Rebecca expelled a ragged breath. "Fuck! I was hoping we had quieted that action down."
"Funny thing about it. The M.E. called in a preliminary report -- seems the kid was beaten to death first, then sodomized. The semen analysis showed up type O."
"Jesus!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Why didnt you say it might be our guy straight out! Give me the address -- Ill meet you there."
She knew the place. The Viceroy Hotel. It had once been a respectable hotel, housing long-term tenants and the occasional tourist. With the decline of the neighborhood and the gravitation of junkies, prostitutes, and drug dealers to this area, anyone who could afford to had moved out. Now the hotel was a stop over for hookers and their clients, junkies waiting for their next fix, and the lonely wino who had scrounged the price of a thin mattress for the night.
Rebecca made the cross-town trip easily, despite the rush of lunch hour traffic. Watts was waiting in front of the four-story building, looking apathetic and bored. His crumpled suit, too tight across his bulging middle, had once been expensive but now reflected the neglect and disinterest which was evident in the man himself. Rebecca knew that he had once been considered a sharp detective, but apparently, something had changed. He looked every inch the burnt out veteran, just putting in time until his pension came up. Rebecca did not want to be saddled with him; he was clearly a loser.
She joined him wordlessly, and they pushed through the hotels double entry doors into a dank, dimly lit foyer. Thread-bare chairs sat haphazardly on a rug of indeterminate color. Piles of old magazines lay strewn randomly over the surface of a scarred coffee table. Beyond this waiting area was a small counter where the desk clerk leaned on his elbow, watching them impassively. The room was empty except for an old woman who reclined on a sofa against one wall, snoring softly.
The clerk clearly read them as cops and continued to stare at them without speaking. As they approached, Watts flipped his badge open and leaned against the cigarette-scarred desk top.
"You Bailey?" he said without preamble.
"Thats right," the man said. His breath smelled of liquor, and he didnt look as if face had seen a razor in days.
"You find the body?" Watts continued, making no effort to introduce Rebecca. She was irritated but saw no benefit in making a show out of it. She let Watts carry the ball.
"Yeah, I found it."
Watts nodded slightly. "Says in the report that you called in at 3:42 A.M ."
"Probably. I didnt look at no clock."
"How come youre on the desk now? Wheres the day shift?"
The man looked at Watts blankly. "I work the day shift."
Watts paused for a moment, a befuddled frown on his face. "That so? Then how come you were here in the middle of the night? You work the night shift too?"
The desk clerks face registered dismay, and he looked quickly around the room. Rebecca had the sense that he was looking for an exit, and she stepped slightly to the left, blocking the hinged section of counter that led out from the narrow space between the mailboxes and the registration desk. She slowly moved her hand to unbutton her jacket, allowing her access to her automatic. She wasnt sure what Watts had in mind, but he was certainly after something. It would have helped if he had briefed her first.
Watts studied the clerk, his face still creased with confusion.
"You got other work here, maybe?"
"Like what?" the thin greying man asked uneasily.
"Like maybe you run a few of the girls yourself?"
At Watts suggestion the man gave a frightened snort and backed away from the counter.
"No way, no way at all. I never pimped -- I swear. I just --" he stammered into silence.
"You just what ?" Watts asked.
"Nothing."
Watts turned to Rebecca and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What do you think, Detective Frye? Isnt soliciting clients for prostitutes a felony in this state? Maybe we should take Mr. Bailey here for a ride downtown?"
Rebecca followed his lead. She nodded agreement, and responded, "Youre right, Detective Watts. Mr. Bailey does seem in clear violation of the law."
Bailey squeaked in protest, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.
"Wait a minute! I didnt solicit for nobody. The girl was up there a long time, and I just went to see. There she was -- spread out on the bed, naked except for those shorts around her ankles. She was cold already. I could tell that from the door. Sos I called the cops -- thats what a citizen is supposed to do, isnt it?"
