by Frank Zafiro
So who did that leave?
No one in his unit.
Tower reached into his desk drawer and removed the Patricia Reno file. Then he scooped up the newest file on Maureen Hite and took both with him as he made his way to the Major Crimes unit. Once there, he found Detective Ray Browning sitting at his desk, reviewing a file of his own.
“Ray?”
Browning, a black man with compact features, looked up from his file. His warm, brown eyes regarded Tower calmly. “John. What’s up?”
Tower motioned toward the file on Browning’s desk. “You deep into that?”
Browning shook his head. “No, just some housekeeping. It’s already gone to the prosecutor. I’m going on vacation after tomorrow, so I wanted to get all the little odds and ends tidied up. Why?”
Tower held out his two files. “I’m looking for suggestions. I want to catch this prick.”
Ray smiled graciously. “You want to run it for me?”
Tower shook his head. He knew Browning preferred to read the reports himself rather than hear a synopsis. He held out the files and Browning accepted them. Tower settled into the empty desk across from him. Browning opened the files and read carefully, stroking his graying goatee as he scanned the pages.
Tower tapped his pen and waited.
Browning glanced up. “You’re not going to sit there and tap the entire time, are you?”
Tower stopped. “Sorry.”
Browning smiled at him. “Get yourself some coffee, John.”
Tower nodded. “Good idea.” He rose and left the bullpen, making his way past Glenda, the Major Crimes secretary. The smell of good coffee wafted toward him. He grabbed a Styrofoam cup and poured some.
“That’s a quarter,” Glenda told him, her tone mock-scolding.
Tower fished a dollar out of his pocket and stuffed it into the jar near the coffee pot. “It’s worth it. The coffee over in Sex Crimes sucks.”
Glenda shrugged. “What can I say? This is Major Crimes. The varsity team.”
Tower smiled. “Don’t be humble or anything.”
“Humility is an affectation that I don’t have time for,” Glenda said, a smile playing on her lips. “It tends to get in the way of accomplishing anything great.”
“And greatness courses through the veins of every member of the Major Crimes unit,” Tower said.
Glenda narrowed her eyes. “Drink your coffee, serf.”
Tower turned his empty palm up. “You got me. I have no response for that.”
Glenda raised her eyebrows in mock haughtiness. “I thought not.”
Tower chuckled and sipped his coffee.
“Tower!” Lieutenant Crawford bellowed from his office.
Tower suppressed a sigh. “Yeah?”
“Don’t ‘yeah’ me,” Crawford barked. “Stop flirting with my secretary and come in here!”
Tower tipped Glenda a wink and made his way into the Lieutenant’s office. He stood in front of Crawford’s desk, ignoring the open chair.
Crawford eyed him for a moment, then lifted a clipboard. “I’ve got a stranger-to-stranger rape on my report list.”
“I know. I’ve already got the file.”
Crawford glanced down at the clipboard. “Maureen Hite?”
Tower nodded.
“Is it a good rape?”
Tower cringed at the question. He knew that a percentage of rape reports that came through were false. Most of the time, alcohol and the wrong partner were involved. It was a reality he’d come to understand as a sex crimes investigator – sometimes women lied about rape. Of course, at the same time, they often didn’t report it at all. He’d investigated a number of false claims, so he knew they happened. Still, Crawford’s word choice bothered him. He wasn’t a screaming liberal about the issue, but—
“Tower? I asked you a question.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it is. It’s a good rape.”
Crawford reached for his cigar box. “Anything like the last one?”
“A lot like it, actually.”
“Did you get called out on it?” Crawford lifted a thick cigar from the box and slipped it between his lips.
Tower had a passing thought about Freud and suppressed a grin.
Crawford’s brow furrowed in a scowl. “Something funny, Tower?”
“No, sir.”
“Then answer my question. Did you get called out?”
“No. My pager battery died on me.”
Crawford fixed him with a dark stare. “Your pager died?” he repeated.
Tower nodded.
“Pretty rookie mistake, Tower.”
Tower didn’t reply.
“You know where we keep the batteries, right?”
“I do.”
“And you can install them?”
Tower clenched his jaw. “Of course I can.”
Crawford removed the unlit cigar and waved out toward the bullpen. “Because I can have one of these guys tutor you on that battery thing, if you need it.”
Tower sighed. “It just went dead. Okay?”
Crawford grunted. He slid the cigar back into the corner of his mouth, gripping it with his teeth. “So your pager died. Did your phone die, too?”
Tower shook his head. “I wasn’t at home last night.”
Crawford raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Do I need to start calling you Giovanni Junior now?”
Tower ignored the jibe. “I don’t know that there’s much I could’ve done last night, anyway,” he told Crawford. “MacLeod did a great interview and a great report. Chisolm and Westboard searched the crime scene and didn’t find anything. They took photos anyway.”
“Those are patrol officers,” Crawford said, “not detectives.”
Tower shrugged. “It was good police work.”
Crawford grunted again. “So where are you at with this case, then? If the police work was so good.”
