Victim could not recall seeing any scars or other identifying
marks. Intruder was taller than her husband (5'10") but shorter
than her father (6'3"). The pubic hair was bushy and light brown
in color. General skin tone was that of a light-skinned Caucasian.
Intruder was not heavily muscled but also was not flabby, had a
generally long and lean look. There was very little body hair. The
hands were soft, “almost feminine” but very strong, nails clean and
trim.
Intruder did not use casual profanity but did use vulgarisms in
referring to body parts and sexual acts. He exhibited a very commanding
manner at all times and seemed “very sure of himself,” to
the point of blaming victim for his inability to achieve erection.
Victim is unsure of the color of intruder’s eyes but feels that they were
light blue or gray, that he appeared to be “older than 25 but younger than
40.”
Medical Findings
Immediately following the interview, at about 1000 hours, reporting
officer transported victim to San Remo Community Hospital
for an examination by Doctor Jacob Miles, MD, sex crime kit
#832479. No mobile sperm were found. However, various minor
scrapes and cuts were noted in the vagina by examining physician,
also numerous abrasions and contusions about the entire vulva area
which, according to his report (see attached), are consistent with
the victim’s statement.
Dr. Miles referred victim to her own personal physician for follow-
up treatment and also suggested that victim contact the Rape
Crisis Center for counseling.
Investigating Officer’s Comments
There are no other pending rape cases in this jurisdiction. Referral
to the Sex Crime Computer Network produced no M.O. or Trademark
similarities over the previous five years in this region. However,
various disturbing elements uncovered during this investigation would
seem to indicate that this offense will be compulsively repeated until the
offender is apprehended, and that the offenses will become increasingly
sadistic in nature.
Reporting Officer: Det. R. Storme
Officer in Charge
Sex Crimes Unit
Actually they now knew more about the sunrise rapist than anyone (other than Rebecca) would have imagined. Her initial report was later cited as a near perfect example of the value of an exhaustively complete interview of a rape victim. And although this was the first reported case of its kind in the history of the city, no one could say in hindsight that the San Remo P.D. was unprepared for the arrival of urban terror in this small suburban community. They’d had an entirely competent sex crimes specialist long before the actual need existed.
But, of course, the terror had only just begun.
Chapter Three
Ask any man on the force below the rank of lieutenant about Peter Storme and you’d likely hear: “Good cop.” Ask any superior below the office of chief and you’ll probably receive a grimace or pained smile. His best friend and direct superior considered him a “cowboy” and would have had Storme removed from his direct supervision several times if not for the intervention of the chief himself, who was inclined to look the other way at embarrassing moments and allow a good cop to do his job his own way—within limits, of course, and Sgt. Storme always seemed to instinctively know when the edge of those limits had been reached.
Even Rebecca often found herself at odds with her husband’s personal approach to law enforcement. It was in fact a primary source of irritation in their marriage, but only one among many. It had not been a particularly happy marriage, except in fits and starts. Except for the badges they wore, the two seemed to have very little in common—and with even the badges in frequent dispute, the outlook for fulfillment in marriage was not encouraging. Rebecca had even lately been entertaining thoughts of separation, so bleak had that outlook become.
The trouble with Pete, as Rebecca saw it, lay entirely in his focus. As that applied to his work, it meant that nobody broke the law in his town and got away with it if Pete was to be happy in his job. As the narrow focus applied to marriage, it meant that Rebecca should be happy if she had a couple of blissful hours in bed with her husband each week. Presumably, in that case, Pete was a happy husband too and all was well with the marriage.
The trouble with Rebecca, as Pete saw it, was that she could not or would not understand any of the above. The good life could never be reduced to such simplicities for Rebecca. Another frustration for her was Pete’s apparent lack of ambition.
He seemed quite content at Sergeant—another narrow focus, she supposed, designed to keep him free of executive responsibilities and “the drudgeries of the desk,” as he put it.
If that was his narrow goal, to escape the quiet agonies of desk work, then he certainly had found his niche at San Remo as leader of the swing team—also sometimes referred to unofficially as the swing dicks.
Detectives Frank Barton and Mike Rodriguez were the other two members of the unit. They came on duty at 2:30 every afternoon Tuesday through Saturday for overlap with the day-watch detectives who go off duty at 4:30. Theoretically the swing team was off duty at eleven and on call until six a.m., but it rarely worked that way, especially during recent months when they often worked through until two or three in the morning and sometimes worked straight through until relieved by the day watch at eight o’clock.
Storme liked the night watch and actually thrived on the hectic pace. It was set up so that the swing dicks would not ordinarily be involved with routine investigations left over by the day watch. They were designed to work on-the-spot response in vice, narcotics, burglary, robbery, homicide—everything beyond the duties of the patrol division—and they had lately been carrying the brunt of “initial response” by the detective bureau, the day-watch detectives then responsible for the follow-through routines. Storme therefore thought of himself as being “at the point” of police investigation in San Remo—and he apparently liked to think of his little team as an elite squad with the weight of the city on its shoulders.