He glanced from one to the other, hoping for a sign of approval. They returned his gaze impassively.
Rebecca stepped a little closer to the counter and said softly, "Why were you watching her, Mr. Bailey?"
He looked uncomfortable and shifted from one foot to the other. He seemed to come to some decision, speaking slowly. "They pay me a little to keep an eye on the girls. You know -- to see how many tricks they turn -- if theyre holding back on their pimps. I dont do nothing but keep an eye on traffic, so to speak."
"Who pays you, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked, keeping her body between Bailey and Watts. They were playing good cop/bad cop all right. She only wished that Watts had given her some notice.
"You cant arrest me for watching hookers -- that aint no crime!"
Watts moved closer to Rebecca. "It is if youre an accomplice to the act --which you are, Bailey."
Bailey blanched but remained silent.
"Who went up there with her, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked suddenly.
"Didnt see him," he answered quickly.
Rebecca turned to Watts. "Maybe Mr. Bailey would remember if we took him downtown. What do you say, Watts?"
Watts appeared to be thinking, his brow knit in consternation. "Yeah -- you might be right, Frye. But then wed have to fill out all those reports and probably run Bailey through the computer. You know how long those computer checks take." He sighed as if the idea didnt appeal to him much.
Bailey watched them, scarcely taking a breath. Finally, their silence drove him to speak.
"Look. I dont pay much attention to the johns -- theyre in and out of here all the time. Dozens of em. This girl Patty -- she was popular, you know? Young stuff like that attracts a lot of action. Shed be up and down those stairs ten times a night."
Rebecca suppressed a shudder, pushing the image of a young girl laboring under the bodies of countless men from her mind. She kept her gaze noncommittally on Baileys pale face.
"The last guy -- I just glanced up when they went by. He was young, I remember that. Made me wonder for a second why such a young dude would have to pay for it." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he was a virgin."
"You never saw him before?" Rebecca asked, hoping to encourage Bailey to continue his musings.
"Nah. I probably would have remembered if he was a regular."
"Is there anything that struck you as unusual about the guy?" Watts asked.
Bailey appeared to be considering the question, but his face remained blank. Chances were he had become too immersed in the decadence around him to notice specifics.
"Dont think so," he said slowly. Suddenly, his face brightened, as if he had had a revelation. "I do remember he had a bag with him -- one of those gym bags." He chuckled absently to himself. "Maybe he kept those shorts in there."
"What shorts?" Rebecca prompted, looking at Watts. Watts shook his head slightly, signally he had no idea what Bailey was referring to.
"You know," Bailey said, "those little shorts she had on. She wasnt wearing them when she went upstairs."
Rebecca felt a surge of excitement. "What was she wearing?"
"One of those little leather skirts and a -- what do they call them? Tank tops?"
"Were her clothes in the room when you found her?" Watts asked.
Bailey shook his head. "Didnt see them, but I didnt look too close."
Rebecca knew they could check that out in the report the uniform who responded to the call would file. She thought they had enough from Bailey f
or now, and she explained to him that they would need him to meet with the police artist to sketch a composite of the man who had accompanied Patty Harris on her last trick. Despite his protest that he didnt really see the guy, he agreed to meet them at the station later that day. He seemed more willing to cooperate now that they had "forgotten" about his role in the prostitution business.
Rebecca and Watts went over the crime scene, but they didnt expect to find much. An iron bed stand stood in the center of a grey-walled room that had once been white. The mattress was thin and stained. There were no rugs on the worn wood floor, and only a curtain remnant to block the view of a deserted building across the street. A single bulb hung from a central ceiling fixture, its globe long broken. It was an empty, abandoned place, much like the people who used it for their hasty couplings. The oppressiveness of the room permeated their consciousness quickly, and they left after a rapid survey, neither of them speaking.
Once outside, Rebecca turned to Watts where he was attempting to light a cigarette. His match kept blowing out.