“I think this guy might be a serial.”
“And?”
“And I’m trying to figure out how to work it. None of the lab work is back or will be anytime soon. The victims didn’t get a look at the guy. I’ve got no witnesses. I’m looking for an angle to play. Maybe Renee in Crime Analysis—”
“You’re looking for a magic bullet.”
“Huh?”
Crawford shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You’re looking for a magic bullet to solve this case. It ain’t gonna happen. You think you’ll go down to Crime Analysis and flirt with Renee like you’re flirting with Glenda in there. Then her computer will spit out some guy’s name. But it doesn’t happen that way.”
Tower shrugged. “Sometimes it does.”
“Bah.” Crawford waved his hand. “You need to get out there and wear out some shoe leather. Canvass the area where the assault occurred. Somebody saw something.”
“This isn’t the 1940s,” Tower said. “It’s the nineties. I agree on the canvass, but –”
“Stop looking for a magic bullet, Tower. Wear out some shoe leather, like I said.”
Tower clenched his jaw and nodded. “Fine.”
“You want help on this?”
“Ray’s looking at the files.”
“Ray’s going on vacation. I mean, you want me to reassign Prather and Carlisle to help you on this?”
Tower shook his head. “They’ve got their own cases. If I need help with anything, I’ll grab somebody in patrol. Or, if it’s in the office, I’ll get Billings to help.”
“Billings?” Crawford snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Tower didn’t reply, mostly because he knew the lieutenant was right.
Crawford gave Tower an appraising look. “How sure are you this is a serial?”
“Pretty sure. The M.O. is identical and he used a key phrase both times.”
“The whammo thing?”
“Yeah.”
Crawford chewed slowly on the cigar. “This is two rapes in two days, right?”
Tower nodded.
“Pret
ty short turnaround, isn’t it?”
Tower nodded again.
“You figure he’ll hit again soon?”
Tower shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe whatever is driving him has been satisfied for a little while. But who knows?”
“I’m sure the FBI knows,” Crawford said sarcastically.
“The FBI knows everything,” Tower agreed, deadpanning.
Crawford didn’t smile, but Tower spotted laughter in his eyes. “All right, Tower. Do what you can. Get Browning’s input. Check with Renee in Crime Analysis. But get out there and find a witness.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get me copies of both files. I’m going to have to alert the media on this.”
“I understand.”
“I figure you want the whammo thing as a keep back?”
Tower nodded. “Yeah. Just in case the false confessions start rolling in.”
“All right.” Crawford looked down at the paperwork on his desk, signaling a dismissal.
Tower turned and left the office.
0837 hours
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Lieutenant Alan Hart said to the man on the telephone. “From what you’re telling me, the officers behaved quite inappropriately.”
“I pay their wages,” the man on the other end said. “I don’t need them coming to my house and being smart-asses. Or cussing at me. Especially when I’m the victim.”
“I agree,” Hart replied. “Mr. Elway, would you be willing to come down to the police station and sign a formal complaint?”
“Well...”
“You needn’t worry about any repercussions. If an officer were to retaliate in any way against a citizen who files a complaint…”
“It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t have my Beemer back yet. And you guys aren’t even looking for it.”
Hart cleared his throat. “I can come to you with the complaint form, Mr. Elway.”
“Fine. But what about my stolen car?”
“I’ll have an officer dispatched right away.”
“Good.”
“Thanks for calling, Mr. Elway,” Hart said. “It’s citizens like you that make this department a better one.”
“I just want my car back,” Elway said. “But what’s going to happen to those two clowns you guys sent up here?”
“They’ll be dealt with,” Hart assured him.
“I hope so. Guys like that shouldn’t be cops.”
“I agree.”
Elway hung up without a word.
Hart replaced the receiver. He finished scratching out the nature of the complaint on his notepad. He’d transfer it later to an official form, but he liked to get it all down while the call was still fresh.
O’Sullivan and Battaglia. A couple of hot-shot, graveyard jokers. He used to come across the two of them as they were getting off of graveyard shift and he was coming on day shift, back when he was the lieutenant for day shift patrol. He still recalled the arrogant, condescending looks they’d cast toward him as they bit off the words, “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Well, he had them cold now. From Tad Elway’s statement, they’d get charged for Officer Demeanor and Inadequate Response. The demeanor charge was iffy on O’Sullivan, but when Battaglia cursed and was directly rude to Elway, that sealed things. While that charge might only result in a written reprimand, the inadequate response had some teeth. A citizen reported a stolen vehicle and officers failed to take a report. That was serious. There might even be a suspension on the horizon for both officers.
Hart smiled. He wondered how funny those two jokers – no, Elway had called them ‘clowns’ and he liked that better. He wondered how funny those two clowns thought a suspension would be.
When he’d finished making his notes, he fired up his computer. He typed in his password – INTEGRITY, something a lot of River City officers could improve upon – and opened a new, official complaint form.