All three of the swing dicks liked it that way and wanted to keep it that way. They wanted it bad enough to put in a lot of free overtime just to keep the franchise to themselves. Lately there had been rumbles from above to create a full second shift of detectives, with all the formal oversight and paper-shuffling such a move would entail, and all three were very nervous about the possibility. Peter Storme was especially nervous about it and staunchly resolved to keep it from happening.
Storme had influence in the department far beyond his official rank, the kind of influence that flows naturally from an almost charter membership in the department. The present chief, Joe Walsh, had been a patrol sergeant when Storme first came on board, and there was no detective bureau per se. Walsh headed the first detective bureau at San Remo and brought Storme over from patrol with him. Storme made sergeant under Walsh at the same time that Walsh was promoted to lieutenant.
Storme stopped moving up at that point but Walsh did not, a fact which may have crimped their style a bit but otherwise had no effect on the strong bonds between the two. They had been together through many harrowing experiences and most of the growing pains that a small semi-rural town goes through on its way to cityhood. That included political infighting as well as crime fighting—and both men knew where all the political bodies were buried. The two understood and respected each other—that was the true foundation of their friendship—and Storme knew that he had a certain clout in the department if he did not go overboard with it.
Such was the police situation at San Remo on the day the sunrise rapist found his first victim. Storme came in at 2:30 that afternoon with his two
partners and went through the customary routine of reviewing all pending cases and discussing particular problems with the heads of the various detective squads. So it was part of the official routine when the three swing dicks grouped themselves around Rebecca’s desk at a quarter after three for a briefing on the rape at Woody Heights.
But it seemed that all three had already read Rebecca’s report of the incident and seemed primarily interested in kidding her about it. “This is juicy stuff, Rebecca,” Detective Rodriguez commented with a grin. “They teach you to write like that at Academy?”
Rebecca was used to the ribbing, although there had never before been such a ripe opportunity for her fellow officers. She flashed Rodriguez a go-to-hell smile as she replied, “No, I think it was in the third grade at Monroe Elementary, Mike. Too bad you dropped out before that point.”
Detective Barton enjoyed that shot. He snickered and said, “Mike never made it past sandbox. Got hung up on cops and robbers. Now look at him. But we taught him to read, didn’t we, Pete. His tongue’s been stiff ever since he read your report.”
“Knock it off,” Rebecca warned. “A crime like this one is nothing to snicker over.”
“She’s right, guys,” Storme said quietly. “Rebecca is always right. Remember that.” He gave the others a meaningful look and added, “I’ll see you back in the lounge.”
Rodriguez and Barton smiled and strolled away.
Rebecca felt that is was okay to kid around with these guys and she usually enjoyed it but they had struck a raw nerve with her on this one. She knew that cops often shelter themselves from their feelings and so may display a disturbingly cynical attitude toward their work. A cynical attitude toward crimes against women, however, could go a bit beyond mere insensitivity and border on actual sympathy for the accused.
She knew that the male mind in general often does not consider sex offenses as serious crimes. Unhappily, many otherwise sensitive police officers share that same view. Even some women can show a surprising lack of sympathy for the victims of rape and other forms of sexual assault or harassment. To her dismay, she had learned that the old refrain, “Well, she probably asked for it,” had crept into women’s thinking as well as men’s. Women who have been battered by husbands as well as those who have been sexually molested or even raped, often do not find a sympathetic appreciation of the problem. It was her belief that so called “date rape” or sexual harassment on the job does not receive appropriate attention anywhere in our society and because of this attitude, many women fail to come forward with their accusations. She was aware of the humiliation and pain that women have been subjected to in the courtroom. Too often the woman is viewed as a “willing” victim. Even a woman who has been sadistically raped and murdered receives little sympathy if she is a known prostitute.
Such attitudes are probably as old as the human race. It would make a fertile field of study by psychologists and sociologists alike.
Rebecca did not regard herself as either a psychologist or a sociologist but she had studied the fields as a natural extension of her work.
She did not claim that this made her a better cop but she felt strongly that it had given her a wider view of the world at large and perhaps a better under-standing of both criminals and victims.
Sergeant Storme nudged a chair beside his wife and dropped into it.
“Be careful our hands don’t touch,” Rebecca said stiffly.
“Screw ’em,” Storme replied. “Official business. And, seriously, you filed a great report. I’m proud of you. That’s damned good police work.”
She said, “Thanks, Sergeant. That is high and unusual praise indeed.”
“Cut the shit. I’m coming straight home tonight. Will you be there?”
“Where else would I be, Peter?”
“Well I never know, do I. Between your classes, your health club and your dinner dates….”
She said, “Well at least you’re consistent. I do have a class tonight.”
Storme worked a muscle in his jaw before replying, “You and Jack?”
“Me and Jack and 52 other struggling students, yes.”
“Well don’t stop for coffee afterwards tonight. I’ll be home by eleven-thirty. We’ll make our own coffee. Maybe I’ll even bring home a bottle of wine, and uh, we’ll have….”
