Dahmer's Not Dead

by Edward Lee

  It was night now—early evening. Winter bled the days quickly, like a vampire.

  At a traffic light, she dialed Central Commo. “This is Helen Closs, Captain, Violent Crimes Unit. Get me the shift dispatcher.”

  “Captain Closs. I’m Sergeant McGinnis, Central Commo Watch Captain tonight.”

  “Sergeant, several days ago I—”

  “Activated a one-way DF transponder, yes ma’am. We’ve been all over it here like stink on—- Like white on rice.”

  “I need to know—”

  Again, McGinnis interrupted. “Your search orders, ma’am, were for notification via a repeated-point-grid.”

  “Gimme a break, Sergeant!”

  “What I mean, Captain, is your orders indicated a notification call only if the subject’s vehicle traveled to the same location twice.”

  Helen’s spirit’s lowered. “So I guess that hasn’t happened, huh?”

  “No, ma’am, it hasn’t. If it had, we would’ve contacted you ASAP, as per your orders. We follow orders here at Central Commo.”

  “I’m sure you do, Sergeant.” Suddenly she wanted a cigarette, an impulse dead for over a year. And a drink wouldn’t be bad now either. I’ll be a bar hound like Nick.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am? I’ve got six duty personnel sitting here right now, and a couple million dollars’ worth of transmission equipment. We’re ready to roll on your command. Any previous grid-points you want, I’ll feed them to you right down to the sub-plats, the addresses—shit, Captain, with my DF board I can tell you which lane the guy’s in. I’ll tell you which side of the street he parks on, I’ll tell you when he changes lanes. If he stops at Dunkin’ Donuts to buy a French Twist, I’ll be able to tell you that, ’cos the guy’s on my board, and my board never makes mistakes.”

  Helen almost laughed at the man’s sense of duty. “I appreciate your endeavors, Sergeant, but I need to talk to the owner of the subject vehicle right now. I have his address, I guess I’ll just drive there and see if he’s in.”

  “But that’s what I mean, Captain,” McGinnis sounded off. “The owner of the subject vehicle is not at the logged address-plat. He’s on the road right now. He’s moving.”

  “He’s in his car now, you mean?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I sitting here watching the blip move as we speak.”

  “Can you…” Helen paused. She wasn’t sure of the DF crew’s capabilities. She’d never had to use it very thoroughly before. “I’m on the road now, too, Sergeant. Is it possible for you to point me in the right direction of the DF subject’s vehicle?”

  McGinnis laughed over the line. “Captain Closs, if you’ve got a lead foot, I can drive you right up his back bumper.”

  “Okay, Sergeant. Do that. Right now I’m on DeMonter Boulevard. Where’s he?”

  “Rowe Boulevard, heading—”

  Shit! “I’m half a block from the Rowe turnoff. Which way do I turn?”

  “North, ma’am.”

  North, she thought. It was an evening of amalgams. The Great Bear of the north. North on Rowe Boulevard. All the while, chasing down a man named North.

  “I’m there, Sergeant, heading north.” It was difficult to drive with the car phone crimped under her chin. “What’s he doing now?”

  “Heading north, still north, ma’am. Just follow my lead and I’ll have you pulling up right behind him.”

  Seconds ticked by. She thought she might’ve lost the connection. “Sergeant, you still there?”

  “I’m still here, ma’am, and… He’s turning. He’s turning left on…””

  “On what, Sergeant!”

  “He just turned left on Chambers, ma’am. Take a left on Chambers. And…keep your eyes open for his vehicle, because he just parked.”

  “Good job, Sergeant. Thank you for your expertise. I can take it from here,” she said, turning left on Chambers herself.

  “Call me back if you need a pinpoint, a plat-grid. I’ll probably be able to give you the exact address.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her chin crimping the phone to the point of ludicrousness. “I know his make and model. I’ll be able to see it on the street.”

  Helen hung up, a kink in her neck. Chambers Road. Wait a minute, she thought. Chambers Road intersected Taylor Avenue, and Taylor Avenue was where—

  That’s where…Tom lives.

