He turned and pointed towards the limousine, reeling dangerously as he did so.
“Why you wanna know?” Rupert menacingly demanded.
“Cuz your friend, in the car,” mumbled the bum. “He don’t look good. Think he’s sick.”
Rupert hastened towards the limo, nearly knocking the drunk over in the process. Taking advantage of the bodyguard’s proximity, the wino, with unexpected accuracy and strength, swung the brown paper bag into the side of Rupert’s head. The bag contained the customary bottle; filled with crushed stone. The goon crashed to the ground, unconscious.
Hurrying back to the limousine, the drunk quickly scanned the area for witnesses but the street remained deserted. He popped open the car’s trunk and returned for Rupert. Within seconds, the ape was properly stored away, peacefully sleeping. In the driver’s seat, Gino, the other goon, was still out as he would be for hours. Neither man would be the cause of any further trouble this evening. Satisfied, the drunk returned to the building’s rear exit, unlocked the door and entered.
With most everything he undertook, Paulo Morretto insisted on being in control. But when it came to sex, his ultimate thrill was being dominated. And having spent the last eight months behind bars, he was ripe for an ultimate thrill that evening.
He lay on his back on Cindy’s king-size bed, his wrists securely hand-cuffed to the headboard. Cindy straddled over his naked body which was starting to show a number of marks and bruises where she had slapped and pinched him.
“Come on, baby!” Paulo pleaded. “Put it in you. It’s been eight months!”
“I’ll put it in me when I decide,” she snarled through clenched teeth. “You understand, motherfucker?”
She slapped him again. He loved it.
“Sorry to bother you, ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice called from the bedroom door. “Miss, please get off Mr. Morretto and do not turn around. If you see me, I’ll have to kill you.”
Cindy froze, her naked body still straddled over Paulo.
“Get these goddamn cuffs off me, bitch!” Paulo shouted.
“Mr. Morretto, shut the fuck up,” their visitor curtly ordered. “Miss, I asked you to get off Mr. Morretto. I would like you to do so, now.”
She climbed off Morretto and onto the floor as the man continued.
“Remember, Miss. Do not look at me.”
“He’s not even fucking armed!” Morretto screamed. “Turn around, look at him! Go call the cops! Get Gino downstairs, you fucking moron!”
“If you wish to live, Miss, don’t listen to this asshole. I promise you, he will not hurt you. But if you don’t do as I say, I can guarantee that I will hurt you.”
Cindy did not turn around. The man picked up one of Morretto’s socks on the floor and tossed it front of her.
“Mr. Morretto seems to like to scream and that bothers me. Stuff that in his mouth. Mr. Morretto, I strongly urge you to cooperate.”
Both complied to his requests.
“Now, Miss,” the intruder went on as he backed off into a corner. “I would like you to turn to your left and walk sideways to the door. Remember, you must not see me. Your life depends on it. When you get to the door, I want you to go to the pantry at the back of the kitchen.”
She moved slowly sideways towards the bedroom door, staring straight ahead, obviously frightened. Into the hallway, she walked towards the kitchen, aware that he was following her. As she entered the kitchen, she glanced towards the right, at the knife block on the counter. The block was there but the slots were empty. Her fear increased. She continued towards the walk-in pantry.
“Please go inside,” the man gently requested. “I will close the door behind you and jam it. You shouldn’t be afraid. I will not hurt you.”
She entered the small room and the door closed behind her, shrouding her in darkness. She heard a chair scrape across the floor in the kitchen, followed by a slight rattling of the knob as something was pushed solidly against the door. Not even daring to try the door, it just might open, she curled onto the floor into a ball, gripping her knees tightly to her chest and silently cried. She was extremely frightened.
The man returned to the bedroom and closed the door. Morretto had his back raised up against the headboard and was struggling frantically with the hand-cuffs, in vain. Regretfully, he had bought Cindy only the very best in furniture; heavy, solid oak.
“Don’t worry about the girl,” the visitor reassured him. “I didn’t touch her. Her only crime has been to acquaint herself with a piece of shit like you. And don’t worry about your two friends downstairs either. I hardly hurt them. They’re just having a little snooze in that lovely car of yours.”
Morretto stared at the intruder with angry eyes, but remained silent, due to the sock still stuffed in his mouth.
“As for you, Paulo,” the man went on. “You, I will hurt. I was very disappointed to learn that you had been acquitted of your terrible crime. You see, the problem is, the system does not always work; which is exactly why I started my little hobby a while back. I had to make up for the system’s failures. But Paulo, forgive me. Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. They call me Vigilante. You must have heard of me? Lately, I’m in the papers more often than you are.”
Morretto lay still on the bed, the anger in his eyes having changed to fear.
The Vigilante continued. “Back to the system and its failures. You see, your case was a failure. Allow me to explain. You planted a bomb last fall which killed a mother and her two kids. Now, in my book, that’s wrong. Those people, that innocent family, had not done anything wrong and yet, you killed them. Logically, you should have been punished for your actions but you weren’t. You see what I mean, Paulo? The system failed. But that’s where I come in.”
