“I’d be keeping a low profile too if I was her. Whoever ran that sex ring must have been looking for her.”
“And would make excellent suspects in her murder, as would any of the johns who frequented her. Not sure how that relates to our present vic though, she appears to be Scandinavian.”
“We can assume this vic was pregnant. Why else would her uterus also be missing? Could be the same guy got both of them pregnant and wanted no part of it,” Kennedy said weakly.
“That seems like a stretch Kev. But I agree, this case seems to revolve around the missing babies. To catch our killer, we’re going to have to figure out first what he wanted with these babies.”
§
Kennedy and I spent the next twenty minutes combing over the rest of the scene. We found nothing unusual about the wooded area between the tennis courts to the south and the ball-fields to the north. CSU, the Crime Scene Unit, a branch of NYPD, then did a once over. The only thing they were confident about was that the body had been dumped either here or nearby within the last twenty-four hours or so. But I already knew that, which frustrated the hell out of me. In the midst of barking orders at everyone to run prints, check for fibers, and check with Missing Persons for anyone matching the victim’s description, I felt the familiar pain building in my chest. I moved off to the edge of the crime scene, near my car, and leaned forward, my hands on my knees.
“You all right, buddy?” Kennedy asked with concern.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, and pigs fly. Level with me, what’s going on?”
I had no choice. I’d tried to keep this under wraps, but it was time to let Kennedy in on it.
“It’s called pheochromocytoma.”
Kennedy looked at me blankly. I took two slow, deep breaths.
“It’s a tumor of the adrenal glands. Sometimes when I’m under a lot of stress, my body makes way too much epinephrine, uh adrenaline, and my blood pressure spikes and I get chest pain and stuff.”
Kennedy put one hand on my arm. “Sounds serious, Chris. Let me help you to your car so you can sit down.”
“Thanks bud, that’d be great.”
I sat down in the driver’s seat while Kennedy slid in on the passenger’s side. “If it’s a tumor why don’t they just remove it?”
The chest pain was easing up. I could sit upright now. “Usually they do, but as it turns out, mine’s inoperable, so I just have to manage it as best I can.”
“Anyone else on the force know about this?”
“God no! They never would have let me on.”
“The doc didn’t pick it up on your exam or looking through your medicals?”
“I faked my medicals.”
Kennedy paused a couple of beats. “Well, don’t worry, bud. I’ve got your back. We’ll keep this to ourselves. Just make sure your real doctor is on top of this shit; none of us wants anything to happen to you.”
“Will do, Kev. Thanks.”
§
What a picturesque scene. The police scurrying to and fro like fleas dancing on a dog, trying to gather clues to gain an understanding of what happened and why. They would, of course, come up with nothing of consequence. That was how he wanted it.
The Giver took it all in, deriving particular pleasure from observing Detective Ravello’s angst, anger, and agitation, not to mention his hobbling around at the end. Tsk, tsk. Stress on the job was having such a negative effect on the poor detective. The Giver mused, “Poor Ravello should spend more time relaxing with his family. He was in a much better frame of mind when he did that.” A smile stretched across The Giver’s face. A few more murders like this and Ravello would be careening out of control, ripe for the picking.
The Giver couldn’t decide what gave him more pleasure, the killings themselves or watching Ravello flop around afterward trying to decipher them. No matter, there would be ample opportunity to continue enjoying both.
Chapter 20
The night air was cool as it rushed in the car window and streamed across April’s face. Disc 1 from Billy Joel’s box set edition “My Life” played in the car. The CD’s were a Christmas present from her dad, who taught music theory and directed the band at Columbus University. He had always thought Billy Joel was as good as modern-day pop music got and had encouraged April’s interest in the Piano Man’s tunes. God, how she missed her daddy.
“New York State of Mind” was playing as April steered her Plymouth north on the Major Deegan Parkway past Yankee Stadium, the car’s headlights piercing the dark night in front of her.
