by Glenn Porzig
"Drake? I thought you were still on suspension," Detective West said.
Donovan West wasn't as tall as Drake, and he was quite a bit heavier. He'd been a detective as long as Drake had known him. His years on the force had made his hair turn naturally gray and left him a bit of a cynic. Despite that, he tended to keep in generally good spirits, no matter how distasteful the situation.
"Underwood wanted me to check out this scene. He didn't sound happy. What've we got?" Drake asked as he ducked under the tape.
"Take a look… another dead girl. Hogtied and dropped in the dumpster. Judging by her fake breasts and tattoos I'd say she's likely a stripper."
Drake peered into the open dumpster. The girl's body was neatly placed on top of the trash with no attempt to bury it. Almost as if the killer wanted it to be found. The timing on this wasn't good, not that there was ever a good time for a murder. It looked like his time off from work was officially over.
There was a large trash bag in front of the dumpster, spilled open, garbage strewn across the alley.
"Who found her?"
"Restaurant manager taking out the trash… got the surprise of her life," West snorted.
"I bet. Take me to her?"
"Sure. Follow me." Detective West ducked under the tape and held it up for Drake to follow him. They went to a restaurant next door, one of the walls of which formed one side of the alley. Like the rest of the shops in this area it was shotgun style, deep but not very wide, one of three such spaces that made up the old building. There was a woman there sitting alone at one of the tables. She was smoking and dropping the ashes into an empty disposable coffee cup. She appeared to be in her late thirties with dark brown hair, and she looked very stressed.
"This is Detective Drake. He has a few questions for you."
"Thanks Donovan, I'll take it from here."
Drake approached the smoking woman, gently starting his questioning. He was aware of what a shock it must have been for her to find the dead girl. He tried to not forget that normal people didn't experience death as part of their daily routine.
"I'm Alex, and you are?" the detective asked as he pulled up a seat across from her.
"Carol," she answered matter-of-factly.
He imagined she was in shock.
"Okay Carol. I know this isn't easy, but could you lead me through the sequence of events that lead up to you finding the… um, to your discovery in the dumpster? And please be as detailed as you can, you never know what might be important."
"Yeah, sure. I came in early this morning to open for breakfast, I'm the morning manager. When I got here the garbage was sitting by the back door, the night shift forgot to take it out again. It happens so often I wonder if it's on purpose." She took a long drag on her cigarette and let the smoke slowly escape from her mouth before continuing.
"I don't know… I just took the trash out, went to toss the bag in and that's when I saw it… saw her… " She stared into the distance. "I don't know what else to tell you."
"Do you recall ever seeing this woman before?"
"I don't think so, but so many customers come through here… and honestly, I didn't really get a good look at her, you know?"
"It's okay. You've been very helpful," Drake smiled reassuringly. "Have you noticed anyone unusual hanging around recently?"
"No… not really. You get the occasional homeless person… but that isn't really all that unusual."
"One last thing before I go. Do you recall about when it was when you took out the trash?"
Carol looked up at the simple round clock hanging above the entrance.
"It would have been some time shortly after 4:30am. We open for breakfast at 5."
Drake stood up and excused himself. "I'll send Detective West back in to take down your full statement. If you think of anything else be sure to contact me."
***
Angela Russell heard the doors open and looked up from the corpse she was examining. In walked Alexander Drake. A few years ago they had been married, but now she only saw him when their careers intersected. He was a homicide detective, and she was the coroner, so it happened more often than either of them was comfortable with.
"Alex," she smiled as she tilted back the large clear face shield. "I was just finishing up."
"Angela, good to see you."
"Why don't you grab a pair of gloves from the cart over there and come join me?" She pointed to a stainless steel rolling cart near the autopsy table.
Drake snapped on the gloves and walked over to his ex-wife. He looked down at the pale corpse of the young woman. He'd seen too many like her this past year. Society seemed to be spiraling out of control.
"Peroxide blond hair, expensive manicure, tattoos, breast implants, and a toned body I could only dream of… she was definitely a dancer. My best guess is twenty three years old, we're still waiting for her prints to come back."
"So, what's the problem?" the Detective asked. He gently took the dead dancer's face in his hand and tried to picture her alive.
"The problem is the way she was tied, the wound in her chest, the blood drained from her body, the missing heart… do I need to go on?" She looked him directly in the eyes, but he didn't flinch.
"Sounds like Lee Miller," he deadpanned.
"Sounds just like Lee Miller, down to washing the body and leaving it in a dumpster."
"Signs of intercourse?" he asked.
"I believe so. Just finished a kit on her, going to send it off for analysis when we're through here."
"Damn. We are coming up on the anniversary of his murder spree…"
"I was thinking the same thing," she pulled the sheet up to cover the dead girl's face. "So, are we looking at a copycat? Some sicko paying homage to Miller?"
"I hope that's all it is…"
"I see one big problem with that. The bindings. We never released that detail to the press, and there was no trial for it to be released."
