(2008) Compulsion

by Jennifer Chase

  The crime scene is located at the end of a well-traveled dirt path approximately a quarter of a mile long that winds down to the sandy beach just underneath a train trestle. He’s annoyed that patrol hasn’t roped off the entrance to the path yet. It’s a potential access and escape for the murderer and could possess any type of significant evidence: footprints, murder weapon, discarded beer can or cigarette butts. Now the evidence, if there was any, is most likely contaminated.

  Detective Lopez begins his short hike down the beach access path through a thick grove of trees. It allows him to get his thoughts together before confronting his investigative team. Any other time it would have been enjoyable to jog down the path and take a nice long run on the beach. He makes quick notes of areas on the path that need to be given special attention and documentation; there are some discarded litter pieces that appear to be new and broken branches of bushes and overgrown foliage that could lead to potential footprints or drag marks of the crime.

  As Detective Lopez approaches the beach, he hears voices. It was unmistakable to recognize the loud dialogue of his two crime scene detectives Matt Saunders and Ken Williams. They were like two identical frat boys delivering a punch line every time they answered a question.

  There are several patrol officers meandering around the crime scene from fourth watch. Their shifts were already over and officers from the first watch should be taking over the security detail of the crime scene.

  Detective Lopez approaches two officers drinking coffee and eating breakfast scones, “I need you to secure the entrance to the path.”

  The officers nod in agreement and begin to head up the path.

  Stopping them, Detective Lopez says, “No I need you to secure this area, you’ll have to go around.”

  The younger patrol officer gapes at the detective, “Around?”

  “That’s what I said. You have a problem with that?”

  “Uh no”, the younger officer replies.

  “Have you ever a secured a crime scene before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I suggest you secure this one now.”

  The two patrol officers head down the sandy beach to the next set of stairs. It will take them a good fifteen minutes to hike to their location. They grumble to each other as they trudge through the heavy sand trying not to spill their coffee.

  Detective Lopez directs another patrol officer to barricade off a large section of the beach for the crime scene area.

  “Take a large section on both sides and keep everyone out.” To other loitering police officers, “If you’re not needed here, you can get back to your patrol duties.”

  “Hey detective.” Matt approaches with a cynical look on his face. “You seen the broad yet?” He nervously bites at his index fingernail.

  “Working my way over.” Detective Lopez still surveys the beach area and the trail leading up to the street.

  “She’s a real beauty. Looks like the work of both an organized and disorganized offender.” He clears his throat and looks for a compliment.

  “That’s not likely.”

  Ken joins the detective group. “The perp did a real number on her. What do you think?”

  “I need you both to thoroughly identify and collect evidence including anything on the beach path.”

  Matt replies, “One step ahead of you. Found some bloody clothes and a credit card. Although the credit card belongs to a Herman Mellow and looks like it’s been here for an eternity.”

  Detective Lopez continues, “Don’t forget to photograph everything in place before collecting. No matter how trivial.”

  Ken smiles, “We’re on it boss.”

  Matt takes overall photographs of the crime scene and begins closing the distance to the body. Ken starts to package the few pieces of evidence.

  A few seagulls fly overhead and captures Detective Lopez’s attention for a moment. Circling high above the rocks swoops a falcon, an impressive hunter, who relentlessly searches for smaller prey with powerful speed and extreme accuracy. In essence, the sea-dwelling bird is an extremely effective killing machine that leaves little room for error. The detective hopes that this isn’t a sign of things to come.

  Detective Lopez approaches the victim’s final resting place. He pays particular attention to anything that appears unusual surrounding the body and becomes convinced that the victim was killed in another location.

  The victim is a white female between twenty-five and thirty-five years old lying face down between the path and sand. She is partially clothed with only a pair of unzipped black jeans and a white bra. The bra had been twisted and hooked haphazardly like someone else dressed her in a hurry. Severe lacerated wounds are on the back of her neck and back that has left an unusual tearing pattern. Her left shoulder blade shows a tattoo of a blue and yellow butterfly.

  Matt joins Detective Lopez, “What do you make of her position? Posed?”

  The body looks as if she was interrupted while praying and gives the appearance of a deliberate pose created by the killer.

  Detective Lopez puts on latex gloves and begins to examine the body a little more closely, “She didn’t die like this, but was put in this position. Staged. It looks like her final cause of death is strangulation though.” He looks at the thin purplish marks around her neck.

  Matt studies the body, “Does her arm look strange to you?”

  Detective Lopez observes that her right arm at the shoulder has been severed. “It’s a clean cut.” He points to the hands, “But look, her fingers and fingernails they’re not the same.”

  “God, it’s an arm from someone else? Talk about a definite signature.” Matt ponders.

  Standing up, Detective Lopez states, “I want everyone to spread out and see if we can find the arm that belongs to this victim and any other body parts. There could be other bodies.” To Matt, “You’re right it does look like the work of both an organized and disorganized offender.”

