RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky

by Frank Zafiro

  “No. I mean, he tackled me to the ground before that, but after?” Heather thought a moment, then shook her head. “No. He threatened me, though.”

  “How?”

  “He told me not to move. He called me names.”

  “What did he call you?” Tower asked.

  “Bitch,” Heather told him. “He called me a bitch and he said that if I moved, he’d lay the whammo on me.”

  Tower’s eyebrows shot up. “He used that word? Whammo?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Heather swallowed, then nodded her head. “I’m sure. I hear it over and over again every night.”

  Tower took a deep breath and leaned back.

  Son of a bitch.

  It was the same guy.

  Heather watched him for a moment. Then she asked, “Is that important? What he said?”

  Tower nodded. “It’s very important.”

  “So...I did the right thing? Calling, I mean.”

  Tower smiled warmly at her. “Yes, ma’am. You did a very brave thing today. And it was definitely the right thing to do.”

  Heather Torin smiled back at him through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Tower reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

  1011 hours

  The cell phone didn’t have the greatest reception, but Janice could hear Tower’s voice well enough to understand him.

  “Your hunch was right,” the detective told her. “This is definitely the same guy.”

  A small thrill of satisfaction ran through her. “I hope it helps you catch him.”

  “It might. But you catching it when you did probably got the information to me a day early, at least. I didn’t have to wait for a patrol officer to take the report, turn it in and have it make its way through the system. Who knows? It might have even slipped through the cracks somehow.”

  “I doubt that,” Janice said.

  “It happens sometimes. But either way, good work.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad I could help.”

  “You did.”

  Janice glanced down at her incomplete crossword puzzle. “Hey, you know anything about history, John?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m doing the crossword puzzle and I can’t get this one clue.”

  Tower chuckled. “You and your crosswords.”

  “I hate losing,” she said. “Besides, you owe me now, don’t you?”

  Tower laughed. “You didn’t waste any time cashing in that chip, did you?”

  Janice smiled, even though she knew Tower couldn’t see it. “Well, let’s face it. When are you ever going to have an opportunity to pay me back, anyway?”

  “Touché,” Tower said. “What’s the clue?”

  “It’s an ancient civilization, ending in E.”

  “Uh...Rome?”

  “No. Seven letters.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Tower said, “You got me. History was never my strongest subject.”

  “Oh, well. Thanks for trying.”

  “No problem. Thanks for your help today.”

  “You’re welcome.” Janice hung up.

  “Were you right?” Carrie Anne asked her.

  “Tower thinks so.”

  “Yay!” Carrie Anne clapped lightly. “Great work!”

  Elaine joined in with the clapping, but Irina studiously ignored them all.

  She is kind of bitchy, Janice thought, but she smiled anyway.

  1014 hours

  Tower sat in his cruiser and focused on the pad of paper on his clipboard, scratching out notes of his interview with Heather Torin. Julie Avery remained inside with the victim, giving him an opportunity to record what she’d told him. As he wrote, an idea formed in his head.

  The rain splattered on his windshield in a chaotic rhythm. It made him wonder about the rapist’s rhythm. His attacks had seemed to have no connections thus far. Renee had tried to find a pattern, but there wasn’t any. Time of day varied. There was no perceivable connection between any of the victims, nor did they seem to be any glaring similarities between the victims themselves. The only consistent thing had been his modus operandi. His method. His actions and words. And even that seemed to be changing.

  Evolving.

  That was the question Renee asked about him. Was he evolving? The answer, unfortunately, seemed to be a clear “yes.” He seemed to be evolving into something more violent each time out. Tower shared Renee’s concern that he might transition from rape to sexual homicide.

  “The Rainy Day Killer,” Tower muttered. “The press would have a field day with that one.”

  He figured his suspect probably would, too.

  Tower stopped writing notes and leaned back in his seat. Maybe this was the break that Browning had promised would eventually happen. He knew this was the same guy. The M.O. was the same and the “whammo” phrase was too unique to be a coincidence. Up until now, those had been the only constants between the assaults.

  Not anymore.

  Now he had two assaults that occurred in the same location. The assault on Torin was somewhat bungled. Five weeks later, he hits again, this time successfully raping Patricia Reno.

  In the same park.

  “Why would he attack two women in the same place?” Tower asked aloud.

  The rain pounded down on the hood and roof of his car. He thought about his own question for a few moments. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialed Renee’s number. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Renee? It’s John.”

  “John Tower,” she said. “My fourth favorite detective. What can I do for you?”

  “Fourth? Who’s ahead of me?”

  “Browning,” Renee answered matter-of-factly, “and then Finch and Elias.”

  “I can understand Browning,” Tower conceded, “but Finch and Elias?”

  “Seniority counts,” Renee said. “What’s up?”

  Tower filled her in on his interview with Heather Torin.

  “It’s definitely him,” she concluded. “The M.O. and the whammo key word? No question.”

  “So tell me if my thinking is good here,” Tower said.

