by Perry Prete
Without saying a word, Simone disappeared into the kitchen and returned with plates and cutlery. She cut the small cake into six equal pieces, placed one piece on a plate and handed it to Paul, "For the birthday boy." She scooped up the second piece and gave it to Nicole, "For the sucker who fell for the gag, and one for me." Simone was transferring the third piece to the plate when it slipped from the knife and landed on the living room table. "Oops," she laughed, picked the piece of cake up and placed it back in the foil container. "Sorry about that birthday boy, you can give that piece to Ken when you take the rest of the cake back to the station." Simone noticed the swirls on the top of the cake didn't match so she took the knife and blended the chocolate icing in a vain attempt to make it appear as if the mismatched piece belonged.
Paul stared at the cake as Simone continued to play with the cake. He placed his plate down on the table and couldn't take his eyes from what Simone was doing.
Nicole looked at Paul, said something that Paul didn't hear or ignored. Simone noticed Paul's odd behavior, stopped what she was doing and put the knife down, "Sorry. Do you not like people playing with their food?"
Paul stare didn't leave the top of the cake. He picked up the knife Simone was using and started to duplicate the motions she was doing to make the icing swirls match. "Gotta go." He picked up the foil container of cake and ran from the house without saying another word.
As Paul raced out, Simone looked at Nicole, "Girl, you have one fucking weird boyfriend."
*****
Several hours later, Carl and Sophie had only interviewed five of the tenants when they stood at the second to last unit on the third floor. Carl was quickly losing interest in the process while Sophie appeared to enjoy the break from her routine.
Sophie knocked at the door, waited a few moments and rapped on the door once again.
"You know the person who lives here?" Carl asked.
"I hardly know any of the tenants. It's..." Sophie was cut off. "my husband's building. I know, I know." Carl said teasingly.
Shuffling could be heard coming from behind the door as the homeowner made his way to the apartment entrance. It took a minute or so before the door creaked open slightly, an eye peered from between the frame and the door. A security chain was pulled taunt and pressed against the man's cheek. He glanced at them, casting an inquisitive look to Carl and Sophie. Carl studied the eye between the crack; his long grey unkempt eyebrow hair grew wildly in all directions, deep crows' feet drew out of the corner of the eye, an eye that appeared to have seen more than a life full of events. "What can I do for you?" The old man's voice was young sounding and musical. The old man refused to open the door any further. Neither Carl or Sophie answered the old man's question.
"Well?" He asked again.
Carl posted a fake smile then pulled out his press ID and held it before the eye behind the door for only a moment then pocketed it as he had done so often. Both Sophie and Carl waited while the man behind the door made the decision to close the door, release the chain and invite them in.
The old man shuffled from the hall to the living room, grabbed hold of the recliner arm for balance, turned and fell into the chair. He motioned for them to take a seat. Carl looked at the room with the zeal of a reporter, Sophie, the eye of a landlord. He looked at the furniture, the lack of clutter; she studied the apartment for damage.
Carl took a seat directly across from the old man, Sophie chose to stand. Carl and the old man stared at each other for a few moments before they both began to speak at almost the same time. Carl stopped abruptly; the old man continued to speak as if nothing had happened.
"...been at least eighteen years since I've been living here. The Mrs. passed away, must be at least fifteen years ago now. The ungrateful kids never stop by anymore, not going to be leaving them any money. If I can't see my grandkids, I'm not gonna leave my children anything. Bastards."
Inside, Carl was laughing at the old man that reminded him of his grandfather, "I couldn't agree more. Now, Mr., er?"
The old man, studied Carl, looking him up and down, "Chermak."
Carl continued, "Mr. Chermak. I'm here to find out if you had seen anything a few months back, before Christmas, a girl was abducted. Do you remember anything about that Mr. Chermak?"
"I'm not a senile man you young snot. I'm old, not stupid."
Carl leaned back in his chair, laughing, "You're right Mr. Chermak. My poor choice of words."
"I'd say. You're not much of a reporter are you."