  Matt replies, “A serial killer?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to ID this victim immediately and conduct a complete victimology to try and find out where she might have met up with her killer. Start going through missing person reports while the coroner gets prints and a tox report.”

  Matt leaves, “I’m already way ahead of you. The coroner should be here any minute to transport the body.”

  Unfortunately, Detective Lopez fears the worst. Santa Cruz County has a serial killer on the loose and this is only the beginning of the body count. It hasn’t been the first time Santa Cruz has witnessed the destruction left by a serial killer. Edmund Kemper and Richard Mullins terrorized the county during the 1970s. But what’s even more disturbing, it looks like the work of two serial killers working together, one an organized offender and the other a disorganized offender. One serial killer is now training another serial killer.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  Friday 0900 Hours

  Sparks fly sporadically in a brilliant artistic display as firefighters use the Jaws of Life to free Emily from her metal tomb. Four firefighters begin to peel back the crumpled metal as an ambulance waits to take her to the Yuma Regional Medical Center located ten miles away.

  Emily fades in and out of consciousness still strapped upside-down in her driver’s seat. She’s vaguely aware of the rescue workers trying desperately to free her, but it seems more like a dream and everything is moving in a slow disjointed motion. Loud mechanical sounds and chemical smells are faint only in the far distance of her mind.

  Firefighters operating in unison look like carnival workers with their bright yellow slickers. Traffic has slowly begun to back up in the westbound lanes. Emergency vehicles, police cars, and a tow truck block any through traffic until the rescue is complete.

  Emily is extracted from her Explorer and safely put on a gurney. The dry heat of the day makes every life sustaining breath difficult. The blinding sunlight revives her for a moment as oxygen is administered directly into her
lungs. Her mind races with intense anxiety as she remembers her computer equipment is still inside the wreckage and a loaded Beretta is strapped to her left ankle. Her true identity is at risk. Her life’s work and the lives of children are in jeopardy. She tries to sit up and take control of her situation, but concerned voices calm her back down as she is loaded into the back of the ambulance.

  * * * * *

  The thirty-seven bed emergency medical center in Yuma has some of the most current state-of-the-art equipment and medical care for the Arizona area. Nurses and doctors move easily about the corridors to check on patients.

  Emily has been considered extremely lucky and didn’t suffer any life threatening injuries or broken bones, just numerous lacerations and bruises. Hospital policy stipulates that she must remain under observation overnight. She is propped up in her hospital bed with fresh bandages on her arms and face. At least she can finally get some rest.

  A young fair-haired nurse enters Emily’s room. “How are you feeling?”

  Letting out a sigh, “Much better, thanks.”

  “Would you like more water?”

  “No thanks, I’m okay.” Emily pauses, “Where are my things?”

  The nurse motions to the other side of the room, “Over there.”

  “Actually, I was talking about my computer equipment.”

  “From inside the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I think it’ll be towed to the wrecking yard for safe keeping with the car”, she supplies the restroom with more soap.

  “I need to make a police report about the hit and run driver.”

  “Don’t worry about that now, the police will be interviewing you before you are discharged.” She smiles and looks at Emily, “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Emily nods and the nurse leaves the room. Sleep seems inevitable; Emily’s eyelids feel increasingly heavy. The sedatives must be taking effect. There’s nothing that she can do now except come up with an explanation of why she had several guns and high-tech equipment in her car. Hopefully, the police will be satisfied with her answers and not get curious about her visit to Arizona.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday 0900 Hours

  High above the surf and rocky coastline in Seascape, the ultimate hunter-killer takes a thrill ride among the wind thermals with a carefree ease. The peregrine falcon’s large but compact fourteen-inch body takes aim at smaller and less fortunate birds.

  The falcon spots a small nesting California bird hiding in a crevice just inland from the beach. Turning its direction downward, the falcon begins the descent with a dramatic flair. It reaches a speed of more than one hundred miles per hour, strikes with deadly accuracy by ripping open the small bird’s back and neck, and retrieves the victim with no difficulty. The dagger-like black claws finish the job.

  It is a compulsive search for a specific victim; the most likely prey that will satisfy the intense fantasy created in the mind of the hunter. The Killer sits motionless in his Ford truck and watches people enter and exit the shopping center grocery store and large department super store. They go about their day not knowing what lurks just around the corner. They never look around them to see who might be watching. They are intensely focused on where they are going next and not who could snuff out their very existence.

  The Killer considers how it would be so satisfying to become a peregrine falcon. He takes a long deep breath trying to imagine what it would be like to be free. Life would be so much simpler, and he would command respect and even be adored for being such a great hunter. He has so much in common with the great sea-flying hunter here in Santa Cruz County. He continues to watch women leave the store with little interest; many are carrying bags filled with store sale items and various groceries.

