Matt scratched his chin, staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Yes, now that you mention it, Shelly. Course, getting her out of that dungeon you call a morgue and onto the beach for some sun helps.”
Sam jumped up to reply, but was interrupted by the buzzing of the phone. Shelly chuckled and whispered “Saved by the bell” to Matt as she reached over to pick up the phone.
“Dr. Scott.” She listened for a moment. “Just a minute, Shooter. Shelly and Matt are here with me now, do you mind if I put you on the speaker?”
She pushed a button, and Shooter’s voice came out of the speaker. “Hi, Shelly, Matt. Y’all had better get over here. Something’s come up.”
Matt asked, “What is it, Shooter?”
Sam frowned, but before she could say anything, Shooter answered, “Uh-uh, pal, not on the phone. I’ll meet y’all at Damon’s office in an hour. Okay?”
Shelly looked at Sam and smiled. “Okay, we’ve got an hour, so why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and y’all can fill me in on what’s been going on for the past couple a weeks.”
In the two weeks that Sam and Matt had been poring over the stack of autopsy reports that Sherry had brought over from the medical examiner’s office, Matt had learned more about Sam than he would’ve if they’d just been dating and not working together. He enjoyed her quick intelligence, and her sense of humor made the tedious work of reading about hundreds of killings bearable. She almost always could see something in the reports that he’d missed.
During several of their “working lunches,” she had astounded Matt with the force and depth of her intellect. Whereas he was often quicker on the uptake and more likely to jump to a conclusion from intuition or educated guesses, Sam was slower, more careful, and thought everything out to the most minute detail before venturing an opinion. Matt was right most of the time, but it seemed to him Sam was right all of the time.
As with any two people, especially two intelligent and strong-willed doctors, there were inevitable conflicts and flare-ups of temperament when they disagreed on certain aspects of the case. Luckily, so far, these had been quickly resolved.
Shelly knew that Sam and Matt had been dating, but had no idea of the seriousness of their relationship.
Once they got coffee and bagels from the cafeteria and took their seats, Shelly said, “So, what’s been going on, Sam? Barbara has been grilling me daily for reports on y’all’s budding romance and doesn’t believe that I don’t know any more than she does.”
Sam glanced over at Matt, and he gave her a small nod to show that he didn’t mind if she shared their happiness with Shelly.
“Shelly, Matt and I are . . . very serious about each other.” She glanced at Matt again, unsure of what to say. “I think I’m in love,” she added.
Shelly got a severe look on his face and stared at Matt through narrowed eyes. “And you, sir? Are your intentions toward this fair maiden honorable?”
Matt looked astounded, still somewhat surprised over Sam’s admission of love. “Who? Me? Of course not. I’m a male animal, guided only by my lust for conquest. There isn’t an honorable bone in my body,” he finished, stalling for time until he could sort out what all this meant to him.
Shelly grinned. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to let the species down.”
* * *
When Sam and Matt arrived at Clark’s office, he met them at the door. “There’s been another killing. Would you like to come to the crime scene and see one fresh?”
Sam and Matt said simultaneously, “Absolutely!” which made Clark smile.
“Hi ya, Matt, Sam,” drawled Shooter as he ambled into the room wearing purple Girbaud jeans and a purple and white striped shirt.
Sam said, “Hi, Shooter.”
Clark rolled his eyes where only Sam and Matt could see. “Come on, troops. If we don’t get there, they’ll start without us.”
The four of them climbed into Clark’s car and he took them to an area of Houston known as warehouse row. It was about five blocks off Main Street, in an area that few would be foolish enough to traverse at night. There were block after block of warehouses, most empty and abandoned, with weed-choked lots and windows broken out like so many missing teeth. Every block seemed to contain at least one abandoned car, left in the street, jacked up with missing tires and stripped down to bare metal. Occasional homeless people could be seen lying against walls, paper-covered bottles clutched to their chests.
At times like these, Matt found himself wishing these bits of human flotsam would vanish, begone, never to trouble his sensibilities with their vacant, staring, empty eyes and expressions that could be the very definition of hopelessness. Of course, as a healer and a humanitarian, he immediately felt guilty about these thoughts, but they remained nevertheless.
When they arrived at the crime scene, Matt noticed a station wagon bearing the NewsCast 10 logo parked off to one side. It looked to be the same one he had seen at the Bellaire killings a few weeks before. He got out of the chief’s car and saw Hillary James, local television news anchor, looking hot and bored in the afternoon sunshine, leaning against the fender of the station wagon.
As they walked by her car on the way to the cordoned-off area, she could be heard complaining about how hard it was for local people to get their shot at the networks, a shot she evidently wanted desperately, and about how her talents were wasted on doing remote broadcasts on local killings perpetrated on unknowns.
When she noticed Clark and his group walking toward the murder scene, she motioned for the cameraman to follow her as she hurried over to intercept them.
Matt observed her approach out of the corner of his eye as he followed Clark and the others. She began to walk toward the body on the ground, saying over her shoulder, “Come on, maybe we’ll get some good shots.”
