by Lilya Myers
She shouldn’t. She couldn’t possibly feel…she was in love with Catello!
Sarah quickly pulled away and stepped back with her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, what was I thinking? I was thinking that the water looked absolutely delicious and I didn’t want to be trapped by the guy with the tea.”
Able gently admonished Sarah for taking off by herself. Later at dinner, he revealed the secret that was still buried in the fine sand of the beaches in Al-Alamayn. The Six Day War broke out on June 5, 1952, following weeks of tension. The Arab rhetoric – that they would not accept any coexistence with Israel was matched by the mobilization of Arab forces. Syria intensified its military bombardment and terrorist attacks, while Egypt’s Abdel Nasser’s rhetoric became increasingly bellicose, focused on nationalization of Egypt and the eradication of Israel. Left over from the Six Day War, landmines had since taken the limbs and lives of many Bedouin, their children, and unsuspecting travelers. In 1985, four British children were killed when a landmine exploded while they were digging in the sand on the beache. It was Sarah’s first lesson in what her unmeasured and spontaneous detours could mete out. Isolated beaches were off limits!
She grinned to herself as she remembered the look on Able’s face that time on the beach. Her mind had never studied his image through the same perspective as she happened to be seeing now. He was movie-star handsome. At six foot-three, he towered over her. The dark curly hair on his chest poked out of the top of his V-neck tee-shirt to match the thick dark waves on his head. His blue eyes were stark and stood out prominently against his tanned skin and dark hair. No designer jeans for him. Just those good ol’ Levi’s that had been well broken-in, to mold and caress every inch – what is wrong with you? she asked herself.
“Stop!” She was suddenly aware that her outburst wasn’t muted. It snapped her to attention, at the same time having turned more than a few heads in her direction. She quickly looked away and out the window to avoid the eyes of her fellow passengers. The vast Sahara was below. The pilot’s voice crackled over the speaker and roused Rachel, who had fallen asleep.
“Was that you who yelled a second ago?” Rachel asked, groggy and trying to gain her bearings. “I thought I heard somebody yell something.”
Sarah ignored the question and hoped that Rachel wouldn’t pursue it. “We should be landing in about twenty-five minutes.”
Rachel shook off her sleep and excitedly looked out the window. They both got very quiet, for different reasons. A sudden feeling of void hit Sarah when she realized that it was because she had never traveled without Able. She admonished herself for being so foolish. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why the sudden infatuation with Able? Really, Sarah! Get a grip. He’s been like a brother all your life. Surely cabin pressure can do strange things to people. Could it make her believe that she was wrong about her feelings for Catello?
Rachel stared down at the endless sea of dunes as far as the eye could see. Sarah could tell what Rachel was thinking just from her expression alone. She hadn’t prepared Rachel very well. This was definitely not the picture of the tropical paradise she had painted for her very best friend. Egypt? Beaches? Oh yeah, right. Rachel knows the story about when I nearly got blown up on a beach outside of Alexandria. What on earth was I thinking?
Sarah decided right then that she couldn’t disappoint Rachel. As they prepared for landing, Sarah’s brain went into overdrive to create a new itinerary. Perhaps once she got those contracts delivered and signed, they’d see a few sights in Egypt, then catch a flight to Naples, and head for the beaches in Capri instead. Her parents always spoke about how beautiful it was. She never really gave it much thought before. Why now did she suddenly find it so odd that, in all their travels as she was growing up, they never took a trip there?
Rachel had promised to call Russ as soon as they landed. He was knee deep in the mess that this nut-job serial murderer had dropped on them but Rachel was never a heartbeat away from his thoughts. He glanced at his watch as he pushed through the doors of the station. Any minute now his cell phone should jangle with the familiar ringtone, a song by Stevie Wonder that Rachel set up on his phone. For the first time since he left her at the airport, a smile broadened his face as he anticipated the tune, “I just called to say I love you.”