  It was too coincidental, wasn’t it? There was no way. Nevertheless, she sped down Chambers until she saw North’s Gold Dodge Colt. Parked precisely at the corner.

  The corner of Taylor.

  I do not believe this!

  Helen pulled up and parked directly behind the Colt. Then she got out and walked to the corner. A hundred feet away was the entrance to Tom’s condo building.

  No, no, no, she thought in grueling slowness as her heels ticked down the sidewalk. Just last week she’d seen Tom kissing a male lover on the steps of the entrance. And now—

  Helen stopped stock-still.

  A scene repeated in part. There he was, Tom, standing at the entrance, with Matthew North.

  Helen viewed the entrance as if through gauze. No, Tom and North weren’t kissing. They were conversing, Tom with his hands in his pockets, North standing with a hip cocked, listening.

  “Hey!” she shouted. Her frozen breath gusted outward.

  Tom turned, a flabbergasted look on his face. North’s face, however, looked like the face of a kid caught shop-lifting.

  Tom: “Helen, what are you—”

  North stalked off. Under his breath, he muttered “Shit.”

  “Shit is right, buddy!” Helen close to screeched. “And that’s what you’ll be in a world of if you don’t stop right there!”

  North had tracked halfway across the front lot before he frowned, stopped, and turned. “What?” he asked, splaying his hands.

  “What?” Helen was incredulous. “I just got the DA to drop charges on you, and this is how you repay me?”

  North jerked his head, shot back a lock of dark hair. “Look, lady, I gotta eat, ya know? It’s a tough world, and, yeah, I got found another service to work for. But it’s just until I can get a legit job, I swear.”

  Helen wanted to grab his jacket collar and shake him. “I could care less what you do for money, but you tell me this, Mr. North. What’s a male prostitute doing at the home of the Deputy Medical Examiner for the State of Wisconsin?”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” North claimed, not too convincingly. “It was a bum call or something, or a wrong address.”

  “Bullshit!” Helen simmered as she glared at him. Arresting him would be weak in court—she couldn’t swear under oath that she’d heard a proposition—and she didn’t have time to take him to Headquarters. Grilling Tom was more important.

  “Listen to me,” she asserted, pointing into his face. “You’re going straight back to your apartment, and later on I’m coming by and we’re going to have a long talk. And you better be there, Mr. North, because if you’re not I’m going to have a statewide dragnet out on you, and you think I’m bluffing… Try me!”

  “I’ll be there, I’ll be there,” North sluffed, then slouched for his car.

  Helen’s fists clenched till her fingernails were nearly cutting her palms. She trod back toward the apartment steps, where Tom stared at her.

  “Helen, what in God’s name—”

  “You got a lot of gall, Tom,” she spat. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”

  “What? That guy? I never saw him before in my life. We were just…chatting.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you were chatting about?”

  Tom brushed his hair back. “Jeeze, this does look bad doesn’t it? All right, look, the guy rang my buzzer, so I answered the door. Said he was from some ‘service.’ I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and, honestly, Helen, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Honestly?” Helen huffed. “That’s great coming fr
om a guy who lied to me, who cheated on me for over a year!”

  Tom glanced down at the pavement. “We’ve already been through all that, Helen. And like I said, that guy—”

  “Why are you sweating, Tom?” she cut in. “It’s cold out here, but you’re sweating. Is there something you’re nervous about?”

  Tom hesitated, scratched his nose. “I’m on duty tonight; I just got out of the shower, and my hair’s still wet.”

  “Uh-huh. Bad job lying, Tom. You better tell me everything right now, otherwise it’ll be a lot worst later.”

  Tom shook his head. “Helen, this is getting out of—”

  “Jesus Christ!” She couldn’t believe his stupidity, either that or his stubbornness. “Don’t you know that you’re under investigation for conspiracy and accessory to murder, and maybe a hell of a lot more!”