April struggled both to stay awake and to keep herself from having a breakdown. Things certainly hadn’t gone according to plan since she moved here a year ago after the end of her sophomore year at Ohio State University. She expected great things in short order, but New York had different plans. Working as a dance instructor and waitress she made just enough to pay the bills, and she had yet to even receive a call back from any of her auditions. She drifted into stripping as a short-term solution to her money problems and a way to keep her legs in shape until her big break came. She didn’t anticipate the drugs, physical abuse, or depression that went with the job. As it stood now she was just scraping by, uncertain if her life would ever improve.
But it hadn’t been all bad, she realized. She met Gerry through the club, and he was nice while it lasted. But Gerry and she were on different paths. Gerry had poured his life’s savings into a pharmacy in Ossining and was working long hours to make the most of that investment. He had loved April, she was sure of that, but he had little time for a girlfriend, and couldn’t handle the whole stripper thing, so that was the end of that.
Johnny wasn’t so bad in the beginning, either, she mused. His ruggedness was a nice break from the string of mild-mannered, boring boyfriends she had back home. The problems began when April told Johnny she was pregnant. He had flipped out so badly April thought he would kill her if she didn’t agree to an abortion, so she lied and said she would do it. April was willing to risk the wrath of an angry ex-boyfriend and somehow conceal her pregnancy while working as a stripper, but what was she going to do with this latest news from Doctor Dietz? April had so many hopes and dreams for Rachel Raquel and loved her so much already. She didn’t know if she could go on without her. As April made the right turn off the Bronx River Parkway onto East 233rd Street, she prayed Doctor Dietz was wrong.
It was 4:00 a.m. and April couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and say goodbye to another forgettable day in this forgettable life of hers. Yesterday, The Daily had run an expose on her and the Golden Garter. April couldn’t understand how they found out so many things, including her baby’s name! Lou and Johnny were enraged by the article, so much so that they had nearly torn April apart at the club. She felt lucky to have gotten out of there alive. A couple of Percocet should knock me out until the middle of the afternoon, April thought as she parked the car, walked up the short flight of stairs to the house, and turned the key in the lock. April entered the house and dead-bolted the door behind her.
“My, my, aren’t we home late?” a voice said as a living room light flicked on. “Now that’s no way to act with a little one on the way. You call her Rachel Raquel, right?” the intruder said while raising the Colt Detective Special .38 caliber revolver and pointing it at April’s chest. “You really should take better care of yourself, darling.”
April froze at the door, realizing in an instant that escape was impossible.
Chapter 21
“Here sweetie, I saved you a spot,” the trespasser said while patting a large hand on a nearby chair. April moved with resignation towards the living room seat.
“Why don’t you get more comfortable and take those stinky clothes off? I know it may come as a bit of a surprise, but a little striptease would be such a treat for me right now,” the husky voice said.
“Sssure. Whatever you say. Just please don’t hurt me,” April stammered. She gyrated her head and hips as she slowly peeled off her tee shirt an
d then her shorts. April’s tongue just peeked out of her mouth and slid across her upper and then lower lips. Her hands pressed her breasts together, causing them to jut forward and strain against the silver sequined bikini top she wore. She thrust her head backwards, tossing her long brown-feathered hair behind her, exposing her delicate neck. Praying a good performance would save her life, April spent the next few minutes provocatively removing her bikini top and slipping out of her panties, which she flicked with her foot towards her assailant.
“Nice. Very nice, April,” the voice said as April sat on the open-back, leather chair and the intruder came around to stand behind her. “Doesn’t that feel better now, sweetheart?” April heard as the attacker’s face leaned in close to her neck and inhaled the scent of her perfume, her hair, and the aroma of the strip club. The gun rested against April’s right temple. April trembled as the intruder’s other hand came forward and began fondling her ample left breast.
“Though I’m no stranger to this body of yours, you’ve never looked better to me than right now. Do as I say and you’ll be just fine.” The hand descended from April’s breast across her abdomen, reaching her womanhood a few short breaths later. One finger entered her, tentatively at first, followed by several more as April felt heavy breathing on her neck. The stalker’s face caressed April’s as she felt a hardness rise against her back. Repulsed and violated, her entire body tense, April longed for an opportunity to fight back.
