by Harry Hoge
"Wow. That sounds exciting."
"Oh, it's exciting all right. But it's a lot to consider."
"How much cash would you have to cough up?"
Pauley swung her legs off the sofa and reached for her beer. She took a sip and rested her elbows on her knees as she stared at the top of the coffee table. "That's the quandary. I would not have to invest anything up front, only my name and management. However, it would mean giving up forty percent of The Fashion Center and only receiving a minor percent of the new stores until the Simeon's company recovers fifty percent of their venture capital. Then we would renegotiate the agreement."
"What's the catch?"
"There are two, actually. One is I would lose my exclusivity of The Fashion Center. If the new shops go belly up, I'd end up as an employee in my own business. Of course, if one or both of the new stores take off, eventually I would expand my leverage and have a much larger piece of a bigger pie. Most of the market indexes suggest that consumer spending is on the upswing, but the reality is that I have a lot more lookers than buyers lately."
"The bigger the risk, the bigger the gain."
"Oh yeah, and the bigger the loss."
Frank knew he had no way to identify with how stressful her decision was; everything he knew about business, she had taught him. He decided that he had said all he could to help her in her quandary.
"And the second concern?"
Paulette turned her head, looking at him directly. "You. Us. If I enter into this venture, I will be three times as busy as now. It would require travel and negotiations and more time going over statements and policy determinations. It would make major changes in our time together."
That had been Frank's first thought when she mentioned expanding her business. He was pleased she rated it as a high priority.
"Pauley, nothing stays the same. It would be a mistake to avoid changes for the status quo. If you turned down an opportunity to do what you love for 'us,' we'd shrivel and die."
"That might happen anyway."
"It might, but it would be for reasons other than mutual self-sacrifice. It would be more palatable."
Pauley looked down and turned the beer can in her fingers. Neither of them said anything for several minutes. Finally, she looked back at him and smiled. "Okay, Cisco, now tell me what drug you from my clutches at four o'clock this morning, and what you did with the blue and white. I didn't see it in the parking lot when I came home."
Frank gave her a quick rundown on the clown case. "I thought it was a kid at first and that made me anxious."
"You think it's a serial don't you?"
Frank looked astounded. "Why did you say that?"
"I can read upside down. When I came in, I got a good look at what you were writing."
"Yeah, I do. We'll see."
Pauley leaned back and snuggled under his arm again, even closer than before. "Oh, Cisco. I don't have much trouble when you're investigating domestic violence or routine shootings in some bar, but a serial killer is a different matter. These kinds of cases can be dangerous. Please be careful."
"Oh, crap. You sound like Miss Kitty talking to Matt Dillon. Don't patronize me."
She put her hand on his chest and looked him in the eye. "You love this sort of investigation, and don't try to deny it."
He grinned. "You're right. These serial killers always think they're too smart to get caught by dumb cops. I really enjoy bringing them down. I just hope I can get to this guy before he kills again."
"What makes you so sure it's a guy?"
He shrugged. "It may not be, but most serial killers are men."
She settled back. "What happened to the car?"
"Gerry's got it."
Paulette pushed herself farther away. "Who the hell is Gerry?"
"My new partner, Geraldine Gardner, a transfer from vice in Kingwood. Lieutenant Barker assigned us this afternoon."
"A woman?"
"A very foxy, intelligent, unmarried woman with a witty personality, and an ex-Marine. Just my type." He was grinning.
"When do I get to meet this harlot?"
"What about in the morning? She's picking me up at 7:30."
Pauley slapped him on the chest. "You know I can't be ready to meet someone that early on Saturday." She stood, and headed for the kitchen. "Why tomorrow?" she said over her shoulder.
"We have a date." She stopped and turned, hands on her hips. "With Al Shuman at the morgue."
"How romantic." She relaxed. "But I have to meet her."
"I'll try to set something up."