He paused for a moment as he produced a switchblade from his pocket and released the blade.
“I’m a fair man though, Paulo, no mistake about that. I could kill you slowly, cause you great pain and make you suffer for hours. But that would not be fair. You see, when you killed those three innocent people, you did not make them suffer. You did it quick. Boom. It was over. You are therefore entitled to the same treatment. No more, no less. Good-bye, Paulo.”
Stepping over to the side of the bed, he grabbed Paulo’s hair and slowly pulled the mobster’s head back. He then raised the knife and plunged it into Paulo’s throat.
It was getting late and the street was deserted as the drunk made his way down the sidewalk, wavering at every couple of steps. Stopping by a parked mini-van, he looked around to ensure that he was alone. Quickly, he unlocked the side sliding door and slipped into the rear of the vehicle. Inside, the floor was covered with a plastic sheet. He emptied his pockets and quickly removed his clothes, rolling them in the sheet which he stuffed into a plastic garbage bag. He donned a pair of blue jeans, sweater and running shoes, then climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine and headed for home.
On the way, he drove through a quiet alley and stopped just long enough to drop the garbage bag through the window into a dumpster.
He checked the dashboard clock; 11:38 and smiled. Sandy would still be up.
Chapter 19 - Wednesday, July 17, 1996
5:28 a.m. Ron Henderson arrived at the office early, as was his usual routine. He liked coming in at this time, just to see what had come in on the wire services overnight. Often enough, he found something of interest which allowed him to write one of his controversial articles before the printing of the final edition at 6:00.
He strolled into his cubicle and put down his coffee, then turned on the PC. As the display appeared on the screen, he noticed the Eazy-Com icon flashing in one corner. He clicked the mouse and the message, which had come in just five minutes earlier, came into view:
WE ARE SOMETIMES REWARDED FOR OUR LOYALTY. YOU HAVE EARNED AN EXCLUSIVE. PAULO MORRETTO IS DEAD, THROAT SLASHED. HIS BODY IS AT THE EXCELSIOR SUITES, #1219, HANDCUFFED TO A BED, HIS DOING, NOT MINE. WAS WITH HIS MISTRESS PL
AYING SEX GAMES. BODYGUARDS SPARED AS WAS THE MISTRESS. HE HAD TO PAY FOR HIS BOMBING SINS. POLICE ADVISED ONLY MOMENTS AGO. THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT.
VIGILANTE
Once again, Henderson checked for a sender’s address but, as expected, found none. He looked at his watch; 5:33. He had less than thirty minutes. He hit the ‘Speaker’ button on the phone and punched the extension to the print room. While the line started to ring, he frantically started to type his article.
“PRINT ROOM,” Ozzie, the supervisor, shouted above the ruckus of the presses.
“Ozzie, Ron!” Henderson yelled with excitement. “Save me a spot on the front page! At the top! No, not a long article. I don’t have much information but it’s big news! I’ll get it to you in fifteen minutes!”
He didn’t have time to verify if the story was actually true and he’d get his butt kicked, hard, if it wasn’t. But he had followed up with some cop friends about the rape thing and, although they couldn’t give him the girl’s name, they had confirmed the story. Sure, he was taking a risk but he had a feeling that he could trust the Vigilante. After all, he was the killer’s most vocal fan.
* * * *
At precisely 1:00 p.m., Chris drove into the lot adjoining the Special Homicide Task Force Centre and parked. As he climbed out of his car, he scanned the parking area in search of Eileen or her car but saw neither. He lit a cigarette and leisurely strolled back and forth as he waited for her outside. She would be arriving any minute and he had promised to support her throughout this difficult ordeal.
Early that morning, McCall had called him at home to request that their meeting be delayed a couple of hours. The Vigilante had scored again and he had to look into it. Yes, they were certain that it was him as he had sent the following message on Eazy-Com at 5:17:
GREETINGS. THERE IS SOME GARBAGE TO PICK UP AT THE EXCELSIOR SUITES, #1219. PLEASE LET THE GIRL OUT OF THE KITCHEN CLOSET. DON’T WORRY, SHE DIDN’T SEE ME. I WOULD NOT LET YOU DOWN. ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO SERVE.
LATER,
VIGILANTE
When he had arrived at the office at 8:00, Chris had called Carl Denver and asked him to attempt a trace of the new Vigilante message. Carl had later reported that the trace had, once again, been unsuccessful.
* * * *
Dave McCall had still been at home when he had learned of the brutal death of Paulo Morretto. He had been in the shower, at around 6:15, when Cathy had come into the bathroom to announce that Tim Harris was on the phone.