Fingers slipped out of her, then April sensed movement behind her as the gun maintained its steady pressure against her temple. The attacker alternated speaking softly to her and running a tongue up and down the left side of her neck. “Entering you won’t hurt a bit, my precious one, I promise.”
Before she could react, April felt a sharp but brief prick. Darkness followed…
Chapter 22
The Giver circulated with ease through the large hotel conference room. For the next three days the New York Helmsley Hotel played host to the 2015 North American Bio-Pharma conference. Clinicians, researchers, biotech, and pharmaceutical personnel were all well represented at the affair. They mingled in the elegant Knickerbocker Suite, with its twelve-foot ceilings, cream-colored walls, and yellow crystal chandeliers. They compared notes and listened to each other’s lectures and presentations, looking for something to help them make the next big discovery, becoming rich in the process.
A badge dangling from his sports jacket pocket, The Giver chatted with one colleague after another. They all wished him well with his work and promised to grab a drink with him at Harry’s Bar in the lobby, where the martinis were legendary.
Small-minded fools and cretins, The Giver thought as he smiled and waved to yet another familiar face across the room. As they make their empty promises and exchange their insincere pleasantries, I am the one on the verge of greatness. I am the one who will soon stand above all others. The Giver looked over the thick program he received when he signed in for the meeting. The first section in the book listed each company alphabetically that was in attendance as well as those clinicians and researchers giving lectures. The next section contained one to two page bios on the lecturers and presenters at the conference. In the back of the program was contact information for all sales reps and other non-medical personnel involved in displaying new inventions, devices, drugs, or techniques.
Skimming through the program, he took special note of the list of speakers: Drs. Durand, Spano, Houston, Cuadre, Stetson, Jackson, and Dietz. Many of these researchers were top in their field but none had his expertise. Farther along in the program, he recognized some of the pharmacists who consulted with bio tech and pharmaceutical companies on a regular basis. Buehler, Diovan, Simmons, and Molteno in particular stood out. The Giver noticed many familiar but lesser names as he turned to the back of the program. There are so many underlings on my payroll it is impossible to keep track of them all, he thought to himself.
A master of disguise, The Giver prided himself on showing no response whatsoever when he saw his name among all the others. It did infuriate him that his name had to share the same space with all the monkeys in this program. His name should be above all others! But he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had created a perfectly inconspicuous persona to hide behind. He picked up the nametag that hung from a lanyard around his neck. This person I’ve created is window-dressing, one of many diversions to keep suspicious-minded people away. My activities at this conference mean nothing more to me than the rest of the fools in this book, The Giver thought to himself as he tossed the conference guide in the nearest garbage and headed towards the elevator.
A few of those famous martinis and he would be able to tolerate these imbeciles for just a little while longer.
Chapter 23
Bright sunlight streamed through the window and bathed both of our faces as we lay in the four-poster, lace canopied bed. The Manchester Valley Room at the 1870 Wedgewood Inn in New Hope, Pennsylvania was a favorite escape of ours. Michelle found out about it a couple of years ago on CNN’s Travel Show and Romantic Inns of America. We’d been coming ever since. This time we did it the smart way though, arriving in the morning on Friday, taking advantage of the inn’s summer kick off special. There was nothing like sipping champagne in a Jacuzzi next to the fireplace while staying within a cop’s budget.
Michelle had been a pharmaceutical salesperson, but left the work force when Christine was born. She desperately wanted back in. My misgivings about her returning to work while the kids were so little had caused considerable friction between us. But it was time to put aside my concerns. Michele had finally landed a job, and it was time to celebrate. With the second body showing up, things were a bit crazy at work, but Kev seemed to have it under control. I wasn’t going to be gone long and I felt I owed it to Michelle for all she had been putting up with since we moved to Peekskill. And after I lost it at work, Kevin agreed that taking a little time away might be for the best.