It was a mixed bag, her going to Egypt with Sarah. On the one hand, he hated to see her halfway around the world away from him. On the other hand, he was grateful that she was halfway around the world away from the psycho preying on young women like her in their community.
The smell of a fresh brewed pot of coffee wafted down the hall. Russ thought he’d grab a cup from the officer’s lounge, perhaps giving him the benefit of picking up the call before he got tied up in meetings. Even though the mood was somber, to the point of being morose, the guys around the station would still give him a hard time if they heard the ringtone. Another time, maybe, he’d redden to the top of his dark brown wavy hair but right now he didn’t care. The intensity of the hunt for this serial killer was building a harder shell around the man. Russ stepped into the lounge and found it empty. Small blessings, anyway. As he began to pour coffee into a tall mug, his phone came to life. There was no mistaking the caller.
“Hi honey! We made it!” She had to speak well above the normal decibel range. There was a lot of commotion and noise in the background. Rachel didn’t give Russ a chance to respond. “Look, I’m going to have to call you back once we get settled – wherever that is. We’re about to go through Customs.”
She decided against telling him that Sarah was being delayed by the authorities and why that was, but thought better of it. It was no big deal anyway, I hope. This little bit of excitement could wait for another time. Poor Russ. He’s got enough on his plate. At least she was silently praying that it was no big deal. Sarah said something about them thinking she was Egyptian and wanted to retain her passport. The conversation between Sarah and the police was intense as they exchanged rapid fire Arabic. Rachel didn’t understand a word. Nobody was smiling and that wasn’t good.
“What is all that noise? It sounds like people yelling,” Russ was pressing the phone closer to his ear.
“Oh, that? Oh, it’s just very crowded. We’re all packed like sardines in this line and you know, foreign languages can sound a lot more emotional than we do.” Rachel kept an eye on the drama unfolding with Rachel. Red faces, arms waving. Time to go, she thought. She didn’t need to remind herself that she was marrying a detective who would start asking a lot of questions and fretting after her. “Ah sweetheart, I think we’re moving now. I’ve got to get my passport and stuff ready. Love you. I’ll call you later…”
“I love you, too. Be careful and call…” Click…. “me,” he said into the silence at the other end. Just as his ever-analyzing mind turned to the idea that something in Rachel’s voice just didn’t sound right, two other detectives strode into the lounge.
CHAPTER 47
THEIR BUILDS, WHEN side by side, resembled a pair of slapstick comedians in early American cinema of the 1920’s, Laurel and Hardy. Detectives Danny O’Connell and Paulie Catrone.
The big guy gave an upward nod as Russ turned in their direction. He spoke first, “Hey Roma. Chief ’s been lookin’ fuh yuh. Where yuh bin?” Paulie had a thick Bronx accent.
Tipping the scales at three hundred pounds and standing six foot-six, he made his sidekick and Russ both look likescrawny teenagers. Russ was a very fit and lean six-two, one hundred seventy-five pounds.
Danny pointed a meaty finger at Russ’s cup. “You wanna cannoli to go with that? Looks like you could use some meat on dem bones.” His laugh was deep.
Paulie had a lot of experience and had been there longer than Russ, yet he was always easy-going and free with his advice and suspicions on a case. There were no hard feelings when Russ was named lead on this serial killer who had been dubbed, “The Mutilator” by the press. Paulie’s wife was pregnant with their third child and he was happy staying right where he
was. He had no ambitions greater than doing his job, being a good family man, and staying alive.
Russ provided all the detectives assigned to the case with as much information as possible. They were all seasoned detectives and knew what to keep close to the vest and what to keep away from the ears and eyes of the press but sometimes there was pillow talk and well, everyone knows how information can seep out. It was for that reason Russ decided to keep one theory to himself. Don’t go throwing anything out there or form any opinions yet, Roma, until you have solid facts to back them up. The team was already swamped with phone calls and leads about the case. His was really only the inception of a theory.
Paulie Catrone interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Roma, I got two nieces the age of these girls. I want this bastard jerk-off to go down, like now!”
