RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky

by Frank Zafiro

  Shawna paused. The red light went dim.

  “We’re on cutaway,” Ike told her.

  No kidding, she thought to herself.

  She replayed the interview with the bombastic Crawford in her mind. The man was egotistical and always sparse with information, but she had learned how to flirt with him just subtly enough to get something good out of him. Although his statement contained stock police responses about ongoing investigations and safety tips, she’d managed to get something from him off camera that she thought was singularly wonderful.

  When she asked him if the rapist was being called by any nicknames, he’d scoffed at her.

  “What, like the Park Rapist or something?”

  “Something like that,” Shawna had answered, though she was looking for something not quite so banal. “Does he have any peculiarities?” She’d given Crawford that slight smile she’d perfected over time—the one that said she was flirting but no one else could tell except him.

  Crawford had cleared his throat, looking just a little off-balance from her tactics. “Nothing I can share at this time,” he’d answered her.

  “Nothing?”

  Crawford had shrugged. “What can I tell you? There are some things we have to keep back. I mean, what do you want? That the guy has only raped on rainy days?”

  After that, Shawna had only smiled and thanked him.

  “Coming back in five, four, three,” Ike said, walking through his countdown with her again.

  Shawna opened and closed her mouth, stretching her jaw.

  At ‘two,’ the red light kicked on.

  Shawna put on her solemn face.

  At ‘one,’ Ike fired his pointer finger at her.

  “Police are cautioning women to travel in pairs or small groups and to be aware of their surroundings,” she said, leading up to her big finish. “Although they are not certain if and when he’ll strike again, there is one thing that people may be able to watch for. In both instances, the rapist attacked women on rainy days, thus earning him the nickname, ‘the Rainy Day Rapist.’”

  She paused a full beat.

  “For Channel 5 Action News,” she finished gravely, “I’m Shawna Matheson.”

  She held her pose until the red light went dim.

  “And we’re out,” Ike told her.

  Shawna let herself smile. This was good. In fact, it might just be enough to be her ticket out of River City and to a larger, more important market. Seattle or Denver, perhaps. Or maybe somewhere in California.

  After all, it wasn’t every day you got to name a serial rapist.

  1248 hours

  The rain came back just before noon. It fell in light sheets while Detective Tower and Officers Ridgeway and Giovanni canvassed the neighborhood around the second rape. In the hour they knocked on doors, neither officer found anyone who had seen anything. Wet and discouraged, the officers stood near the light post they had agreed upon as a rally point.

  Ridgeway glanced up at the gray sky and felt the drizzle on his face.

  “This rain sucks,” Gio said, standing beside him and shaking the water from his jacket.

  “I like it,” Ridgeway said.

  “That figures,” Gio muttered back.

  Ridgeway shrugged. “A brave man likes the feel of rain on his face.”

  Gio smirked. “And a wise man has the sense to get out of the rain.”

  Ridgeway flashed Gio an uncharacteristic grin. “Saw that movie, huh?”

  Gio nodded. “Kurt Russell was great.”

  Ridgeway glanced back up into the sky. “Still, I like the rain.”

  Gio didn’t answer. While he waited, he found himself wondering if his date last night with Mallory would be his last. She’d started using little code phrases that he’d come to recognize as attachment words. It might be time to jet.

  Detective Tower strode toward them, his sport coat drenched. As he drew close, Ridgeway saw that the detective’s hair was matted against his head.

  “Any luck?” Tower asked them.

  Both officers shook their heads.

  Tower muttered a curse. “Well, hopefully someone that wasn’t home right now saw something and will call it in. I left my card in about ten doors.”

  “Most witnesses don’t even know when they see something,” Gio said. “I doubt anyone will call.”

  Tower shot him a scowl. “Don’t mess with my mojo.”

  “It’s true,” Gio said. “And on top of that, most witnesses who think they saw something important didn’t see a thing at all or what they saw really doesn’t matter for much.”

  Tower looked at Ridgeway. “What is this, Instruct The Detective Day?”

  Ridgeway shrugged. “Not like you dicks don’t need it, right?”

  “Ha, ha.” Tower hunched his shoulders and looked up. “I hate the rain.”

  “I kinda like it,” Ridgeway said.

  Tower looked at him flatly. “That figures.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Tower snorted. “Gee, I don’t know. I’m only a detective.” He thumbed toward Gio. “Why don’t you ask Casanova over here?”

  “Let’s just hope it stops soon,” Gio said. “Because I’m sick of it already.”

  “It messes up your perfect gigolo hair, Giovanni?” Tower asked.

  Gio reached up and touched his wet mop. “Nah. Let’s just hope the wet look is in.” He glanced over at Ridgeway. “It doesn’t work for you, though, Mark.”

  Ridgeway shrugged. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t make your boy go out and rape again, huh, Tower?”

  Tower’s eyes narrowed. “My boy?”

  “This rapist.”

  “Oh.” Tower eyed him suspiciously. “Why would the rain make him do this again? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ridgeway glanced at Gio, who laughed.

