12 Days

by Chris Frank

  When Jim answered, Lisa whispered urgently.

  “Jim, it’s Lisa. Where are you? Can you get down to the studio? Yes, right now. If you want to see our killer’s second victim.”

  Day 2: 7:05 p.m.

  He couldn’t stomach rude people. Catching a bitch of Audrey La Pense’s caliber was like throwing a raw strip of steak to a starving tiger; he could not help but want to rip her fucking throat out. But he had to remain calm. No mistakes. His first two victims were chosen because they fit his needs so perfectly. He could have picked any number of people for number three, but after he saw La Pense on a local cooking show, he knew it had to be her. He wasn’t going to merely enjoy this; he actually believed that he was doing everyone who knew the woman a favor. The hardest obstacle he would need to overcome would be waiting another five hours to kill her. At least, he would have a nice meal for a change; her refrigerator was packed with food. Plenty of delicious chicken, in fact. She was resting quietly in the pantry; he could hear hardly a peep from her. That poodle had been a nightmare, what with the incessant barking and all those fucking bows on its collar and on its ears. It was a male dog damn it, enough with the nail polish and all the frilly shit! He put the dog out of its misery quickly and humanely. He would not extend La Pense the same courtesy.

  Day 2: 7:18 p.m.

  It took Jim thirty minutes to get from his house to the KVTM studios in Hollywood, a remarkable feat considering late rush hour traffic in L.A. He parked his car and immediately spotted Lisa pacing at the front door of the studio with a cigarette in her mouth. For a moment he stopped thinking about the serial killer on the loose in L.A., who numbered his victims for all to see. Jim Jovian’s first thought was surprise - at learning that his crush, Lisa, was a smoker.

  Lisa saw Jim exit his car, threw her cigarette to the ground, and ran to him.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  She reached out her hand, grabbed his hand, and led him inside.

  “You are not going to believe this!” she gushed as they hustled down the hallway.

  Jim did not fail to notice the bustle surrounding the set of the KVTM newsroom, nor the striking blue eyes of the blond anchorwoman who was getting her hair done in the makeup room that he passed. More importantly, Jim noticed that Lisa did not let go of his hand until they were in the editing room. She explained that she had dismissed Milt earlier to do some research on the latest victim, so they had the room alone. She sat him down at the desk and began reviewing the edit and she described what they had.

  “Janette McDermott is a top end real estate broker in Pasadena. She and her husband, Bill, made a fortune during the recent housing boom. She told her husband that she was meeting a big player on Christmas day who wanted to see her best stuff. She left the family after mass that day and never returned. Her husband got worried when he could not reach her by phone after two hours and called the police. The police said that there was nothing they could do without a ransom note, or until 24 hours had passed.”

  Jim agreed.

  “Those are the rules.”

  Lisa continued, “She doesn’t show up for dinner and the husband knows that there’s something wrong. He drives to the office and checks her appointment book and sees that at three o’clock on Christmas day, she has an appointment to meet Dr. Ungaro R. Destini. U.R. Destini, ‘Your Destiny’ – how’s that for a corny alias?”

  “Our perp obviously isn’t a writer.”

  “Not one who’s working, anyway. So she’s going to show him three pieces of property, all above $10,000,000.00. The husband checks with the listing agents for the residences, who told him that they never showed. That was the last he heard until the police called him this morning.”

  “I’m impressed. How did you get this information?”

  Lisa looked at the screen as she responded.

  “I called Mr. McDermott and pretended I was with the F.B.I.”

  Jim was taken aback.

  “Really?”

  Lisa shrugged.

  “He wasn’t thinking straight and I’m not ashamed to say that I took advantage of his anger and his grief.”

  Jim didn’t think the word ‘ashamed’ was in her vocabulary.

  “Apparently the killer took Janette’s driver’s license and put in on the rail that surrounded the turtle cage so that the police could identify the body right away. He wanted us to know who she was immediately. Why?’