"I'm new."
"And poor. Look at that suit. I've got newer suits in my closet. You get that at a thrift store or some garage sale?" Mr. Chermak pointed a thick finger at Carl and waved it up and down.
"To be honest, I got it at a thrift store. It reminded me of one my grandfather used to wear. It may very well be his old suit." Carl grabbed his jacket lapel and looked at it, "I think it might be at that."
Mr. Chermak laughed, "Honest and funny. I like you." He turned his attention to Sophie, "Her, she's too quiet, I don't trust quiet people." He pulled himself to the edge of the chair and leaned in close to Carl, "You and her?"
Carl broke into another laugh, "No sir, she has a husband. And besides, we just met today."
"Don't make no matter if she has a husband. If she likes ya, that's all that counts." Mr. Chermak pushed himself back into his chair, "Besides, she's too skinny. I like my women with a little," he put his hand in the air and partially opened and closed his fingers, "you know, meat on them bones."
Sophie interjected, "Mr. Chermak, I'm right here. And just so you know, I agree, I like my men with a little, you know, too. And I don't have a husband; I have an ex-husband. I work for him."
Mr. Chermak winked at Carl, "There you go, young man."
Carl smiled again, thinking this was another waste of time. As he was about to get up and leave, Mr. Chermak's expression changed, "Shame what happened to that girl isn't it." Carl relaxed back into his chair.
"Tell me about it." Carl pulled out his phone and started the recording app and placed it on the table before Mr. Chermak.
"I remember the day. I was watching TV, Price is Right, still like the old host better than the new guy. He tries too hard to be funny. Anyway, I got up to take a pee, just happened to look out the window and I see this guy push this girl into the roof of the car. Her head bounced off that roof like a basketball off the backboard. I wasn't sure what happened, so I keep looking. The guy just picks her up and tosses her in the back seat and drives off."
"Did you tell the police about this?"
"No, why should I? I thought it was some lovers fight. At the time, I didn't believe it was what it turned out to be. I didn't know the girl was kidnapped until I read it in the paper when I got back."
"Back? Back from where?" Sophie interest peaked, and she pulled up a seat and sat beside Carl.
"Right after I took a pee and finished watching the Price is Right, I had to go to the hospital and have my prostrate removed."
"Prostate," Carl corrected the old man.
"Whatever. Anyway, this skinny guy had some strength, he just picked her up and tossed her into the back seat like she was nothing."
"How long were you in the hospital?" Sophie asked.
"Must be a week or more. I got a nasty infection, had to stay in isolation with a tube in my arm the whole time. They kept taking blood until they said the infection was gone."
Carl turned to Sophie, "That explains why the police never spoke to Mr. Chermak. He wasn't home when they came by to talk to the tenants in the building." He turned his attention back to the old man, "Did you see anything else?"
"When the guy tossed the girl into the car, he stopped for a second, then like he knew I was looking at him, he turned and looked right at me. He was scary. Skinny face, weird eyes. He just didn't look at me; he looked into me."
"Skinny, weird eyes, how weird? You saw that from here?"
"Even from here, you could see them, dark, evil e
yes." Mr. Chermak shivered slightly.
Carl reached out and touched Mr. Chermak hand as it rested on the arm of the chair, "Think back Mr. Chermak, close your eyes, look at the man in the parking lot, did you see anything else?"
Mr. Chermak closed his eyes tightly; his bushy eyebrows moved like white caterpillars along his forehead, let his mind go back to that day, "Skinny white man, eyes that could burn the crucifix. He wasn't tall, wasn't short either, average, but skinny. Nothing. Sorry." He turned his head like he was attempting to see things from a different angle then opened his eyes, "Did that help?"
"It did. Thank you, Mr. Chermak." Carl and Sophie stood. "Is there anything I can get you before we leave?"
Mr. Chermak chuckled, "Yeah, a new set of legs so I can walk more than a few feet without pain, and a girlfriend." He laughed loudly at himself, "Nothing. I'm good."