Matt shook his head at her callousness, following Clark and the others as they ducked under the roped-off area and went over to the sheet-covered corpse. It was lying in a small patch of weeds just off the street next to a warehouse.
Shooter waved the lab men aside to allow them access to the corpse. Sam reached down and pulled the sheet off the body, holding it up so that the newspeople behind them couldn’t view the body. In spite of her training, Sam grimaced as she looked at the mess lying on the ground. Matt sucked a deep breath through his teeth.
He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and lightly stroked her back. “Breathe deeply through your mouth,” he whispered.
She sighed deeply as she bent down over the body. “Yeah, okay. It’s just that I don’t usually get to see the bodies fresh, where they fell.” She whispered, as if to herself, “She seems so small and helpless.”
Shooter grunted. “Helpless she wasn’t. From all we can tell, she was a hooker who worked the main drag about two blocks away.”
Matt looked up. “Have you learned anything from the girls who worked with her last night?”
“Obviously, you know little about the habits of prostitutes, Matt. Those lovelies are all sleeping like babies right now. We won’t get a chance to question them until they report for ‘duty’ tonight.”
Shooter squatted down next to them as they turned their attention back to the corpse. “What can you tell us, Sam?”
“Have all the pictures been made, and is it all right to move the body?”
Shooter looked over at the lab boys, who nodded that they were finished. “Yeah.”
The woman was lying facedown on the concrete. Sam gently rolled the stiff body over onto its back. As the hair fell off the face, a large, gaping wound in the neck was revealed.
She took a pencil out of her pocket and probed the edges of the wound, which had already stiffened in the humid heat of the day. After a moment, she began to examine the rest of the body, talking in a low voice, pointing out observations to Matt while he took notes. She put paper bags over the hands, fastening them with rubber bands. Finally, she stood, went over to the pile of clothes lying next to the body, and, again using the pencil, pick
ed them up and put them in a small plastic bag.
She told the ambulance attendants to take the body to the lab at Methodist Hospital, then motioned for Clark and Shooter and Matt to follow her to their car.
On the way to the car, Clark said, “Oh shit.”
Matt asked, “What is it, Damon?”
“There’s one of the local vultures from the blood and guts channel.” He pointed to where Hillary stood, watching them intently from just beyond the crime scene tape. “Now she’s going to wonder who you are and why the chief of detectives is present at another routine murder. Damn!”
“Chief, oh, Chief Clark. Could we get a few words for News at Six?” Hillary called.
Clark suppressed his frown, planting a fake smile on his face before he turned and waved at the reporter. “Wait for me here,” he whispered through tight lips, then ambled over toward Hillary.
“Hello, Chief. Can you tell us what’s happened here?”
Clark looked around with pursed lips, as if gathering his thoughts, then stared directly into the camera. “Yes, it appears that a local prostitute was killed by one of her clients early this morning.”
“Chief Clark, can you explain what the chief of detectives is doing at a . . . routine homicide?”
He scowled, obviously irritated that she had asked him the very question that he didn’t want to answer. He hesitated.
Hillary, scenting blood, persisted. “Do you go to all the homicides in the city, Chief?”
“No, Ms. James, but as it turns out, some police officers happened upon the scene of the killing just after it occurred. They gave chase to the perpetrator, and in the ensuing struggle, two officers were injured.”
“Did they catch the killer?” she asked, sticking the microphone almost in his mouth.
“That’s all I have for you now,” he said, testily. “As you know, my first responsibility is to the officers who were injured. I’ll call a press conference later, after I’ve had time to get all the facts.”
She wouldn’t quit. “Are those the victim’s relatives with you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. When I got the call, I was just discussing a forensic medicine course with Dr. Silver, and he mentioned he would be grateful if I could let his assistant see how a crime scene is worked. As you may have heard, Dr. Silver has graciously consented to help the department out until the ME is back on the job. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
After his interview, Clark rejoined them where they were waiting near his car. When he was out of earshot of the officers milling about, he asked, “Well, Sam, what do you think?”
“There’s no doubt about it, Damon. She’s another victim of the ‘vampire killer.’ ”
Matt saw Shooter grimace at the name they’d given the killer.
“The wounds are identical to the others and there is a corresponding absence of blood in and around the body,” Sam went on.
Clark said, “Damn!”
“However, there’s one important difference,” said Sam. “It appears she was sexually assaulted just prior to death.” Shooter and Clark glanced at each other, then back at her. “There is evidence of vaginal lacerations and abrasions on the thighs that had time to bruise before she died, indicating that she was alive at the time of the assault.”
She glanced at Matt, inviting him to finish.
He continued. “It also looks as if he was either remarkably well endowed, or he used some sort of foreign object to penetrate her. The vaginal tears show that she was stretched until the tissue couldn’t stretch any more. Similar injuries were found in the first victim, but, not in the second. That makes two of the latest three female victims sexually assaulted prior to death.”
Matt turned and watched the attendants load the body into the ambulance. “If the length of the penetrating object is proportional to the width, I would expect to find internal injuries when we do the autopsy.”
Clark grimaced. “Anything else?”