  Tom’s facial reaction shrunk. “This is uncalled for, Helen, and you know it. This is a disgrace. Like a lot of prejudiced people, you can’t handle the fact that I’m bisexual. You’re just like Limbaugh and Gingrich and all these other radicals who want too dissolve the constitutional rights of people who are different. I’m under investigation for accessory murder? Why? Because I’ve had gay affairs? This is the end of the line, Helen.” Tom turned briskly, walked for the front door. “If you harass me one more time, I’m going to sue you.”

  The apartment’s entry door, then, slammed so hard in her face that the glass panes popped out and shattered.

  ««—»»

  So you’re going to sue me, huh?

  Well, maybe he would. But Helen thought it only fitting that she give him more fuel for the cause.

  She knew she was washed up. With all this publicity, and the case going to hell in a handbasket? Even her own boss had no more faith in her. I’ll never make deputy chief, she realized, unless I solve this case. She stared hard at the inside of her windshield. And even if I do, I don’t give a damn.

  For a woman whose ideals were more soundly rooted in ethics than anyone she knew, she figured it was time for a little of the reverse. Tom, she thought. If you think I’ve violated your constitutional rights, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

  She had to know, she had to know for sure, and there was no legal way to do what she knew she needed to do.

  Tom had said he had duty tonight. All she had to do was wait.

  And it wasn’t a long one. Less than an hour after their blowup out front, Tom trudged down the steps and out the entrance door. Stomped to his car. Drove off.

  Helen stared at dark bushes and nightscape for ten more minutes, then she got out.

  She still had her keys—her key to the front door and her key to Tom’s apartment.

  She could get fired for what she was about to do, and she knew it. She could be criminally charged and prosecuted. Unlawful entry. Burglary. A search without a warrant.

  To hell with it, she thought.

  She walked in and up the stairs like she owned the place, opened Tom’s apartment door without a pause. Cool darkness greeted her. She closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt.

  She didn’t even bother putting on gloves when she commenced. First she checked the bedroom, the dressers, the nightstand, then the bathroom, the little den. Was she really looking for more evidence of men in his life? Why should I care now? she asked herself. All I’m looking for is evidence. My former personal life doesn’t mean anything here anymore.

  Then she checked the kitchen, the dining room, every cabinet and closet.

  Nothing.

  And then she checked—

  Her stare froze when she gingerly rooted through the metal drawers of his computer desk. Buried beneath file folders was a video tape—Room for Two, it was titled. The glossy cover bragged: Starring Jeff Starker, Miles, Long, and Matt North!And there he was, grinning in a sailors outfit right there on the cover. Matthew North.

  But was this enough?

  She didn’t really know, but it didn’t really matter, because next she checked the storage box for his computer floppy disks. At the very back, hidden under a stack of angled 3M disks, was this.

  A vial. A tiny glass vial

  She held the vial up to the light to read its label.

  SCHILLER INC. U.S. PATENT #4,315,926/EXP. 3/97

  0.4 MGS, IM OR ORAL, KEEP AWAY FROM HEAT AND DIRECT SUNLIGHT

  CAUTION: HIGHLY TOXIC

  SUCCINICHOLINE SULPHATE

  — | — | —

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Helen drove in a daze, to the nearest QWIK-STOP. On the news rack, three different pictures of Dahmer’s face peered at her from three different tabloids. Mindless, Helen didn’t even bother reading the headlines. Instead, she bought a pack of Virginia Slims Menthol, lit one, and inhaled deep. The coughing fit which followed she almost welcomed. Three or four more inhalations and it was as though she’d never quit.

  She sat in the car, in gritty sodium light, and let her mind try to assimilate.

  Olsher was right. She was right. But what probable cause did she have to garner a search warrant to find what she already knew was there?

  None, she realized.

  She lit another cigarette, contemplated walking two storefronts down to the liquor store and buying a half-pint of Dewar’s or Johnny Black, something with some bite.

  Forget it, she told herself. You have to be sober tonight. You can’t interview North with booze on your breath.

  She’d just have to think, she’d just have to come up with something that might wash with the magistrate. She’d wiped the vial off with tissues; hence her own fingerprints wouldn’t be on it, but then neither would Tom’s now. He could say she’d planted it…

  Go to North’s, she instructed herself. Talk to North, wring him out for what’s going on, then think of some way to get a warrant later.