Pauley ate her snack and headed for the bedroom. Frank followed. They made love, but it was less fulfilling than usual. Pauley remained concerned about Frank's new case and new partner, and Frank could not stop thinking about what effect Pauley's new enterprise might have on their future.
Frank slipped out of bed early, showered, and dressed in chinos and a button-down shirt. He used a dark blue windbreaker to conceal his service revolver. The clock read 0725 when he glanced out the window and saw Gerry drive into the parking lot. He grabbed his briefcase and left by the front door. Gerry had climbed out of the car and walked to the rider's side in keeping with an unwritten courtesy that the senior officer would drive. Frank was happy to see she had dressed properly for a morning autopsy, no frills, rather thin-wale corduroy slacks, a dark jersey top and her own windbreaker, worn for the same reason he wore his. Even in late October, jackets attract attention in Houston. Frank often figured everyone knew the jackets were intended to hide something, and not for warmth.
As he walked toward the car, he made a point of not glancing up at the kitchen window. He did not have to look to know that Pauley was watching them. He also knew she would find the note he had left on the refrigerator. I hope that by tonight she would have realized that his new partner was no threat to their relationship.
"Morning, boss man," Gerry smiled.
"Good morning, Gerry. Did you have a thrilling Friday night?"
Gerry rolled her eyes. "I would have rolled my coin collection except I don't have a coin collection. It was rip-roarin.'"
Once in the car, Gerry started laughing. "When I came out of my apartment this morning, my neighbor was sweeping off her walk. She asked me what I had planned for Halloween. I said I was going to watch a man cut up a body. She said, 'Aren't those fun?' and I said 'What?' and she said, 'Those haunted houses. The Jaycees have one up near Splendora. I took the kids there last year and it scared me to death. There was this man with a chain saw.' So I said, 'No, I'm going to the morgue.' And she said, 'You're kidding, right?' So I said, 'Yeah, I'm kidding,' and she laughed, but she stood there with a strange look on her face and watched me get in the car and drive away. She may have moved out by the time I get home tonight."
While Gerry told her story, Frank opened his briefcase and removed his notes from the night before. He held them out for her. "Something to read during the commute." Gerry took the notes and leafed through them as Frank put the car in motion and headed for the Freeway.
"Man, you spent the night working. Did you get this off the common net, or did you use a special police website?"
"Regular. I googled and got more than twenty-two thousand hits. There's a lot of information out there."
"No way you read twenty-two thousand websites."
"I was selective, but I found a pattern. There seems to be a consensus that profiling never caught a killer and that they are generally wrong. As I understand it, the first criminal profiler, a Dr. James Brussels identified a man named George Metesky back in 1957. He was right on the money. So much so, that when they arrested the killer, he was wearing the exact outfit the doctor predicted he would wear. He impressed many people who think they can do the same. The FBI was so interested that they founded the NCAVC."
"The National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime."
"Right. Now there's a whole genre of novels classified as 'mind hunters.' The general public thinks this is a valuable scien
ce. Even cops know that they can't solve a crime with profiles, but they wouldn't attempt a case without one. If you read my summary, you'll see what I came up with."
"I saw that. A white male, probably retired or unemployed, with money and a PT-Hedonistic personality." Frank could feel her look at him. "You really believe that?"
He shrugged. "It's better than nothing."
Gerry was quite for a moment. It had taken most of the drive for her to read the notes. As they were about to pull into the parking area at the morgue, she commented, "I didn't spend all night surfing the net, but I think I have a good place to start."
"Oh?" Frank asked as he put the car in Park in an empty slot near the front door marked "For Police Only." "And what's that?"
"I got the clown's home address."
"What?"
She leaned closer. "Can you hear me now?" Frank nodded.
"How in the hell did you do that?"
"Brilliant detective work. I looked in the phone book. There he was under Hon Cu Loa. Actually, it was listed under the L's. Loa, Hon Cu." She reached in her jacket pocket and withdrew a scrap of paper. She unfolded it and read: "1269 Isabella Street, Apartment 40IB, It's an apartment complex southeast of Highway 288 near Texas Southern."