"That's true. I gunned down Lee Miller—no trial—and there weren't supposed to be any more murders…"
"You don't think…?"
"Do I think the demon is back? No. That wasn't its style. It liked to murder families. It was Miller who went after the women. But he was just a man. I saw him die."
"Glad to hear that."
"So, I've got you believing in demons now?"
"Let's just say that I've seen enough weird shit that I'm open to the possibility… and I'd like to leave it at that."
"Fair enough," Drake stripped off his gloves and tossed them in the trash. "Keep me posted on any developments… and keep the Miller connection to yourself for now."
Angela nodded and watched him leave. She still worried about him when these types of cases came up, and they were only getting more frequent.
***
"She asked for me?" Caroline couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Mike Newell gave an encouraging smile. "Yes, she requested you be the one to interview her."
"Are you sure this isn't some sort of set up? I didn't really think she liked me…" Caroline paced in front of the news director's desk.
"She's been gone nearly a year. Don't think that any inner office rivalry is going to outweigh the good will that Vicki built up after a career of working at this TV station. We're a family here at WYKN. This interview is good for her, good for the station… and good for you too."
"If you say so." Caroline couldn't help but roll her eyes at the absurdity of the situation.
"Look at it this way; you'll be covering the Lee Miller murders again, and you'll have exclusive access to an expert on the case."
"I still don't know if I can trust her… this is Vicki Taylor we're talking about, right? The one that thought I was after her anchor position?"
"Don't be silly. She wouldn't do anything to make the station look bad, that would hurt her credibility. We give her legitimacy, and she gives us ratings." Mike leaned back in his chair, confident he had made his point.
"You're
the boss…" The brunette reporter sighed and made her way out of the news director's office.
***
This was the part that Drake hated the most. Even more than he hated being chewed out by Underwood. But it was a necessary part of the investigation. He steeled himself and knocked on the door.
A man answered, he looked to be in his late forties, his face was haggard, he was dressed casual.
"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling…" He started to close the door.
Drake flashed his detective badge. The eyes of the man at the door widened. He nodded his head and stepped back to allow the detective inside.
"Are you the father of Mandy Zimmer?"
"What kind of trouble has she gotten herself into this time?"
"Sir, I'm afraid that she was found dead early this morning."
"Dammit. What was it, did she OD? I told her to stay off the drugs. Just say no, but she never would listen to me… just like her mother."
"I'm sorry. I'm here investigating her death. You mentioned her mother?"
"Yeah, her mother was a mess… but she's been gone for months now…"
"Gone?"
"She died. That was right before Mandy moved out…"
"We didn't have any other address on file for her, you say she was no longer living here?"
"That's right, she moved out, probably holed up in some flop house for junkies… Oh, she did give me a key, wanted me to drop off some of her stuff sometime, but she never answered her phone when I called to make arrangements. That's the problem with strippers… they party all night and sleep all day."
"You have an address for her, and a key?"
"Yeah, just a minute. I'll go grab it for you."
The man walked off. Drake's eyes scanned the living room, his trained senses taking in all the details. The place was a mess. There were beer cans stacked everywhere. It didn't look like an inviting place for a young woman to live.
The man returned with an envelope. He handed it to the detective. Inside was a note with an address written in purple ink, it was a woman's handwriting. There was also a single key.
"Thank you. I'll leave this at the station, you'll be able to pick it up when her effects are released. I do have one more question. Do you happen to know where she was working?"
"Yeah. If you want to call it work. She was down at Trixie's last I heard, but you know how girls like that move around… can't keep a job…"
"Thank you, you've been very helpful. Again, I'm sorry for your loss…"
***
The door creaked open slowly. A lamp on the floor was the only light in the room. Drake listened but didn't hear anyone. He had knocked and announced himself, but nobody had responded. With the woman that was renting the small house dead, he had let himself in with the key her father had provided.
He was wearing latex gloves to avoid contaminating any possible evidence. He loosened his .45 in its holster, ready in case this was some sort of flop house filled with junkies as the dead stripper's father had suggested. He moved quietly down the hall to check the bedrooms.
He thought her father's place had been a mess. This place was a wreck. There was hardly any furniture. Only an old couch and the single lamp in the living room. The small walk-in kitchen had an equally small table and a single chair.
There were two bedrooms, neither one had a door. One of the bedrooms had a ratty mattress on the floor. The other had the matching chair to the one in the kitchen. The chair was covered with a pile of clothes, there were more clothes spilling out of the closet and scattered around the room.
The place reeked of cigarette smoke. There were burnt out butts scattered all over the floor. The carpet had cigarette burns and a variety of unidentifiable stains. It looked like this house was used to party and hook up, and that's about it.
Drake checked the refrigerator, it was sparsely stocked. A few beer bottles and some leftovers. There were empty boxes from microwave dinners piled up on the kitchen sink. The sink was half filled with water. There didn't appear to be any dishes other than plastic forks and spoons from fast food restaurants that were being reused.