  “You don’t listen to the news?” Gio asked Tower.

  Tower shook his head. “Not if I can help it. Why?”

  “They’re calling this guy the Rainy Day Rapist.”

  “Who they?”

  “The media. All of them.”

  Tower stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered. After another moment, he lifted his jacket upward and gave it a shake. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The three men turned and made their way toward the street where Tower’s unmarked detective’s vehicle sat behind the officers’ marked cruiser. On the way, Ridgeway could hear Tower muttering but couldn’t make out the words. Once at his car, the detective got in without so much as a thank you and pulled away.

  “What’s up with that?” Ridgeway complained. “We just walked around in the rain for an hour knocking on doors and he can’t even say thanks?”

  “He’s probably under the gun over this. I imagine Crawford is all over him.” Gio opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Ridgeway slid into the passenger seat. “I’m sure it helped that you brought up the Rainy Day Rapist thing.”

  “I didn’t bring it up.” Gio fired up the engine. “The media brought it up. I just passed it on.”

  “Whatever,” Ridgeway said. Although he knew Gio was right. “My guess is that it was that fluff head from Channel Five.”

  “Shawna Matheson?” Gio dropped the car into gear. “She’s hot.”

  “She’s an idiot,” Ridgeway answered, but he knew it didn’t matter which of the newscasters actually said something first. Once one of them has it, they were all like a bunch of parakeets anyway, with no sign of an original thought.

  Gio turned onto Lincoln Road. “Whatever pressure he’s under now, it’s nothing like what he’ll be facing now that the media is hyping this story.”

  Ridgeway didn’t answer, but he knew Gio was right.

  1301 hours

  He cruised through the East Sprague corridor, eyeing the prostitutes that posed in the doorways. None so far had been willing to venture out from protective cover when he slowed down to examine t
hem. The drizzle of cold rain kept them huddled like drowned cats in the doorways, staring bleakly out at him.

  He decided it was too much work today. Perhaps he could save it up and spring it on some other bitch later tonight or tomorrow.

  He reached for the car radio, turning to the news station for the top of the hour coverage.

  “Police continue to search for clues,” the polished male newsman’s voice intoned, “in the brutal rape of a woman on River City’s north side last night. This is the second such rape by the man now dubbed The Rainy Day Rapist.”

  His jaw dropped.

  The Rainy Day Rapist?

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  How could they call him that? It was a stupid name. It made him sound like some wimp in a musical or something. There was nothing powerful about a name like that.

  He pulled into a convenience store parking lot, where he stopped the car and took a deep breath. He knew that part of what he was doing was compulsion. He couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to. He’d read about it in college, at least in the couple courses he managed to take at the community college. He understood the concept intellectually. But it was a different story when it became a reality. When the urge to dominate came over him. When these bitches need him to put the whammo down –

  He stopped. What good had it done him, though? To end up with a name like this?

  He gripped the steering wheel and took stock of his career. He’d raped three women already, not counting whores. Well, okay, maybe the first one didn’t count, either, since he didn’t exactly seal the deal. And the cops must not be counting it, since the media didn’t report it. Or maybe the stupid bitch didn’t even call the cops. But number two and three called the cops. They definitely counted. And the last one got the whammo good. She figured out exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.

  And yet, when his crimes finally go public, they saddle him with a ridiculous nickname like this? What level of respect was that?

  He wondered if he should respond. There was a payphone across the parking lot. He could call in and muffle his voice. Or better yet, maybe he should send a letter into the newspaper, like the Zodiac Killer.

  That thought stopped him cold.

  The Zodiac...Killer.

  No one ever called a killer by some stupid name. They respected a killer because they feared him. Only women feared a rapist. Everyone feared a killer.

  A sudden calm washed over him. He realized he had found his answer.

  His purpose.

  His destiny.

  1317 hours

  Tower shook the rain off his jacket as soon as he entered the police station. Without pause, he made his way straight toward the Crime Analysis unit. He intentionally chose his route to avoid the door to the Major Crimes bullpen, just in case Lieutenant Crawford was watching out for him.

  “Hey, girl,” Tower said as he stepped through the door to the cramped Crime Analysis office.

  Renee looked up from a stack of reports with bleary eyes. “Hey back,” she said. “Did you find anything on your canvass?”

  Tower shook his head. “Nada. I need your help.”

  Renee yawned and rubbed her eyes. “All right,” she murmured.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Tower said.

  “I won’t,” she assured him.

  “Am I pulling you off something big?”

  Renee shrugged. “Just trying to figure out this Rainy Day Rapist.”

  Tower frowned. “That’s a stupid name. Where’d it come from?”

  “I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say good old Channel Five.” Renee stood and walked to the nearby coffee pot. She filled her cup and held the pot out toward Tower, offering.

  Tower considered, then shook his head. “Naw, I’m coffeed out.”

  “Suit yourself.” Renee shuffled back to her seat and sat down lightly. She curled her legs to one side in the giant, black chair and sipped from her cup.

