When it was over, Albert released her and she fled home. In Albert's journal he said it was the first time he has ever raped a female. He was nervous and regretted not killing her. He thought she was going to notify the police. However, officers never came to his door. She disclosed to Detective Wu that she was too embarrassed to tell anyone she was assaulted by him. "My parents warned me not to get into his car. I couldn't tell them what he did to me."
It's closing in on a year since Albert's last homicide. Although he still hasn't been captured, it seems the citizens have begun to put Albert behind them. Steadily the nailed wooden panels are coming off the boarded up nightclubs. Diners are staying open into the late night hours once again. Police patrols are lessening and the ladies of the evening have re-taken their posts in the back alleys and motel fronts. There are no more talks about the "Harlot Murderer" in the bars, barbershops or street corners. Downtown is returning to its old ways.
A couple of weeks ago, while scouring the city for Albert's whereabouts, I was able to get a lead on another homicide. A mother, who lost her only daughter to the "Harlot Murderer," was about to lose her husband as well. His name's Ludlow and he was accused of a homicide. However, word on the street is he didn't commit the crime. It was a set up. It's my fault her daughter was killed. If I had just called the police that night, Albert wouldn't have gotten this far. I can't bring her daughter back but I could at least try to prove her husband's innocence.
The apartment where the homicide occurred was still taped off with crime scene tape. Tampering with the locked door would draw too much attention from the prying eyes that live on this floor. However, after scaling down the fire escape I noticed a rear window was left slightly open. It didn't take much to hoist it up and gain entry to the railroad-style apartment.
The killer was callous and cold-blooded. Detective Wu informed me the victim was killed from blunt force trauma. A metal baseball bat and a soapy rag were found in the living room where the body was. I can't even find a square foot on the walls, ceiling or carpet that doesn't have blood splatter on it. Even her furniture was stained with it. The glass coffee table was shattered and her sofas were flipped onto its back. Her bookshelves, television and house plants were knocked over. Several people have told me Ludlow didn't have the "Balls" to pull off something like this.
In the center of the room is a chalk outline of the victim. It appears to be of a small lady. This wasn't warranted. It was a cowardly act. She probably couldn't even put up a worthy fight. While surveying the scene I suddenly noticed something that would've been overlooked by the canniest detective: a button. I kneeled down for a closer look. I've seen it before. It was a distinct button with a gold star on it. A routine patron named Bailey used to bring in his Italian-made silk shirts to the dry cleaners when I worked there. I only remembered them because Bailey was extremely bullheaded about his shirts. Many of his shirts had this same button stitched into them.
I was betting on Bailey still living in the apartment building a few blocks from the dry cleaners. I've picked up and delivered his dry cleaning to him every so often. Unfortunately, his cherry red '76 Stingray isn't parked out front. However, from the rooftop on an adjacent building, I did notice the silhouette of a busty female pacing back and forth by a back window inside his apartment.
While delivering dry cleaning to patrons one afternoon, I bumped into Bailey in the lobby of his building. He was retrieving his mail. Instead of taking his dry cleaning from me there, he made me follow him upstairs to his apartment. He retrieved a key from the top of his door frame and unlocked his door with it. I felt for the key on the door frame. It's still there.
His apartment is immaculate. The hardwood flooring in his living room and hallway is pristine. The colors of his modern-style furniture go well with the oil paintings hung on his walls. It’s showroom worthy. I'd expect this from Bailey. He comes off as an obsessive-compulsive person.
There was a racy pink tie-back halter top and a white mini-skirt on the floor in the bedroom. The shower was running and I overheard the mellow voice of a female singing from within. I went into Bailey's closet and sifted through his gold ancient tile patterned silk shirts. There were several and I was hoping to find the one with the missing button.