  Jim did not have an answer.

  “And you’re sure that it’s the same killer?”

  “Positive.”

  Lisa had stopped scrolling through the footage. Jim looked at the monitor.

  “Let’s see the pond.”

  Lisa pointed; there it was. Seven stones of various sizes arranged to form the number ‘two’.

  Jim whistled, then sat back and thought for a moment about his next move. Somebody at the police station needed to know about this. In an ideal situation, he could show his findings to Captain Jones and see if Lisa’s discovery could help get him reinstated. But that could thrust him right back into the limelight, which Captain Jones had subtly told him to avoid for the time being. He turned to Lisa.

  “That’s a ‘two’ all right.”

  “Thank you. Jim, we have a serial killer in L.A.”

  “Certainly seems that way.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  “We need to let the police know about this.”

  Lisa nodded her consent.

  “Are you going to call your Captain, or should I?”

  That was an interesting idea; have Lisa call. It would keep Jim in the shadows just as Captain Jones desired. But it might also make her a suspect, or at least a person of interest. The woman who found the first body now discovers the link from Paul Artridge to Janette McDermott? Would Jones think that Lisa was involved to a greater extent than she had led them to believe? Those would be natural questions. Lisa would probably laugh at such an idea, but the Captain would not. A news producer killing people to break a serial killer story to move up in the national news hierarchy? Stranger things had happened in Los Angeles.

  Jim’s thought process was interrupted by the cell phone buzzing in his pocket. His next move had been decided for him. It was Captain Jones’ secretary. The boss requested his presence immediately, downtown at Parker Center. The lump returned to Jim’s stomach, and not just over the prospect of facing the man who had just put him on suspension.

  Was there really a chance he was falling in love with some clever media murderer?

  Day 2: 8:12 p.m.

  Parker Center was the mother ship of Los Angeles law enforcement. The massive complex was home to several thousand uniformed and upper echelon police officers. There was a conference room on every floor and a three-story holding pen for perpetrators awaiting arraignment. Because of his rank, Captain Robert Jones, Jr. had a large corner office with a secretary and an anteroom on the seventh floor. The Captain stood behind his desk and looked down upon ex-officer Jim Jovian. In his right hand was the supplemental report that Jim had filed early that morning on the Artridge murder. He waved the report furiously in Jim’s face as he asked his questions.

  “What the fuck is this? Why wasn’t this in the original report?”

  “Captain, I did not see the numeral before I wrote the first report. I went back after my shift to look around and then I saw it. When I came back on duty last night, I filled out the supplemental.”

  Jim was not sure why the Captain was so livid.

  “How could you miss this?”

  “I’m sorry, Skip. It was the end of a long shift and I guess it just got past me.”

  “You miss what could be an important piece of evidence and don’t file a report on it until after you’ve been suspended. Do you see that this could be a problem?”

  “Honestly, Captain, I…”

  “Jovian, god damnit, I’m trying to make this go away and you’re filing reports after the fact. We don’t even know if it means anythi
ng. At this point, you are so far under the microscope that any fuck up could lead to permanent dismissal. Am I making myself clear?”

  This would have been a perfect moment for suspended officer Jim Jovian to tell the captain about the serial killer in L.A. that had a tally going, and mention the other numeral. He liked Captain Jones and wanted to be straight with him, but the Captain had a career and Jim did not, for the moment. Nor did Jim think that he could see the promised reinstatement on the horizon. Why the fuck should he do someone else’s work when in the end, he was the one likely to be hung out to dry?

  Jim stood up from his chair.

  “Yes, sir. You have made yourself perfectly clear.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Anything else, Captain?”

  “That’s all,” replied Jones. “Don’t disappear on us.”

  “No, sir. Wouldn’t think of it.”

  Jim strode out of the office without saying goodbye and made his way into the night. He needed a drink. Hell, he needed a whole bottle.

  Day 2: 10:00 p.m.