Frank sat dumbfounded. They stared at each other. "We need to get a search warrant right away," he said in halting, shaky voice.
Gerry reached in her pocket again and produced a folded form. "I got in touch with the night judge last night. Early this morning I called the desk sergeant and got the name of the officers that patrol that area. I went through training with one of them, and he and his partner agreed to meet us at the address at 10:30. That's all depending on your approval, and if we get out of this cut and slice in time to get there."
Frank nodded again. "You do good work, partner."
"Got to make a sterling first impression. I really want this gig, boss man."
"You got my vote, but stop calling me boss man. The name is Frank."
"Sure thing, boss man."
Chapter 4
Al Shuman was waiting for Frank and Gerry when they entered the morgue. Gerry glanced at the doors leading to the lab and chewed her lip. Frank shook Al's hand. "Al, this is Geraldine Gardner. Lieutenant Barker transferred her from vice in Kingwood to partner up on the clown case. Gerry, meet the colossus of forensics, Al Shuman."
Al and Gerry shook hands. "I'm a tad nervous about this," Gerry said. "I've never watched an autopsy before. I hope you've got a bucket in there in case I need to dump last night's supper."
"I understand," Al answered with a warm smile. "Don't worry about it. This will be routine and bloodless. If you feel nauseated, leave. You don't need to excuse yourself." Al turned to Frank. "I had Mike, my trainee, bring the body to the table already. If you're ready, let's get it done."
Frank nodded, and the trio entered through the double doors. The aroma was unmistakable, a sweet smell of death masked unsuccessfully by industrial grade disinfectants. The walls were institutional gray with two trough-shaped, steel tables in one corner: one on wheels, empty, with a mechanism allowing it to be raised and lowered - this had been the cadaver's transport to the room; the other flat, but with numerous holes to allow fluids to drain into a tank below, and a smaller shelf, also perforated to drain, suspended near the foot. Frank knew the perched shelf served as a platform for small parts dissection. A scale hung from the ceiling near the head of the second table. Secured to the nearest wall were a chalkboard and a corkboard, the latter replete with memos and disclaimers, many yellowing with age. Hon Cu Loa lay naked, gray and slack, awaiting his dismemberment. A cream-colored tag hung from the big toe on his right foot.
Al indicated green surgical gowns and masks for Frank and Gerry as he activated a tape recorder.
"This is the continuation of the autopsy of Case Number 03-16789, John Doe; preliminary identification is Hon Cu Loa."
"Uh. Hon Cu Loa is no doubt an alias," Frank said. "Gerry says it means Monkey's Island."
Al gave Gerry an approving glance and continued his narration. "AKA Hon Cu Loa. Previous observations were made when the body was first brought to the morgue. Photographs at that time showed the body clothed in a clown suit, and preliminary accounts, including fingerprinting, were done in an attempt to discover the cadaver's identity. No scientific disturbances have yet been made."
Al turned off the recorder. He glanced at both Frank and Gerry. "You two ready?" They both nodded. Al turned the recorder back on.
"The body is a well developed, well nourished male, approximately 30 years old and believed to be Vietnamese. The body is 64 inches long and weighs 143 pounds." Al moved along the body making external observations. "Rigor mortis is resolved except in the extremities. The skin retains normal texture, fixed lividity along the entire right side. No blanching with pressure. The only apparent scar is along the left arm, apparently due to surgery when the deceased was a child." Al moved to the head and forced his little finger into the wound in the neck. "The only external wound is a puncture in the neck below the right mandible of ten centimeters diameter with a post shock tear of twenty-three centimeters upward toward the right ear. The puncture appears to continue internally through the temporal region and behind the cervical vertebrae. The wound is post mortem." He withdrew his finger, lifted the eyelids and peered into the nose and ears. "Eyes milky, spiders and mites are in residence in both ears and nostrils. Estimated time of death is 48 to 60 hours prior to 0830, October 31. The subject is a victim of homicide and will be rendered a full medical autopsy."
