The Killing Hands

by P. D. Martin

  Two

  I flip through the crime-scene photos. While part of me would like to leave this victim until after my profile of the arcade murder, Rosen was pretty specific. Besides, this crime scene is fresher, which means fresher leads. I can be called in at any stage of an investigation, but the more recent the crime scene, the better for me. Especially given the extra “gift” I bring to my work.

  The file contains both day- and nighttime shots, indicating that the sun rose while the crime scene was being processed. The imagery’s not lost on me…a new day was dawning, but not for our dead male. A quick check of the police report verifies the timing. The first photos I look at are the ones taken of the victim’s full body, without much else in the frame. I can make out bricks, pieces of wood and other building debris underneath him and the mesh of the fence that partially supports him, but nothing else, no indication of the wider locale.

  The victim is of Asian descent and wears jeans and a dark gray T-shirt with a black design on the front. I’m not up with the latest styles or labels, but the clothes look expensive and I make a mental note to check with someone a little more fashion-minded than I am. The clothes could even help us during the search for the victim’s identity. For example, if he’s wearing designer clothes we can cross-reference his photo against missing persons in the higher socioeconomic bracket. This detail may also be important for the victimology. The profile of the victim often helps us to understand how or why he or she was chosen by the killer; and ultimately that can lead us to our perp.

  Next I look at close-up shots of the man’s face and the throat wound. I notice a couple of thin scars on his face, one that runs halfway across his right eyebrow and a larger scar along the underside of his jaw. Childhood accidents or evidence of prior violence? Either’s possible. I examine the close-ups of the throat wound carefully. There are no bite marks—ruling out any animal involvement—but also no tool marks that I can see on the skin to indicate what sort of implement caused the wound. Once the body has been washed by the coroner, the wound will be easier to examine.

  The next series of photos I study are of the overall crime-scene location. The building site is on the edge of a large, open-air parking lot and a quick cross-reference to the preliminary police report tells me the lot’s in Little Tokyo. The body was found roughly centered between Second Street and Third Street, an area of the lot with fewer people and less light. Anyone walking along the streets on the parking lot’s edge would be nearly two hundred yards away and probably oblivious to a confrontation; and the building site would have been deserted in the early hours of the morning. Despite being in the middle of downtown L.A., the crime scene was isolated. The spot for the kill was either well planned or dumb luck. Regardless, there’s still a chance of a witness. Perhaps someone was walking back to their car and saw our victim prior to the murder. Or maybe they saw the killer, before or after the fact. Then there is the apartment block on Third Street that overlooks the lot, and a few businesses on Los Angeles Street opposite the crime scene. Maybe we’ll find a witness there. The amount of blood at the scene certainly indicates our victim was killed where he was found. And even if time of death comes back as the early hours of the morning, that area of town would have been busy.

  The next series of shots focuses on the light closest to the victim’s body, a square spotlight with several globes that have all been blown out. Another photo shows shattered glass directly beneath the light. Even though the murder probably took place at night, the killer had the sense to darken the scene even further, either beforehand, during or after the kill.

  I read over the initial police report, taking note of the major details. The body was discovered by two San Francisco university students, in L.A. for the weekend. They’d been sampling Little Tokyo’s nightlife at one of its most popular karaoke bars and had left the bar around 4:00 a.m. After a brief McDonald’s stop, they cut through the parking lot to their hotel, but one of them decided he wouldn’t make it without a pit stop. So he looked for a dark nook in the parking lot; midstream he turned his head and saw the body. Bet that put a stop to the waterworks. He called 911 on his cell phone, and the LAPD was on scene at 4:30 a.m., five minutes after the witness called in. According to the crime-scene log, the detectives arrived thirty minutes later, with the crime-scene techs and the forensic pathologist hot on their heels.