She gave him a level gaze while completing the statement for him. “…our hour together in the sack.”
“Well it’s been more than a week since we’ve even touched each other, Rebecca.”
“Oh, dear me, then I guess we’d better drop everything and just have at each other before one of us goes crazy. Would you like to go back to the lounge and get it over with right now? We could post Barton and Rodriguez at the door and….” His silent reaction to the put-down halted her in mid-sentence and sent her mind searching for some graceful way to soften the moment, but nothing came to her and it was too late anyway.
Storme stared at his wife through several seconds of awkward silence then got to his feet and stiffly walked away.
She felt like a jerk…but there it was, that narrow focus again. An entire week of total neglect could of course be rectified by a quick romp between the sheets, then he could go out and patrol the streets again, secure in the idea that he was keeping love alive through his weekly performance of marital chores.
Thank you, Sergeant, she said to herself, for the charitable thought—but no, thanks. She could diddle herself, dammit, if things got that bad.
What Rebecca Storme wanted was a husband, not a 24-hour cop—someone to talk to, to make plans with, to grow with. Too damned bad, then, that she had fallen for a swing dick already married to his damned badge.
Jack Morgan, the detective-lieutenant who headed the day watch, had been observing the conversation from a distance. He came over with a grim smile and asked her, “Class still on for tonight?”
“You bet,” she said stiffly.
“See you there, then.”
She said, “Okay.”
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. No—that’s—everything is not okay. I’ve been trying to get to you all afternoon. I really need to talk to you about this rape case.”
The lieutenant replied, “It will have to wait. Meeting of the brass in the chief’s office. What are you doing for dinner?”
“Jack in the Box, probably.”
“Save a box for me, then, and we’ll go over your case. But it’s probably a waste of time. Pete will undoubtedly have the case broken before he sleeps again.”
“Then I’m afraid he’s in for some sleepless nights,” Rebecca said quietly. And she added, to herself, just like the rest of us.
Chapter Four
All the brass were in the chief’s office—both captains, the watch commanders from all three shifts, lieutenants from both divisions. Also present were the city manager, Rafael Gutierrez, and two councilmen.
Storme was present as a courtesy to him, since the fate of his swing team was about to be decided.
The CM was new on the job, a humorless man of about forty with a master’s degree in public administration who’d been lured from a similar post in northern California by a newly elected city council with progress on the mind.
Progress had been the pivotal issue in the latest city elections and the old “smalltown minded” ruling clique had been swept out of office by a largely new electorate who had swollen the population in recent years. Not one person on the newly elected city council had been a resident of San Remo for more than ten years. The winds of change were blowing strongly and many of the “old ways” were blowing away with them.
More than twenty ancient statutes of the municipal code, all of them dating back to horse and buggy days, had been repealed at the new council’s first sitting. Many more were under review and notice had been served that San Remo would enter the 21st century as a modern city.
What all that meant to Peter Storme was simply that the land developers had captured San Remo and were gett
ing ready to parcel it up toward their own enrichment. It was one of the few desirable areas in the region with large tracts of undeveloped land within city boundaries, and the battle had been raging for years between those desiring to exploit that potential for growth and those determined to keep the expansion under tight control.
Now that battle had apparently been won by the progressives and it appeared to Storme that the spirit of change was extending itself into his own little pocket of resistance.
The CM was proposing a radical reorganization of the police department. One new captaincy would be created, a position of deputy chief, fifteen new officers, a streamlined executive division with more civilian employees, a new watch structure with rotating and “maximized” shifts, and a beefed-up detective bureau with 24-hour on-duty coverage.
“This city is coming of age,” the CM pointed out. “Our latest population projection is for 80,000 people within five years. That calls for a force of no less than eighty full-duty officers, retraining and upgrading of the existent force, modern technological refitting and maximization of resources. It cannot all be accomplished overnight, of course, which is why we must have the program implemented without delay.”
“Where did you want to start?” the chief inquired.
“Let’s start with those fifteen new officers,” the CM replied. “What would be the quickest way for you to increase to eighty officers?”
“The quickest or the cheapest?”
The CM smiled a mechanical smile devoid of humor. “Give me the quickest first.”
“I could spend an hour on the phone and hire fifteen fully competent men that I could put on the street tomorrow. But I’m not talking about rookie cops, so that would cost you a bundle.”
“And the cheapest?”
“We have five reserve officers who are academy trained. I could activate all five at the basic salary and have them ready to roll on their own in thirty days. Give me another thirty days and I can raise five more reserves to full, active status. So you’d have a seventy-man force within sixty days and we could build slowly from there. But there’s going to be problems with it, count on that, adding that many men that fast. Frankly, I don’t think we need all that right now. The changes you are mandating sound to me like absolute turmoil in this department for a long time to come unless we go about it in a sensible way. There is no immediate problem demanding that kind of urgent attention. We happen to have one of the most efficient departments in the state, with the lowest per-capita crime rate and the highest percentage of convictions than any of our neighboring cities. Which means that we’ve got the situation in hand, and I can’t see why anyone would want to tamper with that.”
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