  Tower let his head dropped forward toward her expectantly. “So?”

  Renee acted surprised. “Oh, you want a report?”

  Tower cast a baleful look at her.

  Renee cocked an eyebrow back. “Careful, cowboy. You throw around looks like that and you will find yourself in a shootout.”

  “I can take you,” Tower said.

  “Not with that shoulder rig, you won’t.”

  “Newsflash,” Tower said to her. “You don’t even carry a gun.”

  Renee smiled mysteriously. “Not that you can see.”

  Tower held up both palms. “I surrender.”

  “Wise move.” Renee returned to her coffee, sipping and staring at the wall.

  Tower waited patiently. Renee was, in his estimation, an odd duck at times. He wasn’t sure how the neurons in her brain fired exactly, but he was usually pleased with the result. All it seemed to take was some banter and a little patience.

  “I don’t think it’s about rain for him,” Renee told him.

  “How’s that again?”

  “The Rainy Day Rapist,” Renee said. “I don’t think it fits. I think the rain is a coincidence.”

  Tower shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Though,” she added, “now that he has this name in the media, that may just change.”

  “May?”

  “Yes. It may. Then again, it may not. You never know, at least until there’s a more detailed profile of the suspect. And that’s something we really don’t have just yet.”

  “That’s helpful,” Tower said. “Thank you, Nostradamus.”

  Renee cocked her eyebrow again. “I’m just letting you know what I think. That’s because there isn’t much for me to say that I know.”

  Tower walked wordlessly to the coffee pot. He grabbed a small white Styrofoam cup and filled it halfway.

  “I thought you were coffeed out,” Renee said.

  Tower turned back to her and did his best to cock an eyebrow. “I’m getting the feeling I’m going to need it.”

  Renee chuckled. “Touché.”

  Tower stepped over to her desk. “You’ve read the reports?”

  Renee nodded. “MacLeod’s was especially good.”

  “She’s a good troop.”

  “She covered everything you could ask for. The one before that – Giovanni, I think – was pretty solid, too. That’s the good news.” Renee sipped her coffee and continued. “The bad news is that when I run his M.O. as a distinct, specific M.O., I get no hits.”

  “So run the basic M.O. Blitz attack, and so forth.”

  “That’s too general. I get a phone book of rapists.”

  Tower sighed. “Same as the first rape, then.”

  “Exactly. There’s really no difference in the M.O., other than the location. Even that’s similar.” Renee held up one hand, then the other. “Park, park.”

  “Yeah,” Tower agreed. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then said, “Odds are it’s one of those guys that popped up when you got the phone book.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “I’m running all of them to see who’s incarcerated, who’s out of state and who’s still a possible suspect. The problem is that while we have a distinct M.O. in both cases, the victims don’t really provide much information. Neither one saw him. He didn’t say much.”

  “He said ‘whammo.’”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “That’s pretty unique.”

  “Too unique.” Renee leaned forward and fished a computer printout from the stack of paperwork on her desk. “I ran that term through our system. I came up with zero exact hits. Here’s a list of close matches.”

  Tower took the paper from her hand and scanned the list. There were seventeen entries.

  “Most of those,” Renee explained, “aren’t used in anywhere near the same context.”

  “Context how?”

  Renee lifted a finger. “Not the same type of crime, for starters. There wasn’t a single use of anything similar to ‘whammo’ in any rapes. Same story with any
assault by a male subject on a female victim. Also, even in the instances where some form of the phrase pops up in a couple of male-on-male assaults, the usage is completely different.”

  “How different?” Tower asked.

  Renee s closed her eyes for a moment. Then she said, “I think one guy said something about getting blindsided in a fight. He said that he was dealing with one issue and then wham! He was hit from behind.”

  “That’s not even close.”

  “Nope. My point exactly.”

  Tower waved his Styrofoam cup at the computer. “I figured you could do better with all this.”

  Renee sighed. “I’ve told you this before, John. It is better. We may have come up empty on the search, but we came up empty that much sooner.”

  “Oh, great,” Tower said. “Because I hate to wait for disappointment.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” Renee said calmly. “It doesn’t solve anything.”

  “It isn’t supposed to,” Tower grumbled.

  Renee reached into her stack of papers and removed a yellow sheet of legal paper. She extended it toward Tower. “Take a look at this.”

  Tower reached out and took the paper. “What is it?”

  “Questions.”

  “I’ve already got plenty of those.”

  “Still.”

  Tower looked down at the legal sheet. Renee’s measured writing stood out against the yellow paper. She’d written three questions.

  Why does he rape?

  Who does he hate?

  Is he evolving?

  Tower looked up at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because,” Tower answered, “how in the hell am I supposed to know the answer to these questions?”

  “That’s the point.”

  Tower stared at Renee. She stared calmly back. Tower took a sip of coffee and considered her words. After a full thirty seconds had passed, he shrugged, “You win. Explain this to me before my head explodes.”

  Renee smiled graciously. “Your head won’t explode.”

  “I can feel it pulsing already.”