  The victim had no jewelry, no wallet and no ID on him, nor were any of these items found around the large area the police cordoned off for the crime-scene search. On the surface, that suggests a mugging gone wrong. In fact, if our guy was sitting in the morgue with a gunshot wound, I doubt the case would have warranted FBI attention. After I’ve read over the witness statements, I punch the lead LAPD detective’s number into my desk phone.

  “LAPD, Ramos.”

  “Detective Ramos, it’s Special Agent Sophie Anderson calling from the FBI.”

  “Hey, Anderson. That was quick…You work with Rosen, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m the behavioral analyst for L.A.”

  “Swell. You got the file?”

  “Yup, it’s in front of me.”

  “So you got questions, huh? Shoot.”

  “First off, any news on ID?”

  “Not so far. Nothing came up on Live Scan so now I’ve got people going through L.A.’s Missing Persons.”

  Live Scan allows us to digitally scan the prints of a suspect or victim and run them against the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. No match means he’s not on our radar—no criminal record and not a government or ex-government employee. Lucky for us that the body was found relatively quickly and the skin still had enough oils present for the digital system, otherwise we would have had to print the vic the old way, with ink and a card before scanning his print.

  Even though we can’t match his prints, maybe we can match his face—against L.A.’s Missing Persons. “You think he’s an L.A. native?” I ask. “This is a big tourist destination.”

  “I know, it could be anyone…and Little Tokyo’s popular with tourists. But Missing Persons is a start.”

  “It could complicate things if he’s not American,” I say, thinking about the repercussions of getting international consulates involved.

  “Exactly.”

  “Tourist or resident, not many people go out without a wallet or passport.” I start doodling on my notebook.

  “It looks like a mugging gone wrong.” Ramos voices the most obvious scenario—if it wasn’t for the unusual throat wound. The lack of conviction in his voice tells me he’s not sold on the mugger theory.

  “Or the killer took the ID, didn’t want us to discover the victim’s identity, or wanted to delay that knowledge.”

  “But why?” Ramos is quiet, but only for a second before answering his own question. “Would buy someone time to get out of L.A., maybe even flee the country if they thought the victim’s identity would make it obvious who they were.”

  “True. Well, let’s hope the ID doesn’t take too much longer.” I move on to my next question. “What do you make of the two guys who discovered the body?”

  “Typical college kids down for a big weekend in the City of Angels. They were a little boozed up when I interviewed them, but I can’t see that they’re involved in any way.”

  “The report didn’t list any other witnesses.”

  “No.” He pauses. “Even though the area’s pretty isolated, I’m thinking someone had to have seen or heard something. But no one’s come forward yet.”

  “You think they will?”

  “Hard to know. It’s probably the usual…someone saw something but didn’t realize the significance. There aren’t many Japanese residents in the area nowadays except for a few older people, but there are a few businesses nearby, and a large apartment block. I’m going back to visit them today if you want to tag along.”

  “Sure.”

  “With the light out of action, I guess it’s possible it was dark enough for the killer and murder to go unn
oticed.”

  “Maybe.” I chew on my bottom lip. “And the autopsy?”

  “Scheduled for this afternoon. I’ll probably sit in.”

  “Mind if I come, too?”

  “If you think it will help.”

  “Any firsthand contact with the victim and crime scene will help me draft an offender profile, not to mention a victimology.”

  “Victimology. That’d be nice.”

  I sympathize with Ramos. Besides a rough age range, race, height and some other vital statistics, we don’t have much to work with in terms of a victim profile.

  “I’ll meet you at the crime scene at ten. You’ll see it from Second Street…or South Los Angeles or South San Pedro for that matter.”

  Bright yellow crime-scene tape is hard to miss. I thank Ramos and hang up.

  After spending another forty-five minutes going over the file, I come back to the victim’s clothes. So who in the office would know? My first stop will be Melissa. She’s always got fashion magazines poking out of her handbag. Then I might go with a cliché and try Bobby from the Cyber Crime Division—he’s gay, so he’s bound to know men’s fashion, right?

