Parks made a note of this on his notepad. “And victim two?”
“This guy’s different,” Black continued, referring to Ian Harris. “He’s not posed. This crime scene is different. It’s messy. Chaotic. Painful. Bloody. Look at all that blood. I take it whatever he was poisoned with focused on the eyes mostly?”
“Yes.”
“That was done on purpose too. Maybe the victim saw something he shouldn’t have.”
“We’ve considered that. He spied on the neighbors across the courtyard. The wife mostly. But the wife’s husband was victim number three. Killed earlier the same day.”
“I would almost say Ian Harris was an accident,” Black said. “He witnessed the third murder, which was actually the second murder chronologically, and therefore he was taken out.”
“Couldn’t be,” Parks argued. “He had to be planned too. The way he was poisoned took time and premeditation. He was mailed a bottle of vodka that was mixed with methanol and then someone hand-delivered a package that contained a poisonous snake. This killing wasn’t some last-minute break-in or jealous rage of passion. No one suddenly decided to stab him with a needle full of poison.” Parks thought about this. “Maybe the killer knew Harris spied on the wife, and so he knew there was a chance he might be seen killing the husband?”
“So then why such a mess?” Black asked mostly to himself. “Why not staged and posed like Allison Tisdale and Jason Bollinger? Unless the chaos of the crime scene is the way the killer wanted him posed. Look at Bollinger. He’s sitting alone in his kitchen, holding this fish. Is the fish what killed him?”
“Nope. More of a tease, beforehand, to the next murder. Like a link.”
“See, but Jason Bollinger is posed again like Allison Tisdale. Holding that fish in his hands. He’s showing off. Why did he change for Ian Harris? Why not move the body like the others? Why not have him sitting up for all to see when they first entered his loft? Why leave him slumped over, face down, in a puddle of his own blood? Was he not as worthy as the other victims? What’s the difference between him and the others?”
“Maybe the killer was interrupted? Or ran out of time?”
“I’d check with everyone in his building.”
“We have.”
“Do it again. Someone knows something they’re not saying. There’s a reason the killer didn’t mess with Ian Harris’s body. Then again, you found him before Jason Bollinger, even though they were killed in reverse order. Was the order in which they were killed and the order in which they were discovered switched on purpose? I’d say most likely. Our guy knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t take anything for granted. Everything he’s done so far has been according to plan. Make no mistake about that.”
“Maybe there was a more personal reason for Harris?”
“Possibly, but you and I both know that the killer’s not touching or moving Harris’s body actually makes his murder seem less personal,” Dr. Black said. “Then victim four. Charles Wyler. Everyone watching TV saw that attack. That was public.”
“But Wyler’s murder wasn’t staged.”
“Not like one and three, with the bodies posed in death, but still staged. Theatrical. The killer lured Wyler to that location on purpose.”
“Giving purpose to the fish. If we would have seen the fish earlier we could have saved him. Wyler was on the air for over ten minutes before the attack. If we would have seen it right away we could have saved him. Maybe.”
“He gave you the opportunity to do that. But with the poison that was used on Wyler, was there really any chance of saving him?”
Parks thought about this. “Most likely not. He was already being poisoned for a few days through his water supply.”
“And the killer knew that. He wasn’t calling you there to see if you were good enough to save him. He called you there to throw it in your face. He’s saying, ‘It doesn’t matter how close you get to me, there’s nothing you can do to save these people. I’ve already chosen them all, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m on a mission, and I’ll finish when I choose to. Be in awe.’”
“Dammit.”
“And five?”
“Kyle Oni.”
Dr. Black focused on Kyle Oni’s crime scene photos on the murder board.
“This goes right back to Tisdale and Bollinger. Oni’s posed. And look at the flowers. It’s like victim one. And the vines coming off from the body are circular like the circle of blood from victim one. Were any of these people killed in their homes?”
“Just two and three. Harris and Bollinger.”
“Anyone else live with those two victims?”
“Just Bollinger. The one whose wife was spied on.”
“Has she seen these photos?”
“No. We’ve taken her back to the crime scene and she said nothing was out of place.”
“Show her these,” Dr. Black insisted. “It’s harsh but necessary. Something’s been moved. Posed. Just like the victim. Most likely it was moved between the time the body was discovered, when these photos were taken, the time when the room was cleaned up for the wife’s return. I’m telling you, I know it will be hard, but show her these. There has to be something there. The first and fifth crime scenes are too well cleaned up and posed. They’re perfect. He had to have done the same for this one as well. Only two and four were chaotic, messy. But possibly that was done on purpose. Perhaps he didn’t like victims two or four. He had no respect for them. It was as if they had to be killed instead of him wanting to kill them.” Dr. Black paused and perused his notes some more. “There’s a reason he’s killing all of these people. He’s trying to fulfill a fantasy that one victim hasn’t satisfied. As I suggested, he’s probably sending a message. If so, then us not knowing what it is based off the first few victims, will only fuel him to keep killing. And he’ll keep doing so until you figure out what he’s trying to say. There’s a purpose to all of this.” Dr. Black paused again, this time lost in thought. “Of course, it could be that it’s not about a message at all. Maybe he’s trying to exercise a demon of his own, and by taking the first life he had hoped to take care of that problem. It didn’t work.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because he’s still killing. If the first victim had solved his problem, then you wouldn’t have more victims beyond her.”