Sophie stood over the old man, "Can't help you with the new legs sir but if I could recommend that the next time you see something like what happened to the girl, you call the cops. You don't have to give your name."
As Carl and Sophie made their way to the apartment door, Mr. Chermak yelled out, "Did that skinny man kill the girl?"
Without turning around, Carl yelled back, "He did."
"It's my fault isn't it, you know, for not calling the cops when I saw him take her."
Carl sighed deeply, fearing he made the old man feel guilty, "No sir, you aren't responsible. Skinny man is the one who killed her."
"You gonna catch him?" "Count on it."
Sophie closed the door as the two of them entered the hall. She stood at the door as Carl was making his way to the elevator. "You want to hit up a few more apartments? I've got more time to spare."
Carl pressed the down button, turned, and walked back to where Sophie stood. He pulled a business card from his suit jacket and presented it to her. She took it and pocketed it without looking at it. "I have to get back. I appreciate your help. I couldn't have done it without you. If you hear of anything around the building, call. That's my cell number." He went back to the elevator door, looked up at the display and realized the lift hadn't moved yet and decided to take the stairs.
*****
Paul walked into the coroners' suite, placed the foil container with what was left of the cake on the stainless-steel table and called out for Maura. He walked to the back office, peered in and saw only an empty chair. He went back to the hall, looked right then left, no one in sight. Turning around, Paul saw Maura standing over the cake, running her finger along the edge of the foil, scooping up icing, then licking her finger.
"Where the Hell did you come from?"
With her finger still in her mouth, Maura turned her head to the bathroom. She licked her finger clean and was about to go in for another swipe of icing when Paul pulled the cake away from her and slid it further down the table.
"Hey. I washed my hands after I used the loo."
"Teaching tool." Paul pulled up a silver stool and offered one to Maura.
"I have some questions. Sorta fill in the blanks if you will."
Maura looked at the finger she ran through the icing, seeing that some remained, she stuck her finger in her mouth to get whatever frosting remained. "Whaddya got?"
Paul spun slightly on the stool, "You said something the other day, something about the Young Frankenstein movie."
Maura squinted, cast Paul a puzzled look, "You bring me cake and ask about Young Frankenstein. You wanna come over tonight and watch it? I have it on Blu-ray."
"No. Tell me about the Frankenstein story."
"What does the cake have to do with Frankenstein?"
Frustrated, Paul pulled the foil container close to him, pulled a pen from his suit jacket and point it at Maura, "This is a bit far-fetched but stay with me." He took in a deep breath, "I haven't exactly thought this through myself, but I have a theory, it's out there, like way, way, out there." Paul symbolically pulled his brain from his skull and threw it high in the air.
He settled down and continued with the story, "Girls are going missing, two so far, a third dead, parts are missing. We have one arm from one girl, a torso from another and we might have more girls missing from other jurisdictions, but that's all we have right now."
Maura was eyeing the cake, "Tell me something I don't know. We gonna eat that cake or not?"
"Not. I need it to make a point."
Paul paused for a moment to organize his thoughts, "OK, so, arms, legs, heads, go missing from different girls, right? What if we have a Frankenstein?" "Well, technically, Frankenstein was the doctor, the monster was called "IT" or Frankenstein's monster. Remember I told you all this?"
"Maura, you're missing the point." Paul placed the cake between them, "My friend was serving cake, dropped a piece and put it back in the container."
"Which piece? Is it still clean?"
"Stop fucking with me. Concentrate Maura." Paul was quickly losing patience, "She put the piece back in the container in the wrong spot. The little swirls in the icing didn't match up, so she tried to make it match by taking the knife and blending the icing." He pointed to the area with the blended icing.
Paul looked up and saw the Maura was now caught up in what he had to say. "We know the piece of cake went someplace else, but she tried to make the cake look complete. Now, I'm just saying, what if the body parts are coming back because they don't match. What if the unsub is trying to make a whole cake. You know, building his own Frankenstein's monster?"