  The Killer has begun to move through the first phase of withdrawing from everyday activities, while becoming stronger and more alert to the daily atmosphere. He now moves into the second phase. Senses are heightened and the world appears more vivid and alive. The thrill of extinguishing vital energy and then consuming it entirely makes the man blink in anticipation as he sees a young brunette woman leaving the store carrying a small grocery bag. She seems unsure of herself by the way she carries her body across the parking lot, looking down at the ground. She gets into her blue Honda and backs out of her parking space never wise to the Ford Truck slipping in discreetly behind her.

  The fantasy has begun to come to life with a living, breathing victim. Not for long. The trolling phase has shown him the plan and now he must wait for the exact moment to lure the victim to him. The Killer is one step closer to becoming one with the peregrine falcon and to eventually being free.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday 1130 Hours

  Emily rests comfortably in her hospital bed with her eyes closed. It should be anytime that her discharge will be official and she can go home. In the meantime she has reserved a rental car until her insurance paperwork has taken effect and she can get a new car. However, her electronic equipment and firearms are another story.

  Emily shifts her body slightly causing a shooting pain to travel from her lower back up to her neck. Her numerous cuts and bruises are minor inconveniences compared to the impact injuries to her back. She moans slightly and opens her eyes. A man is standing at the foot of her bed holding a small notebook watching her with curiosity. She blinks her eyes and focuses on the gun, holster, and badge.

  Sitting up slowly, “What can I do for you officer?”

  “Ms. Stone, I’m Detective Rivas with the Yuma County Sheriff’s Office. I just have some follow up questions regarding the accident.” He smiles.

  “Sure, I don’t remember much though.” She stares at the detective and immediately recognizes him from the crime scene gravesites.

  “Just tell me what you remember.”

  “I quickly looked down at my phone, and when I looked up, a dark blue sports car veered into my lane and clipped my quarter panel.”

  “Do you remember anything about the car? Make? Model?”

  “It was a new car like a small Mazda, Toyota or one of the Chrysler coupes. It had a lot of chrome, I think.” Emily tries hard to remember.

  “License plate?”

  “Sorry.” She shakes her head.

  Detective Rivas had his questions initially ready for her before walking into the hospital, but after seeing her in the hospital bed, he hesitates. He can’t quite figure out why this beautiful woman had guns and high-tech equipment in the car and a Beretta strapped to her ankle.

  Emily hides her nervousness during the awkward silence, “Detective?”

  “What do you do for a living Ms. Stone?”

  “Emily.”

  “Okay Emily.” His attention wavers a bit.

  “I’m a writer. I write mystery short stories and blogs on the Internet.”

  “There were two guns retrieved from your vehicle and one taken off your ankle in the emergency room.” She never averts his gaze. “Can you explain to me why you need that much fire power?”

  Emily smiles and pauses a moment knowing that the detective is watching her every move. She is petrified that he will find out who she is and what her real motives are for being in Arizona. Not to mention the email she sent him. She holds her voice and body language steady as she answers, “My research and travels take me to many places. I don’t feel safe being a woman and traveling alone.”

  “I see.” Detective Rivas is not sure if she’s telling the truth, but he feels that she’s definitely hiding something.

  “I have permits for them, if that helps. Obviously, they were probably destroyed in the accident.”

  Detective Rivas looks at his notebook expecting something to tell him what to do next. “There were some computers and equipment that were salvaged from the accident scene.”

  “Oh.” Emily didn’t know what else to say. She waited for the detective to explain further.

  �
��You can pick them up at the department’s evidence impound along with your firearms.”

  “Thank you, that would be great.”

  A nurse walks into the room. “Excuse me, Emily you are discharged. I need you to sign some papers before you go.”

  Relieved, Emily answers, “Thank you.”

  The nurse leaves the room. Detective Rivas is satisfied for now, but again he mentally files this information.

  “Is there anything else that you can remember about the crash or before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The detective gives Emily his business card, “Please feel free to call me if you remember anything else.”

  Taking the card, Emily says, “I will, thank you again detective.”

  Detective Rivas hesitates for a moment, but decides to leave. “We have your current contact information?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hope you feel better soon.” He leaves the room.

  Emily exhales in relief. She knows that the detective suspected something. She doesn’t care now and slowly gets out of bed and begins to get her things together. Her limbs feel overworked and tender. She can’t wait to get back on the road again and get home. This time hopefully without incident.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday 1900 Hours

  The dingy bar with antique tables and stools hosts plenty of people who are blowing off steam from their busy week. Lively conversations resonate at the bar, laughter is heard over carefree conversations, and beer flows freely. Three young college students are playing darts. The bar maid chats with patrons as she moves her stocky frame in between tables.

  At a corner table directly underneath some black and white historical prints of California, sit the two crime scene detectives. Matt lifts his dark amber ale and appears annoyed as he speaks in low tones to his partner Ken.