“Yes. If we’re lucky, and he ejaculated during the assault, the DNA analysis on the semen will tell us if the killer and the person shot during the second homicide are one and the same.”
Clark looked nervously over his shoulder at Hillary, who was still watching them intently. “Listen, we’d better not have you guys running in and out of the station house. I have a feeling our little friend over there didn’t completely buy my story. I told her Shelly was filling in for the ME.”
Sam smiled. “How about meeting at Shelly’s house tonight to go over what Matt and I find out in the lab this afternoon? He’s already asked Matt and me to come and brief him. I’m sure he won’t mind if we make it a business meeting.”
“That’ll be great,” Damon said. “Shooter and I’ll be there by seven.”
Twenty-three
That evening, they met at the Silvers’ house to discuss the results of the autopsy and the progress of the investigation. Barbara passed out coffee and sandwiches and pretended not to listen to the discussion.
Clark looked up and thanked her as she handed him a tuna sandwich. “Well, it looks as if we may have had our first break in the case,” he said. “Tell ’em about it, Shooter.”
Shooter opened his briefcase and took out a handful of typed pages. “This is a report filed by two officers who happened upon the scene just as the perp was dumping the body.”
“Did you get a description?” Matt asked.
Shooter scowled. “I’m coming to that. They chased the perp at high speed up Fannin to where he turned in at the Astrodome parking lot. There, he—” Shooter hesitated and looked up from his papers. “Ripped a steel door almost off its hinges and entered the dome.”
“Jesus,” Shelly whispered.
“The officers called for backup and entered after him. Once inside, they were attacked without warning. One of the men, Sam Wilson, was immediately knocked unconscious, suffering a broken jaw and severely bruised neck.”
“And the other?” Sam asked, sitting forward on the couch.
“He too was knocked unconscious. He says he remembers nothing after they entered the dome, but his shotgun was fired and there was blood and tissue at the scene indicating the perp took a direct hit with twelve-gauge buckshot.”
Shelly and Matt and Sam looked at each other, then back at Shooter, waiting for him to go on.
“By the time the other officers arrived and entered the building, there was no one to be found.”
“What about his car?” Matt asked.
“A black Mercedes sedan, registered to a Jonas Wilkes.” Shooter referred to another piece of paper. “Evidently an alias, ’cause we can’t find any DMV records of such a person.”
“Fingerprints?” Shelly asked.
Shooter shook his head. “None usable, just some smudges.”
“Tell them what we found in the trunk,” Damon said.
Shooter looked at them, his face serious. “An empty gasoline can and a katana.”
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“A Japanese long sword,” Shelly answered, his face curious. “What the hell was he doing with that?”
“We think the car is the same one seen leaving the scene of the killing a couple of weeks ago where the body was beheaded and set on fire,” Damon said. “And get this, our experts say the katana is the real thing, over two hundred years old. I called the art museum and they said if that’s true, the damned thing’s worth over fifty grand.”
“Not something I’d leave behind,” Shooter said with a smirk.
“Has the scene at the dome been preserved?” Shelly asked.
Damon nodded. “Yeah, and we had the Crime Scene Unit boys get you samples of the blood and tissue from the fight.”
“Good,” Shelly said. “I think if you don’t mind, Chief, I’ll get my expert to run it through his machines again and compare it with the other sample to see if he gets the same readings the second time.”
“No problem,” Damon said. He glanced at Shooter. “Tell them what else you cam
e up with.”
“I got lucky after the call on this one came in. I was browsing through the reports on the first killing, and found a notation that the manager of the club where the girl worked hadn’t been able to be interviewed ’cause he was in the hospital.”
“Sick?” Matt asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. Apparently he was assaulted the same night that the girl disappeared. Someone fractured his skull, and he’s been unconscious until today.”
“Do you think there’s any connection with the murder?”
Shooter grinned. “That’s the best part. I went over to the hospital and interviewed him today. Unless I miss my guess, the guy who cracked his skull is our perp.”
“Then you’ve got a description,” Matt blurted.
“Yeah, wait until you hear it,” said Damon.
Shooter said, “I’ll give it to you just as the manager gave it to me.” He looked down, reading from the transcript of his interview. “‘The son of a bitch was tall, at least six feet. Average face; that is no scars or other marks. He was weird though, his skin was cold, clammy, like a fish, and his eyes . . . Jesus, those eyes.’”
Shooter glanced up. “Here, I asked him ‘What about his eyes?’ ”
“He said, ‘They were black as the ace of spades, and when he looked at you, it was like you were staring death in the face.’ ”
“I asked, ‘Anything else weird or noticeable about him?’ He said, ‘ Yeah, the bastard was strong as a mule. He picked me up and threw me around like I weighed two pounds.’ ”
“How did he fracture the manager’s skull?” asked Sam.
“The perp put his hand on top of his head and squeezed. The last thing the manager remembers is looking over at the girl, hoping for some help. He said she seemed to be in a trance or somethin’, then he heard a pop and passed out.”
Shooter put the papers away and sat back. “Not someone you’d want to meet in a dark alley. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
Night Blood Page 18