Maura stood up, "Holy fuck." She reached down, ran her finger through the icing and licked her finger clean. "The sicko is blending the body parts to make a new girl. Swirling the icing to make it look like one big piece of cake. Holy fuck." She ran her finger through the icing again, "This guy is building his own monster. But why?"
Paul looked at Maura, "The perfect girl. All the best parts. That's my guess. The best legs, the best arms, the best hands, the best of everything or shit, I just thought, what if he was dumped, and he has a particular plan in mind, a specific girl and he wants a real-life version." Paul caught himself, "Well, dead version."
"Maybe he has a plan, a vision of what the perfect woman is. And that could be a dead girl. Maybe he wants her that way. Maybe he has a thing for dead people; they don't talk back, argue, they do have a certain benefit over the living."
Paul chuckled, "I'm not a psychologist, but the guy could just be fucking nuts."
Maura grabbed a chunk of cake with her hand and started to nibble on the edge.
"Really? We're talking about building a person from different body parts, and you're eating."
Maura took another bite, "I missed lunch."
Paul composed himself, "Am I way off base, is this even possible?
Sewing someone together?"
Maura finished the piece of cake, "Of course, with the dead it's easy. Line up the parts and sew them together. Did you know the Nazis used to do that to live patients in the concentration camps? They would experiment on twins, cut off their legs or arms and switch them and see if they rejected the body parts. They didn't live long thank God, but it did lead to a lot of what we know today about rejection. The Nazi doctors butchered the patients, but essentially, it's the same process and much easier with a dead person. Anyone with basic anatomy could do it."
"Cutting the limbs off, making sure you don't hack the bones, you want the skin to match and the bones to fit into the joints right, that would take some skill wouldn't it?"
"If you want the suture lines to look good and the arms and legs to articulate, you bet that would take some skill."
Paul looked around, he pointed at the freezers, "Those things, the freezers, he would need a freezer, I mean, the body would start to decompose quickly, get pretty ripe. He would need a freezer, wouldn't he?"
Maura nodded, "Of course. And if it were a chest freezer, it would have to be long enough. No wait that wouldn't work unless he had a winch. It would be next to impossible to lift a frozen body out of a freez
er by yourself unless you were really fucking strong. Even then, it would be difficult. My guess, a drawer like what we have here. That way you could pull out the body and work on it. Or..."
Paul waited for Maura to continue. She was thinking, not saying a word. "A walk-in freezer. She would be on a table, like my table or a wooden table or you could use a freaking dining room table. He could walk all around her, do whatever he had to do and not have to lift her or pull her out. He wants to admire her. See what he created. Yup, that's my guess."
*****
Sam pushed his cart between the rows of desks. He heard the familiar sound of a typewriter further down the aisle and saw a single light illuminating the desk. As he cleaned each workstation, wiping down the desk and emptying the paper into the recycling blue bin, he looked over each partition and to check on Carl. The typewriter kept clacking away as Sam worked his way closer. With each strike of the keys on the platen, the sound brought him back to the day when he was still the publisher of the paper. A few feet from Carl's desk, he stopped, the unique sound had a cathartic effect on the janitor as he closed his eyes and remembered what it was like forty years earlier when he was younger.
Sam released himself from the trance, poked his head around the partition. Carl looked up, took in a deep breath and pushed his chair back, "Take a seat, Sam." Carl turned around, used his foot to hook the chair in the cubicle behind him and pushed it towards him. He grabbed the chair, spun it around and took a seat.
"That was some article today." Sam reached into his trolley and pulled out the edition released earlier in the day, unfolded the paper to the article and placed it before Carl.
Carl pushed the paper to the edge of the desk, "I had to tell the story."
"Your job young man, whether you like it or not, is to write the story. It's your publisher's job to decide if it deserves to be told. Can you prove what you wrote?"
Carl snatched the paper, unfolded it to his article, scanned it, then read aloud, "...the physical similarities between the deceased body parts are surely not coincidental. The ages of all three victims are under the age of twenty-five. If placed side by side, it would be difficult to identify one victim's body part from another.