“Good.”
“I’m kinda awkward at this kind of thing,” he tells her.
“It’s okay. What’s your first question?”
“Okay. Here we go. Can you tell me if you’re a college graduate?”
“Yes. I have a Bachelor’s Degree.”
“What’s your major?”
“Criminal Justice.”
“What school did you go to?”
“UCI”.
“Did you like college?”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s interesting. Give me a second while I jot this down. Okay. Next question: can you tell me what your favorite TV show is?”
“Let me think. I liked ‘True Detective’. It’s an HBO series.”
“I saw that. Wasn’t Matthew McConaughey amazing?”
“Woody Harrelson was good in it, too.”
“I know. I know just what you mean. I was sorry when the series ended.”
“Yeah. It’s too bad the actors aren’t coming back for the second season.”
“I know.”
Clarissa is starting to ask herself why she’s having this long conversation with a stranger. She thinks, ‘Maybe because I’m looking back fondly on my own college days?’ Wanting to hurry along the college boy’s survey, she asks, “What’s your next question?”
“Let’s see. Here it is. How many siblings do you have?”
“I’m an only child.”
“So am I.”
“That’s nice. What’s your next question?”
“Hmm... Let’s see…Where’d you go on your last vacation?”
“I went to Savannah.”
“Savannah? You’ve got to be kidding? I’ve always wanted to go there. Especially after reading ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’.”
“My cousin works for Grey Line Tours in Savannah. She leads an entire tour focused around the book and movie.”
“You’re kidding? A whole tour?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I’d love to go on that.”
“You should go there sometime.”
“I think I will. Especially now that I hear you talk about it.”
Clarissa is starting to feel uneasy. She wonders, ‘Is this guy flirting with me?’ She tries to get the survey over with as soon as possible and asks, “What’s your next question?”
“Are you married?”
“Yes. I just came back from my honeymoon,” she says, emphasizing ‘honeymoon’.
“Did you go to any place special?”
“We went to Savannah.”
“Wow! That’s so awesome. Is this your first marriage?”
“It’s my second.”
“How old were you for your first?”
“I was 18.”
“That’s really young.”
“I know.”
“I’m married, too,” he says, apparently trying to relate to her.
“Good for you.”
“So, speaking of marriage…do you believe in premarital sex?”
“Your sociology teacher wants you to ask people that?”
“Yeah. I know. It’s kinda embarrassing. Sorry.”
“I don’t know what to say… I suppose, premarital sex is fine if you love the other person.”
“Really? That’s awesome.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. So, anyway…how old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“You’re getting way too personal here.”
“I know. I know. This crazy teacher. Why does he make us do this?”
“I don’t think it’s very appropriate.”
“Neither do I. Believe me. I’ve had people hang up on me.”
“I’m not surprised. Well, I think it’s time I hang up now, too.”
“Oh. Wait. Please. One last question and then I’ll let you go. I promise.”
“I don’t think I want to continue,” Clarissa says, guardedly.
“Please? It’s just one more and I’ll let you go.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Have you ever watched X-rated movies?”
“That’s it,” Clarissa says, slamming down the phone. She shudders and walks to the front door, making sure it’s still locked. She looks out the living room window to see if anyone is lurking about. ‘I wish Ron would get home soon,’ she tells herself.
*******
Later, when she tells Ron about the disturbing phone call, he says, “I can’t believe what some teachers ask their students to do.”
Clarissa says, “I don’t think it was a real survey. I think he was just making things up so I’d trust him, and then he could eventually start bringing up sex--which was his goal in the first place.”
“You think he wanted to talk dirty with you?”
“Yes. I think he did.”
“Well, he better not mess with my girl,” Ron says, and gives Clarissa a big hug before they start eating their pizza.
Chapter Four
Early the following morning, Clarissa’s cell phone starts ringing to the tune of Elvis Costello’s “Watchin’ the Detectives.” She reaches over to her end table and answers, “Detective Santy speaking.”
“Welcome home, Clarissa,” her boss says. “Did you have a nice vacation?”
“Yes. It was great--except for the part about my cousin getting killed, of course.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“You did great work helping the Savannah police find her killer. The chief in Savannah would like to get his hands on you; but I said, ‘No way! She’s all mine’.”
“Thanks. I like it here.”
“Glad to hear that. Say, I’m calling to ask you to come in for a meeting in my office this morning at 9:00. I want to discuss where we’re at with the investigation of the girl whose was dumped on Ortega Highway. Her name is Desiree Beauchamp. You may have heard about her in the news?”
“I read about that. It’s horrible.”
“Yeah. We’re really eager to get this guy. I assigned Detective Vente to this case, but I want you to take over. It’s way out of his league. Besides, I’d like a woman to lead, due to the sensitive sexual nature of the crime. I think her mother and friends would feel more comfortable talking to a woman.”
“That makes sense.”
“A profiler from the FBI will be at the meeting.”