Dr. Black stood silent and composed, staring at the board. He turned back to the murder book and flipped through several pages before looking back to the board.
“What’s the date of the first murder?”
“August thirty-first. It was a Wednesday.”
“And the second?”
“Victims two and three were killed on Labor Day. September fifth. Monday. Then Charles was on Saturday the tenth. And Kyle Oni just today. Seemed like there was a clump of them then he took a break before getting to Oni.”
“Two and three were on the same day. Only you didn’t find Jason Bollinger’s body until two days later on the seventh of September. So that changes things. If we take that into account, then there could be a pattern the killer uses to claim his victims. Maybe not. Maybe it’s all just a coincidence. But I think it means something.”
“What? What is it?” Parks asked as he noticed Wilkes walking into the room, drinking Coke from a can. He was one of the people in the department who never got along with the shrink, and he kept quiet, standing off in the corner.
“He’s killing people five days apart from each other. On the thirty-first you have Allison Tisdale. Five days later, on the fifth, you get Jason Bollinger and Ian Harris. Five days later, on the tenth, you have Charles Wyler. Five days later, Kyle Oni.”
“So then the next murder . . .”
“Tuesday,” Dr. Black said, finishing his thought. “You have until Tuesday to stop this guy from killing again.”
“We make any progress?” Fairmont called out, walking into the conference room, unwrapping a piece of Nicorette.
“And what if he does kill on Tues
day and we don’t stop him?” Wilkes asked.
“Then your next deadline is the following Sunday, and then the Friday after that, which is the thirtieth,” Dr. Black answered bluntly.
Though it was late and the team had had a full day, everyone was more charged by the new developments than from all the caffeine they had been drinking. They had something. They could do it if they focused. This could be all over come Tuesday night.
“Thanks, Doctor. You’ve been a help,” Parks said.
“No problem,” Dr. Black said, picking up the copy of the murder book. “This was just a quick assessment. If you want, I can keep reading and give you a more detailed analysis.”
“Anything you can do to help.” Parks said as Dr. Black left the room. “Anything at all.”
“I’ll type out my findings and have them to you by the end of the day.”
24
“We got him,” Hardwick said standing in front of Parks and his and Wilkes’s entire team, as well as numerous other members of the LAPD. “We not only found and arrested Victor Kozlov but in the process of interrogation and, maybe a little strong-armed cohesion, have sealed a deal with the two Kozlov brothers that will see them being locked up, in a maximum state facility no less, for the rest of their natural lives.”
“Without a trial?” Fairmont asked.
“No trial. No more publicity. No chance of parole. Lock. Stock. And barrel.” Hardwick was grinning from ear to ear as everyone else cheered. Parks could feel a release from within his entire body, as if he had been holding his breath ever since he had first heard the name Kozlov. He almost felt himself physically collapse as he leaned back in his chair. People were patting Parks on his back and shaking is hand as they congratulated him.
“That’s right,” Hardwick said, walking up to him and offering a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a long and bumpy road, but we have succeeded. Let it be known the LAPD never gives up. And we have this man to thank for getting that piece of scum shit off the streets of LA. You all better be buying him drinks when you see him out and about. This is good work. Honest work. Parks, you, and everyone else in the department, should be damn proud.”
As the rest of the department continued to celebrate, Hardwick pulled Parks aside.
“I don’t care what you do. Go out and get blind drunk. Call up a friend. Go to a movie. Get laid. Go to sleep for the next twenty-four hours. Anything. Just make sure it’s fun. You’ve earned it. We’ve had a lot of shit lately. This is a win. We accept and celebrate our wins for they are few. Tomorrow’s another day and we still have the Palisades Poisoner out there. But for today, tonight, whatever, you celebrate. You go out and wash your mind, body and spirit of Kozlov. I know he’s been eating away at you and now it can stop. Time to hit the rest button and start afresh. Tomorrow, you show up, you’re going to look at the Poisoner case with whole new eyes. I can feel it. Now get out of here. Go celebrate. And Parks . . . be happy.”
* * *
“Someone’s gonna be late . . .” Jackie said, teasing her son who was rushing throughout the house looking for scattered items that he refused to tell his mother about. Parks thought it was only because he was there and the kid didn’t want to look dependent in front of him. Parks stared at Jackie with a face that could have said anything from leave the kid alone to what’s he looking for? “I think he’s going out on a date tonight and he’s having trouble finding the con—”
“Mom!” Ricky shouted from the neighboring room.
“You do realize you’re probably not doing our new-found relationship any favors by embarrassing him in front of me, right?” Parks was trying to hold back laughter.
“Oh, he’s my son and I’m his mother,” Jackie said, waving Parks’s comment away. “It’s my job to occasionally embarrass him. He wouldn’t remember who I was in the scheme of things if I didn’t.”