  Melissa’s typing furiously when I arrive at her desk. She glances up at me and smiles but keeps typing, showing her ability to multitask with ease. “Hey, Soph. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Fire away.” She stops typing and gives me her full attention.

  “You’re into fashion, right?”

  “’Course.”

  “I’ve got some crime-scene photos of a John Doe I’d like you to look at.”

  She grimaces slightly. Like Mercedes, Melissa can usually avoid photos of victims.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that the guy looks really well dressed, and I want to confirm a level of affluence for the victimology.”

  She nods reluctantly. “Okay, I can do that.”

  I’ve chosen a couple of photos that show the victim’s clothing fully, and in the best lighting. Moving in next to Melissa, I use the back of one photo to cover the victim’s head and the neck wound. No point freaking her out more than I have to. She seems relieved when there’s no visible blood or gore.

  “The jeans are Ralph Lauren. And this pocket cut is new this season, so your victim’s in the latest design.” Her eyes move upward. “Now the T-shirt…um…oh, hang on, there’s the Yves Saint Laurent symbol, just there.” She points to a tiny dot on the victim’s sleeve.

  I bring the photo up for a closer look. “Oh, yeah, so it is.” I smile at Melissa. “Thanks, that’s a huge help.”

  “Awesome.” Melissa’s chuffed to have helped.

  I walk back to my desk and grab my keys and bag, thinking about the case. So our victim is definitely into his appearance, taking the effort to wear the latest fashion. Maybe it is how it looks—a mugging. The guy could have been wearing a Rolex and some bling to match his designer clothes, and that’s mighty attractive for someone looking for fast cash.

  I pull up at the parking lot on Second Street exactly two minutes before the hour. The scene is very different to how it would have looked yesterday, but even from the street I can see the area cordoned off with police tape deep in the belly of the parking lot. Yesterday morning, people would have been overflowing from both inside and outside the tape. The cops and forensics would have been bustling inside, gathering evidence and inspecting the scene; the media and onlookers would have been pushing forward, trying to see more, find out more. Now, a lone uniformed cop keeps an eye on the area and even the tape will probably be gone by evening, certainly by this time tomorrow. Then there’ll be nothing to indicate to a passerby that someone’s life ended in this lot.

  As I walk toward the entrance, a dark-complexioned man in his late forties to early fifties gets out of his car and makes a beeline for me. He’s fit and healthy looking, with virtually no sign of middle-age spread. His black hair has a slight wave to it, and he wears it long for a man, coming down to his ears and the nape of his neck, Antonio Banderas style. Gray streaks add distinction and help give away his true age.

  “Agent Anderson?” He gives me a large grin, his white teeth contrasting against dark lips.

  “Yes.” I take his outstretched hand. “Detective Ramos, I presume.”

  He nods and we both walk toward the cop and the crime-scene line.

  “You’re letting the parking lot carry on business as usual?”

  “Yeah. Except for the area we’ve cordoned off.”

  He points to the back of the lot, and I notice the sea of cars stops well short of the fence and building site.

  “It’s a well-chosen location,” I comment.

  Ramos nods. “Little Tokyo’s usually busy, but this spot’s buried.”

  When we get to the crime-scene tape, the cop stands aside for us to enter and acknowledges Ramos by name.

  “Thanks, Officer Saxon. Anything happening down here?”

  “No, sir. Quiet since I took over shift at eight. Officer Graves said there wasn’t much action last night, either. Just a few curious citizens coming in for a closer look.”

  We both nod. Same old story the world over. The thing is, one of those nosy citizens could be our killer. Killers often return to the scene of the crime. Sometimes it’s just out of compulsion to see what’s happening, but hardened killers will get off on it, reliving the moment of death. They see murder as the ultimate power over their victim, and they want that sense of power to run through them again and again. But that trait is more something we see in serial killers, or other types of sadistic killers. If it’s a mugging gone wrong, or someone who took the victim’s ID just to prolong our discovery of his identity, they’ll keep a wide berth between them and the scene.