"That was a nice piece of work with Bailey, Watts," she said. His questioning had been sharp, and they had worked well together.
His cigarette finally caught, and he took a deep drag. He didnt acknowledge her remark as he started toward the car.
"Guess well have to start questioning all the hookers down here," he remarked, pulling open the door to his battered green Dodge sedan. "See if theres a john around who likes girls in gym shorts."
Rebecca nodded, her thoughts in tune with his. It could just be a coincidence, but it was the only lead they had. It was certainly better than cooling their heels waiting for their rapist to strike again.
"Ive got some contacts here --let me chase this a while," she replied.
Watts shrugged. "Suits me. Im going to grab some lunch."
He didnt invite her along, and Rebecca didnt suggest they go together. She agreed to meet him at the station later to see what Bailey and the police artist would put together. Maybe, finally, they had a break.
Chapter Eighteen
It was after eight, and Catherine was exhausted. She had spent the afternoon at her office, seeing private patients. She loved her work, but there were times when it took all of her effort to stay connected and focused during a session. She was a good therapist, and she was almost always present for her clients. On days like today, she was glad to see the last client leave.
As she pushed the stack of patient files into her brief case, the phone rang. She stared at it, wishing she could ignore it. Her receptionist had left. The switchboard would pick it up in a few more rings. Then it occurred to Catherine that it might be Rebecca, and she snatched the phone up.
"Hello," she said, a hopeful anticipation in her voice.
"Dr. Rawlings?" a soft male voice inquired.
"Yes," Catherine replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
"Is she feeling better now?" the voice continued.
Catherine frowned, annoyed and confused. "Im sorry -- who is this? I dont know to whom youre referring."
"You know her, Dr. Rawlings," he said in a husky tone. "The girl who saw me in the park. The one who watched me fucking that other one."
Catherine took a slow deep breath and kept her voice steady, despite the sudden racing of her heart.
"Im glad you called," Catherine said. "What shall I call you?"
There was a soft chuckle through the line. "You know I cant tell you that. Theyre looking for me, you know. But theyre too stupid to find me."
"Why is that?"
"They have no imagination." Another soft laugh. "Do you, Dr. Rawlings?"
"I think so," she answered.
"Can you imagine lying on the ground, your face in the grass, with a big hard cock up your ass?"
He might have been asking her if she would like to take a stroll in the park. His tone was casual, almost distant.
"Is that what youre imagining right now?" she asked him.
"I wont tell you that , Doctor," he responded, an edge in his voice for the first time. "I cant tell anybody -- but youll see, wont you? The next time I do it, youll see."
"What are you going to do?" Catherine questioned.
The click of the line being disconnected was the only response.
"Damn," Catherine muttered as she sagged against her desk. She started to tremble slightly and realized how shaken she was by the call. Part of her professional mind was fascinated, but, personally, she was repulsed by the soft, cool voice which reached out to her like an unwanted caress. There was only one voice she wanted to hear right now.
Chapter Nineteen
"Hey, Frye," the night sergeant called across the squad room. "Theres a call for you."
Rebecca frowned and gestured "no" with her hand. She and Watts were expecting Bailey to finish with the police artist any second, and she was eager to get a look at her suspects face.
The desk sergeant shrugged. "The lady says its an emergency."
Rebecca, annoyed, crossed the nearly deserted room and reached for the receiver.
"Frye," she announced tersely.
"This is Catherine, Rebecca. I wouldnt have called, but --"
"Nonsense," Rebecca interrupted immediately, detecting a difference in Catherines usually calm voice. "What is it?"
"Your suspect -- the rapist -- just called me. At least, I think it was him," Catherine replied, her voice curiously flat. She felt somewhat detached from everything at the moment.
Rebecca caught her breath, filled with a sudden anger. This nameless, faceless man had gone too far. He had touched someone who meant a great deal to Rebecca.
"Where are you?"
"At my office."