  “Probably not, but go ahead.”

  Tower ignored her joke. “I asked myself why a guy like this would attack two women at the same park, five weeks apart. And I come up with two answers.”

  “Which are?”

  “I think he attacked the second victim in the same place because the first victim never called the police. There wasn’t any news coverage at all. Nothing in the paper or on TV. So he figured it was still a safe location.”

  “Could be.”

  “I figure that he picked that location because it was perfect for his plan. He’d want to use it again if it wasn’t burned.”

  “Could be,” Renee repeated. “What’s the second reason?”

  “Well, this new victim described him having a premature ejaculation, right? I may be wrong, but I think you could take that as an indication this was his first assault. The excitement was too much for him because he’d never done it before.”

  Renee paused on the other end of the line. Tower wished he could see her expression in order to gauge her reaction. Instead, he waited impatiently for her reply.

  A few moments later, she said, “It makes sense, I suppose. He was clearly less violent with your victim from today than later victims. If he’s building up to sexual homicide, I would suspect that each time he rapes, it becomes less and less about sexual domination and more and more about violent domination.”

  “That fits your theory that he’s evolving,” Tower said.

  “Don’t suck up, John.”

  Tower laughed. “All right, all right. But you can see where I’m going with this, can’t you?”

  “Not beyond the theory that this new report may have been his first, no. So enlighten me, please.”

  “What I’m thinking is that if
the attack on Heather Torin was his first attack and if Patricia Reno was victim number two, then these attacks came early on in his development as a rapist. And even though he may be turning out to be more violent, he’s also becoming more sophisticated and more daring.”

  “Point, please?” Renee urged.

  “The point is that wouldn’t a fledgling criminal start his career pretty close to where he felt safe?”

  “Safe?” Renee asked.

  Tower didn’t answer. He waited.

  After about ten seconds, Renee spoke again. “You mean his home, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You think he lives somewhere near Clemons Park?”

  “I think there’s a good chance of it, yeah.”

  Renee remained quiet. Tower listened to the static on the connection until she spoke again.

  “You may be onto something, John. It makes sense.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Are you going to deploy the Task Force accordingly, then?”

  “I think so,” Tower answered. “Not at Clemons Park, though. That’s too obvious. Can you do some research for me?”

  “I live for research,” Renee gushed in a half-sarcastic tone, but Tower could hear the tinge of excitement in her voice. He felt the same touch of excitement himself. They might be getting somewhere.

  “I need a few options,” he said. “Find me a few areas in the area of Clemons Park that might be good fishing holes.”

  “Aye, Aye,” Renee replied. “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it—oh, wait. Janice was asking me a question I didn’t know the answer to.”

  “Imagine the odds of that.”

  “Har-de-har-har. It was for her crossword puzzle.”

  “What was the clue?”

  “Ancient Civilization. Ends in E. Seven letters.”

  “Hittite,” Renee answered immediately.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I know everything,” Renee told him. “It’s my job.”

  She hung up.

  Tower scratched out H-I-T-I-T-E on his notepad. Then he counted the letters. “There’s only six,” he mumbled, smiling to himself. Well, maybe Renee didn’t know everything.

  Sudden pounding at his passenger window startled him. Julie Avery stood at the passenger side of his cruiser, knocking frantically on the window. He pushed the automatic door lock. She pulled open the door hurriedly and hopped inside.

  “You made me jump,” he told her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted out of the rain as quick as I could.”

  “How’d things go in there?” Tower asked.

  Julie pushed the hood of her jacket back and rubbed her hands together for warmth. “Can you turn on the heater? I’m freezing.”

  Tower started the engine and put the heater on.

  “Thanks,” Julie said.

  “Can you not talk about it?” Tower asked. “Some kind of client privilege or something?”

  Julie shook her head. “No, she said I could share anything with law enforcement. But there’s nothing more to tell. We talked about programs available to her and the importance of following through on getting help.”

  “You think she will?”

  Julie shrugged. “Probably. She called the police after more than a month. That tells you something.”

  “I suppose so,” Tower said.

  Julie glanced over at him, blowing breath onto her hands. “You know, you did a good job in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I don’t mean on the investigation,” Julie said. “I mean, I’m sure you did fine on that, too. But I meant with Heather. You made her feel good about her decision. That’s important.”

  “She did the right thing,” Tower said.

  “I know. But telling her that helps.”

  “Good to know,” Tower said.

  Julie dipped her head toward his clipboard. “What’s that? Your notes?”

  Tower looked down at the scrawled notes. “Yeah. Just so I don’t forget anything.”

  She cocked her head to read the words he’d written. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but what does ‘Hittite’ have to do with anything?”

  “Huh?”

  Julie pulled her hand away from her mouth and pointed at the word on his notepad. “There. Hittite. What’s that mean?”

  “Oh,” Tower said. “Uh, nothing. It’s unrelated. A history thing someone asked me about.”

  Julie nodded slowly. “I see. Well, just in case it’s important, Hittite has three T’s in it, not two.”