Suddenly I got an earful of the grating squeal from the shower knob being turned and the water stopped running. The female is going to come out any second. There was no time to dawdle. I had to move with haste. Just as I finished going through his shirts, I noticed a stuffed black garbage bag sticking out from underneath Bailey's bed. I fetched the bag out and sifted through it. There was a pair of jeans with a good amount of blood staining it. There was also a silk Italian-made shirt inside and a white knitted ski mask that also had blood splatter. Black buttons with a painted gold star was stitched into the shirt. A button, right on the chest, was missing. Bailey has adulation for his Italian-made shirts. I didn't think he'd wear one to commit this heinous homicide. He probably didn't have much time to prepare for the brutal murder he committed.
Just then, a cellphone began to chime inside the bathroom. The female answered it:
"Hello... Hey how's it goin'?... Nah, I just took a shower... Yeah, I'm gonna be dancing tonight at Lacy's... No, Bailey isn't here… I can talk to you... No, he went to Sterling's Pool Hall with two of his buddies..."
The bathroom door knob began to turn. I set the bag back underneath the bed then scaled out of the bedroom window just as she stepped out. I descended down the fire escape, made my way into the alley and fled into the night.
Sterling's Pool Hall is located on the top floor of a narrow three story brick building on Ninth Street. There is a vertical neon sign fixed to the side of the building with its name illuminated in red. Bailey parked his Stingray in an alleyway besides the pool hall. For the past hour I've been watching him down six beers. He's accompanied by two other companions. They too have been drinking liquor.
Another hour has past and the owner just informed the fellas the hall is closing. Bailey and his friends finished their last round of pool and beers then headed towards the exit. The three stood out front and engaged in a brief befuddling conversation. Then the guys high-five’d each other and parted ways. Bailey staggered to his car parked in the alleyway.
"Bailey, we need to talk." I growled as he stood by his car fumbling his keys.
"What the... Who... Da fucks are you?" He stammered. He's highly inebriated.
"Why'd you set him up?"
"Set him up? I dunno whatcha talkin'bout."
"Ludlow."
"Ludlow?" He inquired.
"Yeah Ludlow. Why'd you set him up?
"I dunno know whatcha talkin'bout. Who da fucks Ludlow?" He muttered then turned back towards his car.
He's not in any condition to interrogate nor is he in any condition to drive. I have to coerce him to confess. Just as he retrieved his keys off the ground, I clenched the back of his neck and hammered his head into his car roof. Bailey faltered onto the concrete. "Hey man, whatchu doin'?" He cried while aggressively stroking his forehead. "Ludlow! Why'd you set him up?" I barked. Bailey ignored my inquiries and began to crawl away. I pelted his right rib with a vigorous kick. He belted out an agonizing moan then began to hurl.
"Geezus man, I'm drunk. Please... Don't hit me..." Bailey pleaded while rolling onto his back and wiping the vomit from his mouth. His cries fell on deaf ears. I snatched him up by his shirt then slammed him against the rear fender of his Stingray. I then began pelting him in the left cheek with several right hooks.
"Please stop... Please...!" Bailey persisted to plea. He hoisted up his arms to cushion the blows.
"Why'd you set up Ludlow?" I growled.
"I... I... I..." He stammered. I continued whaling on him. "Okay... Okay... I was told to... By the boss..."
"What boss?"
"My boss... Quinnclay. He called me and told me to beat this lady. He said 'Kill her and hurry!' I don't ask questions, I did what I was told. I heard later on
Quinnclay set up Ludlow to take da fall for it." He cried.
“Why Ludlow?”
“Cause man, he’s soft. Why not him?”
“Why the lady?” I inquired.
“I dunno. Quinnclay said she owed him some money but she didn’t look like a junkie to me. She was too clean. She was probably some girlfriend two-timing him.”
"A detective will be here shortly. Tell her exactly what you just told me."
"I… C'mon... I can't go back to jail!" Bailey blurted. He then slumped his head over his chest.
Minutes later a maroon colored Crown Victoria raced into the alley. It sent a puddle of water into the air. The red dashboard strobe light announced the detective's arrival. Detective Wu pulled in front of Bailey's '76 Stingray. She bustled out of the car and rushed towards us.