The kitchen table had some envelopes and old mail stacked up on it. He carefully pushed around some papers with his gloved fingertip. Eventually he saw some overdue bills with the victim's name on them. There were no other names listed on any papers associated with the rent of the house or any of the utilities. No new leads here.
It looked like Drake was going to be heading to the strip club tonight.
***
Back at the police station Drake was confronted by Chief Underwood.
"Tell me you've got something."
"Sorry, nothing has panned out… yet. I met with the victim's estranged father, he gave me an address where she'd been staying. I was able to verify that she had been there, but didn't find anything that would indicate any foul play related to a lover or anything of that sort."
"Why can't you tell me some good news for once?" Underwood was stressed and rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for Drake's reply.
"Well, her father was able to provide me with her last known place of employment. I'll be heading there tonight to question her coworkers—see if any of them can offer us some clue. I'm trying to establish if she was seeing anyone, maybe had an obsessed regular client, or anything of that nature."
"Where did she work?"
"Place called Trixie's, it's a gentleman's club."
"Sounds classy. Just remember that you're on duty when you're in there and act accordingly. No funny business."
"Sure thing, Chief. I'm strictly professional."
"One last thing before I let you go… how did your review go?"
"Review? Am I up for a raise?"
"Cut the crap, Detective. Your psyche evaluation. You did take it right?"
"Well, you see… with this new case I've been so busy…"
"Seriously? You've at least got it scheduled, right?"
"Well…"
"Dammit Detective! We do things by the book around here. You aren't even supposed to be back on duty, let alone be carrying a firearm, until you've been cleared." Underwood stared down the detective like a drill sergeant. "When you leave this office I expect you to call and schedule an appointment with Doctor Hatcher. I mean it."
"Certainly, sir." Drake winced as he walked out.
***
Trixie's. Drake wouldn't have admitted it to his boss, but it wasn't his first time here. Not that he frequented this sort of place. Some of his fellow officers had dragged him here for his bachelor party. He hadn't been back since then. Hard to believe it had been so long, his marriage to Angela seemed like a lifetime ago. So much in his life had changed.
The DJ announcing the new dancers taking the stage derailed his thoughts and the detective continued to push past the drunken patrons towards the stairs to the dressing room. The strobing lights and loud music were so annoying that he wondered how anyone could stand to work here. They'd all end up deaf in their old age, if the smoking, drinking, and drugs didn't kill them first.
Drake had called ahead, so the bouncer guarding the stairs from any drunken admirers let him pass without hesitation when he flashed his badge. He knocked as he stepped in and was surprised at the modesty of some of the girl's who covered up upon his entrance. Others were far too jaded for any such considerations.
The detective flashed the badge that was still in his hand. He was sure it wasn't the first time these girls had seen one up close. For a moment he imagined that a younger version of him would have been in heaven behind the scenes like this. Surrounded by half naked girls where no one is usually allowed to go. But these weren't the circumstances that lent themselves to juvenile fantasies. This was police business, and once again he had to deliver the bad news.
"I'm Detective Drake, and I'm here tonight to ask about Mandy Zimmerman. Did any of you girls know Mandy?"
There was a look of confusion that spread across the room, then one of the
dancers spoke up.
"He means Destiny, girls. That was Mandy's working name." She was the house mom, a dancer well past her prime that kept things in order. Keeping strippers on schedule was liking herding cats, and that unenviable job fell to her.
A few of the girls looked more interested now, but others continued either dressing or undressing. They each had a locker full of skimpy exotic costumes for their dance routines. One woman was putting on her makeup in the lighted mirror, she spoke next.
"I know Mandy. What about her?"
"You probably heard about a woman's body being found early this morning… I'm sorry to tell you she's been identified as your co-worker."
"Sorry, officer, we don't tend to watch the news around here. What with our schedules and all… it's not exactly a priority."
"That's a shame about Destiny," another of the girls said.
"Were any of you close with her? Do you know, did she have a boyfriend? Or maybe a regular that has been acting weird, or recently become more aggressive?" Drake had to speak louder as the bass from the latest song pounded up from the floor and through his shoes.
"Mandy had boyfriends come and go, but nobody steady like. You know?" the house mom said.
"Did anyone notice anything unusual last night?"
The girl at the mirror replied, "I saw some guy bought her a bottle last night. I didn't get a look at him. He had barely just walked in and she'd suckered him into dropping a Benjamin on her."
"Did anyone else see this man?"
The house mom volunteered, "I think Dee Dee was working the tables last night. She said something about a gentleman tipping her a twenty. I think she's down on the floor. I can go get her for you, Officer."
"I'd appreciate that," Drake looked around the room and realized that he'd be standing waiting in a room full of beautiful women in various states of undress. It hadn't really sunk in while he had something to talk about. He tried not to stare, but he began to feel self conscious as he fidgeted around nervously.
After what felt like an eternity, the house mom returned with Dee Dee. It was obvious where she got her name. He imagined she had back problems from a lifetime of hauling around her large natural breasts.