"I want you to lock your office door, move away from the window, and wait for me. Do not open the door for anyone. Ill be there in ten minutes."
"Im fine, Rebecca," Catherine said, some of her usual control evident in her tone.
"I know that. Just do as I say."
"Of course I will."
Rebecca hurried across the room for her jacket and was intercepted by Watts as she headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping nonchalantly between her and the exit.
Rebecca stared at him while trying to make a decision. She knew she should tell him about a possible contact from the suspect, but she wanted to see Catherine alone, to be sure she was all right. She remained wordless, and he watched her, no expression on his face.
Taking a deep breath, she replied, "We may have a phone contact from our boy. He may have just called Catherine Rawlings. Im going there now."
Watts raised both eyebrows and whistled softly. "Things are heating up, arent they? Guess Id better tag along."
Rebecca knew she couldnt prevent him from accompanying her, as much as she wanted to go alone. Damn the job sometimes!
"Lets go then," she said resolutely, consumed with the need to reach Catherine.
When she knocked on the office door, calling to Catherine, she unconsciously held her breath until she heard the lock being turned. The door swung open and Catherine stepped forward, looking pale but composed. She stopped short when she saw Watts behind Rebecca, her eyes meeting Rebeccas.
"Thank you for coming, Detective," she said quietly.
Rebecca wanted to enfold her in her arms, aching to touch her just for a moment. Instead, she nodded slightly and followed Catherine into the waiting room. She introduced Watts and suggested they sit so Catherine could tell her story.
Catherine relayed in detail the brief conversation. Her memory was excellent, honed from years of retaining an entire hours session with clients. Rebecca and Watts each took notes.
Rebecca stiffened when Catherine clinically stated the callers sexual intimations. She felt a rage she rarely experienced despite all her encounters with brutality and perversions. This time it was Catherine who was threatened. When Catherine finished, Rebecca was wordless, struggling with her emotions.
&nb
sp; She started slightly as Watts asked, "Did you recognize the voice, Doctor?" Rebecca had forgotten he was there.
Catherine shook her head, a look of faint surprise on her face. "No," she said, "of course not."
Watts gave a non-committal shrug. "Never know. Could be someone you knowor maybe someone you treated?"
Catherine regarded the blank face of the man seated beside Rebecca contemplatively. She sensed a clever mind behind the facade of apparent disinterest. Her curiosity was piqued, and she wondered where his train of thought was leading. Without consciously realizing it, she slipped into her professional mind set and began to view the events objectively, as if they had happened to someone else.
"I would recognize the voice, Im sure of that. He was casual, and yet, so intimate." She didnt notice Rebeccas slight flinch at her choice of words. Watts gave no sign of noticing it either.
"Hes trying to make contact. He wants someone to share his experience with," she mused aloud.
"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked, trying to keep her voice even. Goddamn him to hell for involving Catherine in this.
She didnt want to interrupt Catherines assessment of what had occurred by allowing her own reactions to interfere. She forced down the rage that threatened her objectivity, and she tried to view Catherine as the critical component she had become in this case. Nevertheless, she was aware of a faint nausea that made it difficult for her to swallow. Watts glanced at her nonchalantly, giving no sign he had noticed the strain in her voice or the rigid way she held her body.
"Hes pleased with himself," Catherine said, her eyes turning toward Rebecca. Her gaze was slightly unfocused as her thoughts continued to form. "Hes performed an important act, you see, and hes established himself, done something powerful -- won a little victory. And he wants to be sure someone appreciates this."
"So why call you?" Watts said.
Catherine shrugged. "I dont know"
"Catherine," Rebecca began urgently, "this is very important. Are you sure he isnt a patient -- someone you know?"
Catherine shook her head. "I dont treat many men. Im certain I would know."
"How about pulling your files on all the men youve seen -- say in the last five years," Watts said. "Maybe we can find something there that jogs your memory."
Radclyffe - Justice 01 - Shield Of Justice Page 8