“Okay, ma’am. I’ll be there by 9:00.”
*******
One of the reasons Clarissa wanted to move to Santa Ana was because it is close enough to work that she could sometimes walk there. It’s a beautiful spring day, and she decides she’ll walk to the Sheriff’s Department since she’ll probably be spending her entire day there catching up. She and Ron live in the most beautiful neighborhood in Santa Ana, Floral Park. It’s a little gem of tranquility in a city that’s more well-known for its barrios and gangs. The birds are signing as she strolls down Flower St. towards the Civic Center. ‘Life is good,’ she tells herself.
Her office is next to the jail and there are the usual lowlifes hanging around, bumming change from the passers-by. When she enters her department, everyone is happy to see her and asks her about her honeymoon. After she greets them, she makes her way to her boss’s office and knocks on the door. Her boss motions her to come inside. Across the desk from her boss sits an African-American woman who is wearing a beautiful Kente cloth dress and head wrap.
Her boss, Lieutenant Emily Harris, says, “Clarissa, this is Jane Tamika. The FBI has lent her to us for this case.”
“Glad to meet you, Ms. Tamika.”
“Please. No formalities. Call me Jane.”
“Okay, Jane.”
The Lieutenant says, “Jane has just been looking through the evidence to get an understanding of who the killer might be.”
Clarissa says, “Why did he chop off her arms like that?”
Jane tells her, “He has a need for control. Getting rid of her arms makes him
feel more powerful. It’s also easier for him to rape her.”
Clarissa says, “So he did have sex with her?”
“Yes. But he must have been wearing a condom, because we have no DNA evidence of his semen. Her vagina does show signs of trauma, so he must have penetrated her.”
“Have you dealt with many of these cases where the limbs have been cut off?”
“It’s rare, but it does happen. Sometimes they chop off the legs, too. It’s all about control.”
Clarissa says, “That reminds me of that movie, ‘Boxing Helena’ where the guy couldn’t get the girl to give him the time of day until he made her a prisoner by drugging her and chopping off her limbs.”
Jane says, “You got it. I saw that movie, too. It sent shivers up my spine.”
Her boss says, “What kind of guy would do something like this? Who are we looking for?”
Jane says, “It’s usually a loner-type guy. Someone who’s had a series of unsuccessful relationships with women. These guys don’t have much self-confidence. And they like sex. They usually have a lot of pornography. Women keep turning them down when they ask for dates, so eventually, they end up not asking at all. The rejection makes them angry and they feel powerless, so that they feel the only way they can have sex is by forcing themselves on women.”
“So it’s like being a rapist?” Clarissa asks.
“Yes. You should look into the record of sex offenders in the area and see if you come up with someone like that.”
“Okay. We will,” Clarissa says. “Do you think he is a child predator?”
“The fact the victim was 16 doesn’t necessarily indicate that he is. A lot of guys are attracted to teenage girls.”
The lieutenant says, “My ex-husband sure seemed to be.”
Clarissa and Jane nervously laugh.
Jane says, “What do we know about the girl?”
Clarissa says, “I’ve just come back from vacation and haven’t had a chance to even look at the evidence yet.”
Her boss says that Desiree was an honor student at Tustin High.
Jane says, “Talk to her friends and her family. Talk to her teachers. They might be able to give you some clues.”
Lieutenant Harris says, “Unfortunately, we have very little trace evidence. He must have been wearing gloves.”
Clarissa says, “Can I see the pictures from the crime scene?”
Harris picks them up out of the files and gives them to Clarissa.
She says, “How horrible. He really beat her up. What does the pathologist’s report say she died of?”
Harris says, “She bled to death.”
“How long was she dead before her body was discovered?”
“Only twelve hours, according to the report.”
“Who found her?”
“A hiker.”
“What do we know about this hiker?”
“She’s twenty. She sounded generally shocked when she called 911.”
“And rightly so,” says Clarissa.
Jane says, “Her hands weren’t found. Just her arms.”
Clarissa says, “Oh my God. I didn’t know that he chopped off her hands, too.”
The profiler answers, “Yes. They could have his DNA evidence under her fingernails if she fought him off.”
“Were her hands found?” Clarissa asks.
Her boss says, “No. But officers are combing the area looking for them.”
“Maybe he kept them as souvenirs?” Clarissa suggests.
“Either that or he burned or buried them somewhere. If we had her hands, it would really be helpful. This guy is smart. He thinks things through.”
“You’re doing the right things so far,” the profiler says.
“Thank you so much for all of your help,” Lieutenant Harris replies.
“Here’s my card,” Jane says. “Let me know if you have any questions. I want to help you catch this sick bastard.”
Chapter Five
Clarissa spends the rest of morning looking through the evidence. She decides that she’s going to try to talk to Desiree’s mother after lunch. Desiree’s father died five years ago and she lived alone with her mother. Clarissa calls Mrs. Beauchamp and asks if she could come by the house and look at Desiree’s bedroom. They plan to meet at 1:30. Clarissa walks back to her house and grabs a quick bite before she sets off in her car.