  Ramos holds the tape up for me and I slip underneath it. Looks like he’s old-school—I just hope he doesn’t mind a woman on his homicide case. Women are still well and truly outnumbered in law enforcement and some of the older cops don’t like our movement up the ranks. But so far there’s nothing to indicate Ramos is one of those.

  A few of the crime-scene markers are still on the asphalt, but most of the evidence has been removed and the corresponding markers with it. I recall some of the crime-scene photos and manage to fill in some of the blanks. Marker number six was a cigarette butt, and both the marker and butt are gone. Maybe the cigarette was the victim’s, maybe the killer’s or maybe some unrelated third party’s. The butt will be swabbed for DNA and compared to the victim’s. If that doesn’t give us a match we can run it against CODIS, the national DNA database. Sometimes we get lucky and get a direct match on our perp.

  Near the corner of the farthest parking space was marker number ten, which flagged the place where the witness urinated. It was from this point that he looked around and saw our vic.

  I move back to the place where the glass from the light fell. “Has the match been confirmed?” I ask, gazing up at the jagged edges on the light post.

  “Initial visual confirmation, yes, but the lab’s still going to run the glass and reconstruct the light to make sure. The light’s being removed this afternoon.”

  I nod. “You want to take me through it?” I jerk my head to the wire fence on my left.

  “Sure.”

  Ramos would have done an initial walk-through as soon as he arrived on site, assessing the crime scene and going through a few possible reconstructions in his head. And he’s probably spent the past twenty-four hours going through it over and over again.

  “How many people you got on this, by the way?”

  “Me, my partner, a junior detective and I’ve got two uniforms at my disposal—Saxon and Graves. At the moment I’ve got them taking watches, but later on today I’ll close up the crime scene and get them to follow up with the door-to-door canvassing.”

  I nod. A murder investigation goes through cycles. It often starts off with a few cops working it, but then if nothing breaks, some of those resources might have to be directed elsewh
ere. Conversely, if it’s a time-critical or high-profile case, the resources go up as time goes by.

  “Okay.” He takes a breath. “I’m afraid we haven’t got much at this point. Especially given we don’t even know if the vic was here of his own accord or was brought here. His car might even be in the lot.” Ramos motions with his hand at the now-full lot over his shoulder. “The manager’s keeping an eye out for cars that have been sitting here for a while. And we’re running all the plates that were here at 5:00 a.m. yesterday to interview those people, too.”

  “Big job.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ramos goes back to the walk-through. “Let’s start with the mugging angle. So let’s say our vic is on his way back to his car, or walking along Second Street. Our attacker or attackers entice or drag him to the fence and take his wallet. Maybe our guy fights back or tells them he’s seen their faces and will make sure they go to jail, and the situation escalates. No word yet on what might have caused the throat injury, but there were no obvious teeth marks and the human hand’s not capable of that sort of damage, so the killer must have been holding the guy at the neck with some sort of weapon.”

  We really are working in the dark. At this stage we’ve got no ID, no witnesses to the crime itself and a highly unusual cause of death—although that will still have to be confirmed by the coroner. Our guy may have died of internal bleeding or something else and the throat wound was simply an additional injury.

  “Is the area known for muggings?” I ask.

  “Not really, no. But on a Friday and Saturday night there are also lots of people under the influence. Easier targets.”

  “And also more likely to respond violently.”

  “True. Again, no blood-alcohol results for our vic yet.”

  “Just as a matter of interest, what did our two witnesses come out at?”

  “The guy who saw the vic first blew 0.12 and his friend was 0.14.”

  “I guess that’s pretty sedate for two uni students out until 4:00 a.m.”

  “Yeah. They’re both on track scholarships and their college coach told the team members if they get in trouble, they’re out.” He pauses. “I’m not convinced on the mugging theory. Seems to me maybe there’d be more of a scuffle, and more…” he searches for the word “…conventional injuries. Plus the light indicates premeditation.”