"What did you do to him?" Detective Wu inquired while squirming at his bruises.
"Tell her!" I growled. Bailey glanced at me for a second then reluctantly confessed to the homicide. I also informed her about the distinct button left on the crime scene and how it came back to Bailey's Italian-made silk shirts. The detective jotted down the inkling then radioed for an ambulance and a transport wagon to respond.
“Geezus Legend, did you really have to rough him up like that?” She inquired.
“He wouldn’t talk.”
“Well next time just give me the lead. I have ways of making people like him talk. Legally! Get out of here before my back up arrives. I’ll come up with a story to explain this.”
Detective Wu placed Bailey on a forty eight hour hold. She returned to the crime scene with forensic officers and recovered the button. It was then taken to the analysis lab. Remarkably, they were able to recover contact trace DNA belonging to Bailey. It gave the detective enough probable cause to get an emergency search warrant signed off by the Superior Court judge. The Capitol City SWAT team raided Bailey's apartment and the black garbage bag was found underneath Bailey's bed. The blood on Bailey's Italian-made silk shirt came back to the victim. Bailey was charged with the homicide and Ludlow was released from jail.
A vintage ‘80s yellow Checker Cab pulled up to Ludlow's apartment. A middle-aged male wearing a green knitted beanie and matching sweater paid his fare then stepped out of the rear passenger side door. It's approaching the midnight hour and the rain has begun to fall. He treaded towards the front door to the building.
"Ludlow!" I growled as he made his way up the front steps.
"Oh... It's... You!" He stammered after pivoting around and noticing the dark caped figure with flaming red eyes standing before him. "I... I heard what you did..."
"You were just given a second chance at life. Make it count!"
"Yessir... Yessir I will." He replied. I turned around and began to head down the street. "Legend... Before you go... Can I ask you a question?" Ludlow barked.
"What?" I growled while slightly pivoting back towards him.
"Why... Why'd you help me?"
"It was your wife Ludlow. She’s suffered enough already." I growled then sprinted towards an alley across the street and disappeared into the night.
The headline on the morning's paper stunned the city; "Harlot Murderer STRIKES AGAIN!" The article read: "...The victim was only nineteen. Her body was found in the same alley a previous victim was left in. Sources told us she had contusions on the left side of her face... One of her molars was knocked loose... Defensive wounds were found on her forearms… A single gunshot wound was found to the chest… Abrasions consistent with a sexual assault… All signs leading to one thing; Albert's back!"
A note found on the scene was published in the article:
"It's been a long time since I had the urge to meet with you again. I know you missed me. Don't worry, I plan on sticking around for a long time. Remember this alley? Lightning can strike in the same place twice. But don't you see, it's fate. I'm supposed to turn society into a madhouse. If I wasn't I would've been caught by now. See you at the next one."
Albert's wood paneled station wagon was found in an alley behind a condemned downtown high-rise apartment building. Officers and the fire department responded to a call for a burning car. When the fire was put out, officers realized it was Albert's 1982 Ford Country Squire. The entire city was on the lookout for his distinct vehicle. It seems Albert decided to get rid of it.
For several nights I watched the ladies of the evening post up on the city blocks at dusk. I watched them bustle in and out of cars. I watch them get compensated for performing sexual acts on complete strangers. Some were as young as sixteen. I couldn't help but to think, "What could possible make someone adopt this lifestyle?"
It wasn't just the usual Tom and Jake that pulled these ladies either. Politicians, lawyers, doctors, judges and off-duty police officers also steered into the block. Albert, however, was the objective. There were no leads and the clock was ticking before another lady was going to lose her life.
Suddenly, just when I thought I hit a dead end, a familiar face escorted two prostitutes into an alley; the clerk from the Meridian Motel. It was a shot in the dark but I had to give it a try. The judge put a stay away order on me. I can't be within a hundred feet of him or I'll be violating my probation. I'm betting on him not being able to recognize me with my cloak and mask.