  The young news host seemed a bit nervous at what she was reporting.

  “Good evening, I’m Stacy Davenport and here’s what’s happening in our world tonight. For the second day in a row, Los Angeles was shocked by the death of a local celebrity. Real estate agent and philanthropist Janette McDermott’s body was found in the turtle pond at the Los Angeles Zoo by a janitor early this morning. According to her husband, Mrs. McDermott disappeared after Christmas mass yesterday afternoon and did not return from an appointment to showcase homes in the Pasadena area. Michelle Cuomo is at the zoo, Michele.”

  “Thank you Stacy, that’s right, it is a sad Christmas in Pasadena today as a local man must tell his four young children that mommy won’t be coming home…”

  Jim stood next to Lisa as they watched the show from the producer’s room. Television production was a lot like police work. Dig up the facts, arrange them along a timeline, and paint a picture of the crime. Jim followed the onscreen story with a sense of sadness. His mother had passed away when he was 17; he could not imagine what these four young children must be going through. He needed to get some air; he asked Lisa to excuse him. He was about to exit the room when the next story began. There in the middle of the screen was Alice Edwards, the woman who had called him early on Christmas morning. He sat back down.

  “There were two of them, both looked drunk, one dressed as Santa,” Alice was saying onscreen. “I couldn’t tell if the other one was wearing a costume, but he was shorter and walking like he was carrying a heavy load on his back. I don’t sleep so well since my husband died, so when the car alarm went off, I was at the window in a flash and I saw them there, propped against my car. Hooligans! I ran downstairs but they were gone. I called the police, but they didn’t come, they never come! Maybe if they had, that man might still be alive.”

  “Jesus!” Jim exclaimed.

  He turned to Lisa.

  “Can I talk to you outside for a fucking second?”

  She nodded and got up to follow. Jim led Lisa to the hallway then turned to her angrily.

  ”Why would you do that to me?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the… I’ll tell you the problem! First, you just had the woman who got me fired on television, broadcasting what a fuck up I am. Second, anyone in the department who sees that is going to pin it on me as the source! And lastly and most importantly, you just put on television the only witness to our serial killer. How safe do you think she will be when he finds this out?”

  Lisa stood there silently.

  “I’ll ask you again. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

  Lisa didn’t have an answer. She wanted to say that she was just reporting the news, but she could see his point - it probably did put Mrs. Edwards in a compromised position. She looked at Jim and sighed.

  Jim paced up and down the hallway, mumbling something that sounded Arabic, only a little more guttural. Finally he stopped and looked straight at her.

  “I really like you, Lisa, but sometimes you’re a real fucking idiot.”

  Lisa continued her silence, not knowing what to say. Jim stalked out of the studio, leaving Lisa with her thoughts.

  Chapter Five: Ring, Ring, Ring

  Day 2: 10:10 p.m.

  He was enjoying a well-conceived bowl of lobster bisque when her face appeared on the television; he stopped eating immediately. He had not seen her in years, not since she chased him off her lawn when the football flew over his head and crashed against her bay window. It was useless to run. He had always been easy to catch, what with the bad hip. She had called the cops on him that day, just like she apparently did less than 24 hours ago. Well, she would have to be dealt with, and sooner rather than later.

  But how could he make her fit his pattern? It was a very troubling challenge to contemplate.

  He jumped when he heard the La Pense house phone ring for what seemed like the hundredth time. He held his hands over his ears. Why wouldn’t they stop calling? Didn’t they know that she couldn’t pick up the phone?

  Then there it was, in a flash, his answer.

  Alice could be next; she actually fit nicely into his plan as number four. On a personal level, it was regrettable that Alice Edwards had just given the lucky “Big” Jack Larsen a reprieve. But alas, a life is a life. Mean Mrs. Edwards should not have called the cops on him so long ago and she definitely should not have seen him on Christmas morning; that was a big mistake. He picked up the bowl and sucked down the rest of the lobster bisque. This is really good, he thought. I wonder if she has any dessert laying around?