Michelle and I had a great time the last forty-eight hours. Friday we strolled along Main Street, checking out galleries and antiques, and inhaling some amazing cinnamon pretzels at the Philly Soft Pretzel Co. down by the New Hope-Lambertville Bridge. Dinner at Esca’s was amazing that night, which was not a surprise. Michelle was a major foodie and always picked the best places to eat, whether we were looking for an offbeat hole-in-the-wall place or a fine dining experience. Yesterday, the fun continued as we went on a historic boat ride along the Delaware River and then took in a play at the famous Buck’s County Playhouse.
This morning we were just laying low. I was up early, reading the inn’s brochure, learning how our room was hand painted by New Hope artist Cheryl Raywood. The last hour or so I’d just been staring out the window or at the wood and brass ceiling fan, all the while waiting for Michelle to wake up. We had cable TV and a telephone with voice mail to amuse ourselves, but neither Michelle nor I had any use for those the next two days. We were steadfastly avoiding contact with the real world and hadn’t even read a newspaper since Thursday afternoon. The lone person from the real world we’d spoken to was my father, who assured us the kids were doing fine and were oblivious to our absence.
“How are we doing, honey?” I said, gazing into Michelle’s light blue eyes as she awoke.
“Quite well right now, Mr. Ravello. Quite well indeed,” Michelle replied through strawberry-red lips that begged to be kissed.
I hardly heard her reply as I engaged in a favorite pastime; swimming in the warmth and sensuality of Michelle’s eyes. I leaned forward and drank her in with a long, soft kiss as my hands caressed her cheeks and then fondled her earlobes.
“Mmm, seems like you’re ready for another round, huh, Tiger? Well, I’m game,” Michelle replied with a purr and radiant smile. “I can’t promise I’ll make it out of bed today, though, if this round’s anything like last night,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“It’s a chance we’ll just have to take,” I said, laughing. “Let’s go for i
t.” I kissed her behind her ears and worked my way down her neck to her soft, full breasts. Michelle’s back arched and her hips swayed to and fro as my mouth circled her left areola, teasing it before taking her taut nipple into my mouth. She shuddered as I lavished her right breast with attention before kissing my way down her smooth, flat, and tanned stomach towards her softness. Michelle moaned, her breath coming in short rapid bursts, as first my tongue and then my manhood entered her.
I brought her to and back from the edge a half-dozen times or more, all the while gazing into her eyes as I enjoyed her warm embrace. At last, I brought both of us home in a symphony of spasms. Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, intoxicated by the moment until we drifted off to sleep again.…
The powerful opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth roused Michelle and I as I searched for the source of the sound. I grabbed my cell phone and answered it, “Ravello here. What’s up Kev?”
“Sorry to interrupt your time away but there’s been a nasty one, Chris. A mutilated young stripper found in the Bronx. It’s a similar MO as the other two but with a new twist or I wouldn’t have bothered you,” he replied.
“Jesus. Okay, give me the address, Kev. I’ll get myself together and see you there in two hours,” I replied with intensity before pausing to take a deep, calming breath.
And just like that another dream vacation with Michelle ended as an already difficult investigation turned into a nightmare.
Chapter 24
I was crouched over April Cassidy’s lifeless body. My stubbled face was set hard in concentration as my latex-gloved hands did a cursory search of April’s wounds for an understanding of how or why she died. It was too much of a mess to tell if her uterus was missing and tie her in with the first two women. She lay naked, a silver sequined bra and panties off to the side. There were no signs of an entrance or exit wound. The telltale signs of strangulation, such as conjunctival hemorrhages, ligature marks on the neck, or skin crackling due to air being trapped just beneath the skin, were all missing. There were no injuries whatsoever above her navel. Below her navel, the story was entirely different. April’s abdomen was butchered by stab wounds too numerous to count. Chunks of her abdominal wall were macerated or missing, similar to the other two vics but with something new; her vaginal area was obliterated beyond recognition. Her upper thighs were coated with crimson streaks of dried blood, but from April’s mid-thighs down, she was unscathed.
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