“You and all of New York. I just got back from the M.E.’s office and picked up the latest autopsy report. Identical. As far as how he got his thrills. Is the Chief in the briefing room?”
“Oh, yeah. I think he’s starting to like it in there. He’s got everybody and his uncle ridin’ his ass to catch this son-of-a-bitch. His office is a cauldron of sharks. One of the reasons I came lookin’ fuh yuh to let you know before you stepped into the line of fire. Cranky is the operative word. He’s gonna be ridin’ your tail and everybody else’s too.”
“You think I oughta go in there with a dozen cannoli from Lorenzo’s Bakery?” Russ asked as they all headed for the door.
***
Russ had a good rapport with the Chief and he wasn’t one to cave to the public or the mayor. But if push came to shove, his hand would be forced to replace Russ if they were getting nowhere. Egos weren’t at stake here. The bodies were piling up and pressure was pressure. Long Island never seen so many murders in such a short period of time and there was not so much as a thread to go on in catching the perpetrator. The Mutilator was working overtime but so were the cops. It was maddening. It was frightening. And it sure as hell didn’t seem like it was going to stop any time soon if they didn’t get a bead on this guy.
Still, his experience and his gut told Chief Quinn that Russ Roma was the right choice for this case. He wasn’t one to change horses in the middle of the ride either. Certainly not for a bunch of politicians who didn’t know their…
“Chief,” Russ acknowledged as he came in the door. Three other detectives were already seated at the conference table. A hill and a mountain followed, Detectives O’Connell and Catrone. They both nodded at the others as they found their places. Catrone let out a loud grunt as he wedged himself into one of the chairs. The Chief ’s head snapped around and Paulie just shrugged. A pen was slowly being tapped on the table and everyone knew what that meant.
“I’m not going to lecture you boys, although some of you – you know who you are – could use it.” Chief put on his father voice. “I don’t have time for it. Neither do you.”
The room settled down quickly. “We’ve got eleven mutilated young women on slabs in the morgue. I want to get this psycho-maniac-one-mother-….son-of-a-bitch and I want him eleven women ago!” His capacity for cussing would only take him so far. “Now, let’s get to it. Agent Steinman here has worked out distances and proximities of where the bodies were located. Steinman, share your insights and conclusions, please.”
Steinman stood up and went over to the map. He had already placed colored pins where each of the bodies had been discovered. He discussed the location of each of the pins, coinciding with the photos of each of the murdered women, and cross-referenced distances from one crime scene to the other.
“Vics three and four were found at the edge of Suffolk County, almost into Nassau County and we’re coordinating our searches and investigations with those precincts. Chief will lay that out afterward.” The Chief gave a quick nod. It was still the local police’s case. FBI assisted in profiling and forensics when requested.
“We tried to look for a pattern that might help pinpoint a central site which might take us to a general area that we could then focus as being the ‘kill’ location. Even though this guy’s been leaving these women helter skelter all over the place with no pattern – South shore, North Shore, etcetera – my guess is he’s got him an operating room somewhere. However, until we find out differently, we can’t rule out that he didn’t take them into the city, or over to Jersey before bringing them back to the island. Based on facts we know right now, we can only work on the premise that he never performed his kills in the same place. Just don’t let it stop you from keeping an open mind on either scenario. Like most cases –”
Russ interrupted. He had been on the police force long enough to have some ambivalence for the FBI. “Yeah, well I’ve done some profiling of my own. I appreciate your viewpoint, Steinman, but I disagree with you on one point. This isn’t like most cases. Hell, it’s not like any case we’ve had.”
Russ stood up, prompting Steinman to sit. “Every one of you have been to the scenes and you saw what this depraved animal has done to his vics. What’s the number one first thing he revealed about himself ?” The question was rhetorical and Russ answered it himself.
“He’s practiced. He believes he’s good at what he does and eluding police. It wasn’t a dress rehearsal with our first vic, Selena.” Russ used her first name. This case had become very personal. “This guy had already honed and perfected his craft somewhere else. He’s clever, he’s methodical, he’s very careful, and he’s highly organized. He definitely has a home base.”