  Day 2: 11:35 p.m.

  Jim was not a big drinker; a couple of brewskis while watching football on a Sunday was usually enough to lay him out by the end of the third quarter. But tonight, he got his drink on. He had never really developed a taste for brown liquor but he had a hankering now for bourbon and he was going to feed that need. In the course of two days, he had lost his job, met a girl, lost the girl, wondered about the girl’s mentality, and withheld information that might help the police catch a particularly creative serial killer. Forty-eight hours, amazing! Jovian, he thought as he raised another glass to toast his remarkable fortune, you are a true American success story.

  Then he lightened up a little. At this point in his life, he decided, nothing would surprise him.

  But something did. First, the ringing doorbell that he ignored repeatedly, certain it was the kids from down the hall playing holiday pranks. After that came a light, insistent knock on his apartment door. He was ready to scare those kids to death, but when he yanked the door open far enough to yell, he was amazed of who and what he saw. There was Lisa, a confused look on her face, as she stood there, forlorn, waiting for him to undo the triple lock. The hallway light behind her, made her face look a little golden, beautiful.

  He wasn’t surprised that Lisa knew where he lived. After all, this was a woman capable of convincing a grieving husband that he should disclose the details of his wife’s abduction and murder over the phone. But seeing her standing there, wanting in… WOW.

  Jim stepped aside and ushered her across the threshold. His was an ample one-bedroom apartment in Rosemead, a small town north of the 10 freeway, a short drive from the police station. It was a town where, housing-wise, a dollar went a long way. Not a real long way, but further than it did in West Covina.

  Lisa wasn’t saying much. She sat on the couch while Jim grabbed the bottle of bourbon, his glass, and another glass for her. He filled them both to two fingers. They clinked rims just as they had done at the Sunrise Grill a little over twelve hours before. Jim threw back his drink and looked at her, saying nothing. Damn, she looked good.

  Lisa just stared into her drink.

  “I’m sorry. I just get so caught up in things that… that I don’t see all the angles.”

  Jim poured another for himself and said nothing.

  Lisa set her glass down.
/>   “Jim, I…”

  “Shut up.”

  Lisa stared at Jim, but he wasn’t angry. He was intense, yes, but in an attentive way, even a playful way. She hadn’t touched her drink, but she was sure he was looking at her with the eyes of a lover. And she liked that.

  “I’ve got nothing left to lose right?”

  Lisa took his hand.

  “That’s right.”

  She moved his open palm slowly onto her breast. They kissed on the couch, fumbling a moment to let their bodies find a comfortable fit. Over the next five hours, they explored each other to the point of exhaustion, losing track of time before finally kissing goodnight. Jim slept soundly, his mind completely blank, the knot in his stomach gone. He’d forgotten how amazing the touch of a woman could be, and what it could do to the cares of a man.

  Day 3: 12:33 a.m.

  He imagined it must be like breaking the neck of a goose, or some other large bird, but there was no sickening “crack” like you hear in an action movie. With the soul departed, he arranged her limp body neatly on the floor, arms and legs apart, on her back, like the famous Da Vinci drawing. He had no desire to touch her sexually, but she had to be naked to make the image complete. He stepped back to admire his work. Something was missing; she lacked a sense of flair. He looked around the kitchen and his attention fixed on the toque. He retrieved it quickly and placed the chef’s hat on her head before sprinkling her with powdered sugar and adding his signature touch to the moment. Voila, now that was a masterpiece. He made every effort to conceal his identity from his pursuers by cleaning the dishes and eating utensils. When he was convinced that every trace of his existence had been wiped clean, he picked up the telephone and dialed 911. He feigned panic when he told the local police that he thought he had heard someone enter the house. Could they please send someone over? He let himself out the back door and headed down the alley from which he had come, garbed in his ragged attire and ready for the next attack.