Parks was wondering what they were waiting for, simply sitting at the kitchen table, staring at one another. After having heard about Kozlov he realized there was no where he would rather be. No one he would rather celebrate this victory with. “Are we waiting for him to leave before we start doing something in particular?”
“Well, I’m waiting to rip your clothes off,” Jackie said, not the least bit embarrassed. “But I figure I should at least wait until Ricky leaves for that. Figure my son can only handle so much shame from his mother.”
“Mo-om!”
“Would you like a drink?” Jackie offered.
“I think I’m going to have to insist,” Parks said, the eagerness to change the subject displayed across his face.
Jackie got up and began retrieving items from the refrigerator as she cut limes and salted the rims of two glasses.
“Rocks? Salt?” Jackie asked, holding up a glass. Parks nodded. “I figure while we have this glorious day that we’d head out to the yard, sit back, enjoy some margaritas, and soak in the sun. Relax. Nice conversation. Just . . . take it easy. Even if only for an hour.”
“Sounds good to me,” Parks said, agreeing.
“I mean I don’t get why my son gets to be the only one having sex, but whatever,” Jackie said, smiling.
“Mo-om! Stop it!”
Parks could hear footsteps stomping across the floor above him.
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Parks asked, shaking his head.
“What? I’m his mother,” Jackie said, pouring the two drinks into their respective glasses. “Ready?”
“Yes. Please. Thank you,” Parks said standing up and taking his drink from Jackie.
Ricky came into the kitchen, a gym bag over his shoulder, finally prepared for whatever adventures he had planned for that evening.
“And where are we off to?” Jackie asked.
“School,” Ricky replied, not wanting to elaborate in front of Parks.
“See that?” Jackie said turning to Parks. “You raise them to love you and when they’re older they turn on you.”
“It’s Village of the Damned unleashed,” Parks said, smiling.
“I’m going out with some friends from school,” Ricky replied, practically rolling his eyes. “How is that turning on you? Besides, I’m a grown man, mom.” Jackie simply stared at her son, the look of pride and enjoying torturing him apparent on her face. “You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Go have fun,” Jackie said, answering him. “You’re young. Go get wild. Not too wild. Have fun. But not too much fun. And remember, you can call me anytime from any place. I’ll be there, right?”
“Right,” Ricky said giving his mother a hug and a kiss. Ricky caught Parks’s eye line on his way out. “Sure you’re up for this?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jackie said, being purposely melodramatic. “Did my son and the man I plan on spending some time with just gang up on me? What’s going on here? My own flesh and blood turning on me. I think it’s time you left. And before I kick you out permanently.”
“Oh, mom,” Ricky called back.
“Don’t you ‘oh, mom’ me. Oh, make sure you have on clean underwear, honey,” Jackie said, harassing her son, calling after him as he walked for the front door.
“Mo-om!”
“See? They turn on you.” The front door opened and closed. Jackie turned back to Parks. “Trust me, if you ever have any of your own, you have to do that to them. Was it just me or did my son kinda just have a semi-bonding, not totally hostile moment with you?”
“I, uh—” Before Parks could spoil her moment Jackie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Let’s take this outside,” Jackie said.
“But what would your neighbors say?” Parks asked.
“Screw em,” Jackie said, laughing. “I don’t care. I meant your drink, silly.”
Jackie playfully punched Parks on the shoulder then grabbed her drink and headed out back to the patio area. There was a little patch of grass beyond the cement deck before the waters of the surrounding canals began. Each of the
m took a white, plastic lounge chair and relaxed.
“If you need to talk about it—about him—now’s your chance. I’ll let you. But I want you to get it all out. Now. Kozlov is captured and going away. That’s a good thing. But I don’t want him haunting every minute we have together. So speak now or . . . you know the rest.”
Parks stared at her, took everything about her in, before turning and staring out across at the canals. There was nothing more he needed to say. She was right. He would not let that man haunt him any longer.
“I love it out here,” Jackie said, soaking in the ambiance.
“How’d you end up here?” Parks said, taking a sip of his drink.
“Well my mother’s from Mexico City,” Jackie began. “Father was Italian-Irish. Gee, I wonder which heritage prevailed in me?” Jackie twirled her hair through her fingers. “Her family migrated up here. He was already living here. Had left home back in Chicago when he was eighteen. They met, fell in love. And a year later out popped me.”
“Happily ever after?”
“Not quite,” Jackie admitted. “I mean my parents divorced. Like most everyone else’s. They remained civil. All things considering. Mother stayed here and father moved back east. Got remarried.”
“Ohhh, there’s an evil step-monster?”
“No. not really. Honestly I think I love my step-mother more than my father. But I never said that out loud.” Jackie smiled. “I think my father remarrying was one of the best things he could have ever done. He’s not the most . . . humane person. Or the most personable person. I think she’s helped bring that part of him out. He’s still distant but at least he tries to make an effort every now and again. We’re fine. Mostly cards. Phone calls once or twice a year. It’s my mother I was always close to growing up.”
The Poisonous Ten Page 20