His head rested against a brick wall while the ladies were unclothing him with their teeth. He had a broad grin on his face. They were both fondling his groin area while his hands rested around their waists. "Mindy and Cindy, my favorite twins..." He moaned.
"We need to talk." I growled while revealing myself from the dark alley.
"Woah! Who... Wh... Who are you?" The clerk stammered. The twins were startled. They briskly spun around and caught sight of the dark caped figure with flaming red eyes standing before them. They nonchalantly backed away from the clerk.
"Ladies, you mind leaving us alone." I growled.
"Shh... Sure!" One of the twins stammered. "Hey sweetie... We'll catcha later, all right hun. You seem to have your hands full right now."
"No... No wait!" He begged. They ignored his pleas and trotted into the alley in their high heeled stilettos.
"Have you heard about the 'Harlot Murderer’?”
"I... Yeah... Everyone has." He muttered.
"You know anything about it?"
"I... How would I know?"
"I'm just asking."
"I... Maybe... I heard some dame talkin’ in a bar the other night. She said something about how she was with the last victim before she was killed. She got a glimpse of the John that picked up the floozy. She said he resembled the Harlot Murderer but since he hasn't killed anyone in about a year, she didn't pay it too much mind. She did jot down his license plate number on her forearm with lipstick just in case but she's afraid to go to the cops. Her boyfriend was just locked up for murder so she isn't too fond of them right now. That's all I know."
"Who was she?"
"I dunno man. I wasn't really paying attention. She had pink pigtails. That's all I know. Pink pigtails. You ruined my night you know that."
"That’s all you got for me?"
"Yeah man, that's all."
After an hour of knocking heads together, I found out the prostitute with the pink pigtails went by the handle "Cotton Candy." She's a waitress by day and strips part time at Lacy's Gentlemen's Club after hours. She's also a seasoned prostitute and she's pretty popular with the Johns.
It's minutes to four in the morning. Lacy's just let out for the night. Patrons dressed in tuxedos sauntered out of the narrow three floor brick building just as the elevated train rumbled over them. Valet scrambled to get the high-priced luxury cars from the rear alley to the red carpet entrance. The freshly waxed vehicles reflected the red neon lights from the vertical sign fixed to the front of the establishment. The only time you’ll see people from Uptown in this neighborhood is when they come to some sleazy hole like Lacy’s.
Cotton Candy, sporting a racy schoolgirl uniform, and a husky male
, wearing a lime green polyester suit, stepped into the rear alley for a cigarette smoke. The floodlight above the rear door gave some visibility in the dark alley.
"You know Candy, next weekend I'm hosting a big poker game at my club. A lot of money is gonna be comin' in. You're one of the popular dancers. I'd hate for you to not be there." The husky male muttered while holding the butt end of the cigarette with the corner of his lips.
"Why wouldn't I be there?" Cotton Candy asked while exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke.
"I heard about your side gig. I hear you're real good at it too."
"And..."
"I wanna sample."
"Your wife is inside." Cotton Candy said while pointing towards the back door.
"She's countin' money. She's gonna be a while."
"Lacy, this isn't like you. You're like a father to me."
"Yeah, you're right. Maybe it's the alcohol. But the proposition still stands."
"Lacy, I can't. Not with you. Your wife has been good to me." Cotton Candy pleaded.
"Then you're fired."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"You can't do that to me Lacy."
"Yeah I can."
"Lacy, I need the money."
"Then let’s take a quick walk behind the dumpster."
"...Okay." Cotton Candy reluctantly uttered.
"I have a better proposition. How about you take a hike and let me have a word with the girl?" I growled while sauntering out of the dark alley and revealing myself.
"Who da fuck is dis costume clown?" Lacy barked while snatching the cigarette from his lips with his left index and middle finger.
The Legend Page 8