  Tower frowned.

  “It’s H-I-T-T-I-T-E,” Julie spelled.

  “I know,” Tower replied, tossing the clipboard into the back seat. “I was...just writing fast.”

  Julie smiled and blew on her hands.

  Tower dropped the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. Half a block away, he smiled, too.

  TWELVE

  Sunday, April 21st

  Graveyard Shift

  2204 hours

  “Are we done yet?” yawned Anthony Battaglia, rubbing eyes with the heels of his palms.

  “Don’t do that,” Sully said.

  “Do what?”

  “Yawn. Don’t do it. You’ll get me started.”

  Battaglia sighed. “This is never going to work. We’re wasting our time.”

  The two officers sat in a gray 1978 Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately dubbed “The Gray Ghost” by the officers in the patrol division. The Ghost was the only civilian vehicle currently available to patrol for use in any undercover operations. Parked along the curb at Corbin Park, they watched Katie MacLeod walk around the park, feigning a workout in the cool, wet air.

  At least it stopped raining, Sully thought.

  The park ran about six blocks long and two across, making it a natural place for joggers to get in a run. Detective Tower sat alone in a small Toyota truck on the opposite corner of the park. With this configuration, MacLeod never left the sight of at least one cover team.

  “Why won’t it work?” Sully asked, suppressing a yawn.

  He had to admit he had his own doubts, but he was curious why Batts thought so, too. He watched as MacLeod approached a modest copse of trees near the far end of the park. That was a worry spot, according to Tower, given the rapist’s methods. If he was going to make a move on a woman in this park, the detective had told them that his bet was on that small treed area.

  “There’s only about six billion reasons,” Battaglia answered.

  “One for every person in the world, then.”

  “Huh?”

  “One for every—oh, never mind,” Sully shook his head. “Just give me some of those reasons, my brother.”

  “I will, my brother.” Battaglia held up a finger. “First off, we’re sitting here in the Gray Ghost. Every criminal in River City knows this is a UC vehicle. This car is so burnt, charcoal pieces fall off as we’re driving down the street.”

  “True,” Sully conceded. “But this guy probably isn’t your typical doper or thief. He might not know it’s an undercover ride.”

  Battaglia snorted. “Everyone knows the Gray Ghost. And even if by some strange chance this maggot didn’t, how hard is it to figure out that two guys sitting in a car like this for any length of time are cops on a stakeout? Even an Irishman could figure it out.”

  “Oh, tha’s a fine funny jest,” Sully said in thick brogue. “You’re a laugh fest. So what’s your solution?”

  “To the car problem or the two guys problem?”

  “Either.” Sully shrugged. “Both.”

  Battaglia took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, Tower’s a dick, right?”

  “I thought you said he was an asshole.”

  “Haw, haw, haw,” Battaglia guffawed. “I meant detective. He’s an investigator.”

  “Duh.”

  “So, duh, maybe he could talk to his detective buddies over in Narcotics and get us a decent ride that isn’t like
driving around a neon sign that says ‘cop’. I mean, come on. Some of those guys are driving Mustangs and BMWs.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Bull crap. It’s like frickin’ Miami Vice over there. Plus they’ve got extra cars they’ve seized.”

  “Those are the cars they use for undercover buys, right?”

  Battaglia shrugged. “So?”

  “So I’m sure they don’t want them getting burned off in a patrol operation,” Sully pointed out.

  Battaglia’s eyebrows flew up. “A mere patrol operation? Well, I suppose not, but last time I checked, this was an investigative operation, headed up by a detective and commanded by the Major Crimes Lieutenant, so–”

  “Okay, okay.” Sully raised his hands in surrender. “Even so, according to you, we’re still going to look like two cops sitting here, no matter what we’re driving.”

  “That’s easy.” He pointed toward MacLeod as she emerged from the other side of the treed area. “She’s past the red zone.”

  Sully grunted. Maybe Battaglia was right about this being a waste of time.

  “So you solve the two guys problem like this,” Battaglia continued. “Get me a woman partner.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Rebecca would be totally cool with that happening.”

  Battaglia shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Rebecca doesn’t have to know every little thing I do.”

  A spark of anger flared in Sully’s stomach. “Now you’re just being an idiot.”

  “What? How?”

  “You’d step out on your wife? That’s stupid. And with someone here at work? That’s even stupider.”

  Battaglia raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy, Irish. I’m just saying that if it was a man and a woman sitting here, it might look like a date or something. That’s all.”

  “It might look like a couple of folks committing adultery, too.”

  Battaglia laughed. “I suppose it might. But either way, Mr. Rapist Asshole isn’t going to pay too much attention, is he?”

  Sully scowled. “Not nearly as much, no.”

  “When did you get so Ten Commandments, anyway?”

  “I’m not. Rebecca’s a good woman, that’s all.”

  “I know. I married her.”

  “I know. I was there.” Sully pointed to his chest. “Best man, remember?”