He assigned a case number. When the previous investigators ran IA, they investigated about fifty complaints a year. Most, even Hart had to admit, were frivolous. But he felt that those investigators had been lazy. Either that, or they were overly sympathetic to the officers.
Hart didn’t have that problem. It was only April, and he’d investigated fifty-three already.
Correction, he thought as he typed in the narrative of Tad Elway’s complaint.
Fifty-four.
His phone rang.
He snatched the receiver off the hook eagerly. “River City Police Internal Affairs. Lieutenant Hart speaking.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to call to complain about an officer’s driving?”
Hart nodded, even though the caller couldn’t see him. “Yes, it is.”
“Good. Because this guy was flying. And he wasn’t even using his siren.”
“Really?” Hart raised his eyebrows. If that were true, that was a clear policy violation. Another slam-dunk complaint.
“Yeah. And if you ask me, that’s bullshit.”
“When was this, sir?”
“Last night,” the caller said. “Look, I’ve been in trouble before and I’ve been hassled by the police. So if I have to obey the law, then so does he.”
“That’s true.” Hart agreed. He often felt that police officers believed themselves to be above the law.
“And if it was such an emergency, why didn’t he turn on his siren. Or at least his lights?”
“I don’t know,” Hart answered. “But I’ll find out.”
“Good.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Marty Heath.”
“And did you get a car number on the patrol vehicle you saw speeding last night, Mr. Heath?”
“Oh, I did more than that,” Heath gloated. “I’ve got pictures.”
Hart smiled.
Pictures? Well, that was like Christmas.
0903 hours
“What do you think, Ray?”
Ray Browning leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee. “Well, I think you’ve definitely got a serial. The M.O., the ‘whammo’ thing...”
Tower nodded. “I agree.”
“I’m worried, too,” Browning said. “For a guy to strike twice in two days? That’s uncommon, especially early on. Usually there’s a longer break, at least until the subject is further along in his series.”
“Sure,” Tower said. “After he’s been doing it for a while, the thrill wears off sooner each time.”
“Right. So either he hasn’t hit for a while...or he didn’t use the catchphrase...” Browning shook his head. “I don’t know. But it worries me.”
“You’re worried he’s going to escalate?”
Browning nodded. “Yeah, I am a little bit. He’s already become more violent in the second rape than the first. But that doesn’t surprise me as much as the quick turnaround.”
“Maybe it’s been building up for a while,” Tower suggested.
Browning shrugged.
“Maybe he just got out of prison?”
“Could be.”
“I’ll have Renee check that.”
“You should check Maureen Hite’s relatives and associates, too,” Browning said. “The subject said that he knew her. That might just be a threat. But then again, he just might.”
“I’ll see if there are any links between Hite and the first rape, Reno.”
“Renee can help you with that, too.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re going to canvass, right?”
“In just a little bit, yeah.”
“Good.” Browning rubbed his eyes. “Beyond that? I guess you could hope something comes up on the lab results.”
“I don’t put a lot of faith in that.”
“Why not?”
“I think the guy used a condom. And the victims didn’t get much of a chance to fight back, so I don’t think the fingernail scrapings are going to be any help, either.”
“That’s troublesome,” Browning said.
“What?”
“The condom.”
Tower nodded. “I know. It means we’ve got a thinking rapist.”
“One who plans ahead,” Browning said.
“Who isn’t leaving behind DNA.”
“And who appears to be getting more violent,” Browning added.
“And,” Tower finished, “to top it off, no one has seen the guy’s face.”
“Something set him off.” Browning said, nodding in agreement. “Don’t forget about that.”
Tower sighed. “It’s a bitch of a case, Ray.”
“Just keep working it. Something will break.”
1104 hours
The camera equipment bathed Shawna Matheson in a bright wash of light. She held her microphone below her chin and stared into the lens. At this close range, she could see her perfectly coiffed hair and heavy television makeup reflecting back at her in the thick glass. Above the lens, the red light was dim.
Her camera man, an idiot named Ike, held up his hand. “Five, four, three,” he said, dropping his fingers as he counted. Shawna was frankly surprised the troglodyte could count.
At ‘two,’ he went silent. The red light came on.
She affected a solemn expression.
On ‘one,’ he pointed at her.
“Good afternoon,” Shawna said in her perfectly drilled television voice. “I’m Shawna Matheson, here at the River City Public Safety Building with breaking news. Earlier this morning, Lieutenant Crawford of the Major Crimes unit confirmed that police are investigating a potential serial rapist.”
She paused a half beat, letting the gravity of her words sink in.
“Police are not releasing many details at this point and the investigation is continuing, but here’s what we know so far. Two women have been assaulted in the past two days. One was assaulted while jogging, the other while out for a walk. Both attacks occurred near city parks.”
Shawna continued, though she knew the techies back at the station were likely throwing up a graphic on the screen instead of showing her. “The first assault occurred near Clemons Park, in the north central section of the city. The second occurred at Friendship Park, which is on the far north part of town. I spoke to Lieutenant Crawford about these assaults, and this is what he had to say.”