest and serving some time that had
been deferred on an earlier suspended sentence. He got out earlier this year, in March.
Fawn was killed in early April. And then Serena, two weeks later.
I shuffled through my paperwork, looking for the reports Renee had printed off for me. I found them underneath Lindsay’s notes on his fruitless search for Virgil Kelley. Laying the rape reports next to each other, I took out my pen and began making a timeline. The murder of Serena Gonzalez was the first thing I jotted down, along with the date. Then I worked backwards. Two weeks prior to that, Fawn Taylor. Seventeen days before that, Rowdy was released from jail.
I checked the dates on the rape reports regarding Beverly Stubbs and Eva Patterson. Beverly Stubbs was raped five weeks before Rowdy went to jail for his marijuana arrest. Seven weeks before that, Eva Patterson was raped. In both cases, the suspect choked them during the act. Neither girl had ever seen the guy before and neither one gave a great description. Reading what little they could describe, it fit Rowdy. And about twenty thousand other guys in River City. But Beverly Stubbs remembered seeing a tattoo peeking out from his sleeve when the suspect was choking her. The letter ‘C’ on his right arm.
BSC. Brotherhood of the Southern Cross. Rowdy had those three letters tattooed on his right forearm.
Eva Patterson refused the rape kit, but Beverly Stubbs was examined at the hospital. I read the results briefly. There wasn’t any forensic evidence found, only signs of sexual trauma.
Rowdy had learned. He used a condom.
I looked at my watch. Eleven o’clock.
I knew in my gut that Rowdy was my guy. He raped Eva Patterson, then Beverly Stubbs. He liked it. Then he got popped for marijuana possession and spent six months at the County Jail, brooding. As soon as he got out, he started looking for his next girl. He found Fawn. Did he mean to kill her? I wasn’t sure, but I imagined that he got closer each time and for him, the third time was the charm. He killed Fawn. And he liked it. He liked it so much, he killed Serena Gonzalez two weeks later.
Eleven-oh-two.
I didn’t have anything on Rowdy that would hold up in court. Even if I arrested him now, he’d get out at first appearance on insufficient probable cause.
I had to get his DNA and hope the FBI lab was worth a damn on those hairs Cameron sent them.
Even that wouldn’t be enough. I needed a confession. I needed a search warrant for his house, where I hoped to God he still had some mementos from Fawn and Serena.