Mrs. Beauchamp lives in Old Town Tustin, Clarissa’s old neighborhood. The victim’s mother owns a Craftsman Bungalow that has a plaque out front stating it is an historical property. The flowerbed in front of the porch is beautiful with lots of tulips and daffodils blooming.
Mrs. Beauchamp has been looking out her front window and sees Clarissa when she drives up. She greets her at the door. Clarissa expresses her sympathy and asks to see Desiree’s bedroom. Her mother directs her upstairs to a large room that looks like a private suite. It has paneled pine walls and Adirondack-themed lamps and knick-knacks. When Detective Vente had visited earlier, he took Desiree’s computer’s hard drive, so it’s back at the police station in the evidence box. This afternoon, Clarissa is searching for anything he might have missed. She turns over pictures on the wall to see if anything is taped on the back. She rummages through the pockets of the girl’s wardrobe and reaches into the toes of Desiree’s shoes. She pulls out her dresser drawers and feels the undersides of the bureau. She looks through boxes and PeeChees full of school reports. In one of the PeeChees, she finds a poem entitled, “The Ballad of a Hooker.” Desiree wrote it for her English class and received an A+ from her teacher. Clarissa is shocked by the language and subject matter:
Ballad: Life of a Hooker
Under a street lamp clothed in slitted skirt,
Waits a hooker, prepared for her night’s work.
Clutching her apartment key,
Anticipating her work’s fee,
She’s the best known hustler this side of the Mississippi.
Looking for a kick,
Waiting to turn a trick.
Prostitution,
The only solution,
Her body is saturated with filth and pollution.
Pimp’s arranged a $100 job,
With a married john from Frisco, probably some slob.
That awful pimp,
A puny wimp,
Who drains her dry to buy his hemp.
No fringe benefits, working conditions rough,
Perverted male minds, it’s murder coping with such stuff.
Pocketbooks untighten,
Income heightens,
But when business slacks, her sanity slightens.
What other trade is she prepared,
When seized by old age, wrinkled and gray-haired.
This harlot’s beauty will be drained,
But for no other job will she be trained.
She’ll be forced to surrender the title she once reigned.
Thrust into the street, no alternative but to marry,
She will no longer be available to every Tom, Dick, or Harry.
She will live life slow,
On her husband’s steady income flow.
Recalling the insecure days of long ago.
Clarissa thinks that this is very shocking subject matter and wonders if Desiree’s mother has any idea that her 16-year-old daughter had written it. She thinks, ‘If I were a teacher and read this, I would have told the guidance counselor in school to have a little talk with the girl.’ Clarissa walks downstairs to show the mother what she’s found.
Her mother reads it and is just as shocked as Clarissa was. Clarissa asks her, “Do you think that Desiree may have been a prostitute?”
“I can’t imagine such a thing. She’s just a girl.”
“Well, she has some very experienced and sophisticated ways of looking at sex for her age.”
“Kids are exposed to all kinds of things on the internet and in movies.”
“How did Desiree get to and from school?”
“Since we live close
to the high school, she walked there.”
“By herself or with other kids from the neighborhood?”
“By herself.”
“Mrs. Beauchamp, I don’t want to be preachy or anything, but it’s never a good idea for girls or women to walk by themselves. Neither day; nor night. When I was younger, I used to walk to school and guys were constantly pulling over and asking me if I needed a ride. Even after I’d say ‘No’, they’d still slowly circle the block, watching where I was heading.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“It was. That’s why I’m telling you, for your own safety, never walk alone. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks for the advice. I never thought that it would be unsafe in the daytime, too. I’ve never had that kind of trouble; but there’s always a first time, I suppose.”
“Yes. There are self-defense classes that I advise all women to take.”
“Okay.”
“Mrs. Beauchamp? Can I borrow some pictures of Desiree. I’ll make copies and give them back.”
“That other detective who was here took some. And he hasn’t given them back yet, like he promised.”
“I’ll see to it that they will be returned by tomorrow. In the meantime, would you please lend me a few recent pictures of her?”
The mother shows Clarissa a picture from last year’s school yearbook.
“Pretty girl,” Clarissa says, and tries not to think about how very different the girl looked in the crime scene photos. “Can I borrow this yearbook?”
Mrs. Beauchamp says, “Okay, but please give it back to me later.”
“Of course I will.”
Mrs. Beauchamp says, “I’ve already given a list of Desiree’s friends to that other detective who was here.”
“Yes. I saw in his notes that he’d interviewed them already.”
“Did they have any idea how this happened to my daughter?”
“His notes don’t show any evidence of that, but I promise I will catch that bastard who did this to your pretty daughter. I guarantee you.”
The Body on Ortega Highway Page 2