Russ tried to soften the ego blow he gave to Steinman earlier. “Look, Steinman’s right about preconceived conclusions screwing up an investigation. Ordinarily, I’d back that up two hundred percent. I’m making a call here on one point and if I’m wrong, it will be my ass. But we’re definitely going to treat the murder sites as being one specific location the killer uses and point our efforts on that premise. We will do that until something else causes us to believe otherwise. All the traits this guy has shown us about himself tells us that he likes things a certain way. It helps to keep him organized and ten steps ahead of us. He’s not someone who’d feel comfortable having to find a new location for every kill and then tool around with a body in the trunk trying to find another place to dump her. I guarantee you he’s got a home base. His workshop. And it’s right under our noses.”
He stopped to address two detectives who were sitting in chairs against the wall. Vinnie Bassetti and Richie Lanzo. “When we’re done here, I want you guys to start checking for any murders, solved or unsolved with even the remotest resemblance to this guy’s M.O. Run it through ViCAP.”
He first learned about ViCap in the police academy. “ViCAP stands for Violent Criminal Apprehension Program,” the instructor had said. “It’s a unit created by the FBI in 1985. It was designed to track and correlate information on violent crime, especially murder. ViCAP is particularly valuable in identifying and tracking serial killers, where separate victims might not otherwise be connected as part of the same pattern.”
Russ continued to address the group seated in the briefing room.
“We’ve interviewed the families. All these women followed a pretty routine schedule which makes us believe that he’d been watching them. I’m also convinced that he selected his victims first. He’s not picking them randomly. I’m also thinking that there’s some common denominator he’s using to choose his vics. After that, he keeps track of their routines.
So far, none of these women are related or knew each other. We’ve got to dig deeper for that connection. Paulie, Danny, you guys go back and talk to the families again. In all but one of the cases, the bodies were found in not so remote areas, meaning he did want us to find them easily, he didn’t want decomposition to spoil the shock factor, and he didn’t want to take a chance on being caught transporting them any distance..”
The Chief added, “True, the bodies were dumped off the typical beaten path, but not so inaccessible that they couldn’t be discovered within a couple of days – just
long enough for someone to run across them. Most of them only spent two days or so at the dump sites before they were discovered. I think our perp is familiar or has familiarized himself with the area quite well. Do we have anything at all on shoe prints?”
He looked at Akroyd, sitting across the table from him. Akroyd was a wiry-looking guy, late thirties, with dark curly hair framing an ordinary face with pale skin. He was a new face in the crowd, one with whom most of the detectives, except for Russ and Joey, were not familiar.
“Marc Akroyd, our new CSI,” the Chief broke in. A few muffled snickers slipped out around the room. “You bunch of badasses can all introduce yourselves later. The Chief gave an acknowledgement nod at the new-to-the-team CSI who had a solid background in forensic analysis.
“We’ve only got a partial shoe print from one of the crime scenes, uh, where that elderly couple with the dogs…it had started to drizzle and the ground was already soft from rain the night before. Dog prints all over it. We picked up some fibers and hair samples and are running those things now for DNA.
Marc’ll be your go-to man,” the Chief added.
Akroyd was not only a newbie but his nerd factor set a deep contrast to the other rugby-playing CSI who had just had emergency surgery for an aneurysm.
The Chief knew that his room full of detectives wished Donovan was there now instead of this Akroyd guy. “By the way, Donovan is out of surgery. I may be his boss but I’m still not family. They wouldn’t say what his condition was. But he’s alive and still in recovery. No visitors until they give the word. When I know, you’ll know.”
The detectives had been eyeing Akroyd with smirking skepticism, like they were the only ones in on an inside joke. Marc was one of those behind-the-scenes kind of guys who was not noticed or recognized as having been an invaluable asset to the former CSI on many of their homicide cases.