  It was all she could do. She didn’t even feel like herself right now—she felt like someone else, some stranger trying to come to grips with a truth she didn’t want to believe. Busting Tom would lead her to Campbell, and Campbell would lead her to Dahmer.

  North first. One step at a time. North is sweating jailtime. He’ll sing like a canary. He’ll sell out his own mother to keep from going to prison…

  Two cigarettes later, she parked in front of North’s apartment, behind the gold Dodge Colt. Down the street, taillights diminished. A car turned the corner at the stop light—a white Ford Crown Victoria.

  Her thoughts squeezed out like putty from a caulker. Tom drives a white Crown Vic…

  She tapped out the hospital’s number on her car phone. “Pathology Unit please,” she asked. A few second’s wait, then she asked, “I’d like to speak to Mr. Tom Drake.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” an adolescent-voiced receptionist told her. “He hasn’t reported for duty yet. In fact…he’s over an hour late.”

  Helen rang off. Impulse urged her to draw her Beretta. Her high-heeled feet jacked her up the apartment steps two at a time. North’s door was locked, but she didn’t even bother to knock on it. She turned her face away, squinting, and fired one round at a downward angle against the doorknob, like they’d taught her in tac class.

  The door bumped open.

  Helen didn’t even have to go in and turn on the lights to see what she already suspected.

  Matthew North’s body lay in the tiny foyer, in the dark. A dark pool—almost black—formed a corona about his head. Even the tiny hole was obvious in the ill light: a small caliber bullet hole high right on the forehead. An empty, twenty-ounce plastic soda bottle lay against the baseboard, half collapsed from a sudden influx of heat, and cloudy-gray with gunsmoke.

  ««—»»

  “Since when do you smoke cigarettes?” Olsher asked.

  “Since tonight,” she replied on his front porch.

  “You want a cigar? They’re better anyway.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  Olsher glared at her. This was the second time in her career she’d wakened him at his hom
e. He stood, rigid with annoyance, in his robe and slippers.

  “I’m in trouble,” she said.

  “Come on in.”

  She followed him to the living room: plush, cozy.

  “You’ve been pretty disappointed with me lately, haven’t you?” she asked once she sat down on the couch.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You want to know why? Because you’re flushing your career down the toilet.”

  “Well, consider this the final flush,” she said and dragged deep on her cigarette. “Tonight I unlawfully entered Tom Drake’s apartment—”

  “What! How? With lock picks?”

  “No, Chief. I still had his apartment keys from when we—when we were involved. And I found a vial of succinicholine sulphate.”

  “What!” Olsher’s bellow may have actually rocked the paintings on the wall.

  “That’s not all. I went to North’s apartment right afterward. I found North dead inside, shot in the head with a makeshift silencer. But just before I went in, I saw Tom’s car leaving the scene.”

  “Goddamn it, Helen! We can’t do shit on that. Anything in Tom’s apartment is inadmissible now! Even if we do an n/a/a on his hand and prove he fired the gun, it’s still inadmissible!”

  “I know that,” Helen said, looking down at the nice, beige carpet. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know.” She rummaged clumsily in her purse. “Here’s my badge and gun. I’ll turn myself into the DA’s office in the morning, take my chances.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.”

  “Come on, Larrel, I broke the law and I’m a cop. I walked all over people’s rights. It’s the only ethical thing to do.”

  “Fuck ethics!” Olsher profaned. “Is Dahmer ethical when he kills people?”

  “That’s beside the point, I guess.”

  “You’ll keep your mouth shut about this, about everything you’ve done and seen tonight. We’ll work it out.” Olsher sat down, wearily rubbed his tired face. “Did you report North’s murder yet?”

  “No, I was just about to do—”

  “Well, don’t. They’ll find him eventually. Just…” Olsher’s gaze rose. He looked disgusted. “Just keep your mouth shut and get out of here. I’ll do anything I can to cover for your dumb ass.”