Al turned off the recorder again. "Do either of you want to add to the description of the external examination?"
"Are you saying that the puncture wound isn't the cause of death?" Frank asked.
"Definitely not. I'm not saying anything yet. At this stage the cause of death is still unknown."
"Let's get on with it."
Al turned on the recorder and reached for his surgical .instruments. "I am now making the thoracic-abdominal incision and will continue from the xyphoid process with a midline incision extending to the pubis."
As Al made his "Y" incision, Frank looked at Gerry. He was surprised to see how pale she had become and imagined he had a similar look. Her eyes were wide, but fixed on the cadaver, showing determination not to miss a single movement of the scalpel. Although Frank had witnessed dozens of autopsies, it was at this point when he experienced the rise of both gorge and rage. A "well-proportioned Vietnamese male," a living, laughing healthy human being reduced to such indignities and intrusions because of the disdainful arrogance of some scumbag who thought he had the right to end another man's life. It was the reason he insisted on witnessing autopsies; it provided him with more motivation to remove the murderer from society, one way or another.
When he looked back at the table, Al was cutting through the ribs and cartilage to expose the heart and lungs. He watched as Al lifted the heart, lungs, trachea and esophagus out en bloc and moved the mass to the scale. He knew how the procedure would continue, and allowed his attention to drift off to a secret closet where he pulled out details of previous cases and searched for comparative events that would help him organize the investigation. More than an hour later, Al pulled off his gloves and moved his head, indicating they were finished and should go to the office and discuss the findings.
In the outer room, Al offered coffee. Frank accepted, Gerry passed.
"I'll do follow-up procedures and have the official report delivered to your office by noon Monday," Al commented. "I can give you unofficial opinions now if you like."
"That would be good, Al," Frank answered. "Gerry discovered an address for Hon Cu Loa, and we're meeting the patrol units there around 10:30."
Al nodded. "I'll call the weekend standby team and have them meet you there." He pulled a pen from the pocket of his lab coat and jotted down the address Gerry provided. He replaced the pen and leaned back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head. "The body was clean
of any trace substance. The killer went to great pains to remove any clues. The only evidence he missed were a few fibers of carpeting in the victim's left ear. Since the lividity indicates he died lying on his right side, I'd guess he thrashed around on the floor as he was dying."
Frank made a note of the existence of the fibers. "Do you have a guess about the COD?" From previous experiences with Al, Frank knew that his guess would most likely be confirmed in the final report.
"I think he was poisoned. His stomach was empty, indicating vomiting. There was evidence in his limbs of pre-mortem paralysis. Death came from respiratory arrest. Had the dose been larger, cardiac arrest would have occurred before his lungs shut down. I imagine him experiencing giddiness, collapse, visual disturbances and finally coma before he expired."
"How long would that have taken?" Gerry asked.
"Several hours. A nasty check-out."
"The killer watched?"
"Most likely. He or she couldn't take the chance that the victim would recover."
Both Frank and Gerry looked at the floor. Gerry shook her head in slow motion. Frank was the first to recover from thinking about the horror the victim must have endured.
"I know you can't get all that without having an idea of what poison was used."
"I'm guessing, but I think we'll find vast amounts of quinoline in the liver and blood. I've never seen this potion used before except during a toxicology class in medical school. I think it was Cinchona ledgeriana derived from Cinchona bark. The bulb of the plant is more toxic than the bark and could be mistaken for an onion. Oddly, this plant does not grow anywhere in the western hemisphere except in the Andes Mountains. It's also known in Java, India and East Africa. I'll need to check that, but if my memory serves me, I think it grows in parts of Australia also."
"Vietnam?" Frank asked.
"Possible. I'll check that too. I know you can buy it in tablet form in Mexico. It's often used to terminate pregnancy. I recall that a young girl died in Mexico City in 1971 from an overdose."