Harris was calling from the apartment of one Cynthia Lewis, Morretto’s girlfriend. Morretto was dead, the girl was in shock. Yes, definitely the Vigilante. He himself had tipped them off via Eazy-Com. It had happened somewhere around 11:00. No, the girl had not seen him. Bodyguards? Yeah, two of them and they were alive. One was still groggy, probably ether or chloroform. The other, they had found in the trunk of the limo, still parked outside the apartment. He was awake when they had arrived and was banging away and yelling from the inside. He had a nasty bump and gash on the side of his head. A drunk, he had said, was all he had seen. Hard to describe, had a big floppy hat pulled down over his head and shades. Yeah, they would question them further. They had spoken to the doorman at the main entrance but he had not seen anyone but residents enter or leave the building.
McCall, noting the address, had promised to join Harris shortly. He had then called Chris to inform him of the new message.
Upon hearing of the murder, Dave’s first thought was of Frank Bakes.
“No, Frank isn’t home. He’s helping a friend set up a computer. He said he might be home late.”
That was what Frank’s wife had told him when he had called the previous evening, which bothered Dave tremendously. He should have chosen last night to follow Frank.
* * * *
Nauseous and utterly confused, Carl was not feeling well at all. Chris had called him that morning to inform him of a new message, requesting that he try another trace. Carl had verified and, sure enough, the record was there, same as the last one.
Once again, he had erased the data as there was nothing else he could do. He failed to understand why these transmission records kept appearing. He knew the Eazy-Com system inside out and it just didn’t make any sense. Someone had to be playing with his head, playing a dangerous game. Somebody had to know something.
But who, and how? He had always been careful, always covered his tracks. He had never made a mistake, of that he was certain. So how could anybody know about him, about what he did?
Carl had thrown up three times that morning. He was becoming very worried and scared.
* * * *
McCall stomped back and forth in fury as he stared at the newspaper clenched tightly in his fists.
He had just reached the office after leaving the Morretto murder scene and on his desk was a copy of the Gazette boasting the headline.
MORRETTO SLAIN BY VIGILANTE!!
Not surprisingly, it was the work of Ron Henderson.
“Goddamn little prick,” Dave hissed, trying to control his rage.
The article did not contain much information but what was there was fact. Where did the little sleaze get his information and how did he get it so quickly? Obviously, Dave surmised, somebody from this department had to have leaked the story and he had better not find out ‘who’ that somebody was.
He would have a serious talk with all of his people before the day was out. They were having enough trouble with this case; they really didn’t need to be competing with the Morretto family to find the Vigilante.
Joanne Nelson poked her head through the doorway, interrupting his angry thoughts.
“Chris Barry and Eileen Baker are here,” she timidly announced, aware of his mood. “Want me to go get them?”
“No,” he barked before allowing an apologetic grin. “Thanks Jo. I’ll go.”
He was anxious to meet with Eileen to hear what she had to say and prayed that she would provide the much needed break they were looking for. The composite artist he had requested from Central Headquarters was ready and waiting as Dave hoped Miss Baker’s visit would result in a viable sketch of their elusive killer. Last of all, he was quite anxious to see what Eileen’s reaction would be when she was introduced to Frank Bakes.
Frank had not seemed at all bothered with the fact that Eileen was coming in. Quite the contrary, he had seemed genuinely pleased and excited which had served to comfort McCall to some extent. Maybe it wasn’t Frank after all.
Following the customary greetings and offers of coffee, Dave quickly ushered his guests into his office, eager to get to the business at hand. It quickly became evident that Eileen was just as keen to get things over and done with.
She started by reiterating that it had been dark that night and that she had been frightened. She therefore hoped that they weren’t expecting miracles.
Since her near rape, over three weeks ago, she had done a lot of thinking about the man who had saved her which had allowed her to remember a few more details about his appearance. McCall suggested that she start with the artist, after which they could chat if she felt up to it.
An hour later, the artwork completed, Chris and Eileen were escorted back to McCall’s office. Though on the phone, he waved them in and motioned them to have a seat. After a minute, he completed his conversation and turned his attention to them.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Unfortunately, we’re busy, busy, busy.”
“No problem,” Eileen replied as she handed him a sheet of paper. “As best as I can recall for now, that’s your man.”
McCall gazed at the color depiction of his adversary. Black baseball cap, very dark sunglasses, dark curly hair, Caucasian, male. Although the sketch was not extremely detailed, for some reason, the face seemed vaguely familiar. He concentrated for a moment, searching his memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. However, by the same token, he was somewhat relieved. Though it did not outright exclude him as a suspect, the sketch bore little resemblance to
Frank.
“You’re pretty comfortable with what this looks like?” McCall asked, glancing briefly at Eileen as he spoke.
“Like I said when I got here,” she shrugged, “It was dark and I was scared. And I only saw him for a few seconds. Taking that into consideration, yes, I’m comfortable with that drawing.”
“Is there anything else you remember?” Dave pressed ahead. “Anything that might help us?”
“No, not really,” was Eileen’s quick response.
“His voice?” persisted McCall. “His clothes?”
“No, his voice was normal, nothing unusual. He was wearing dark clothes. A short jacket, like a windbreaker or something. Jeans, maybe. You know, not a suit and tie look. Much more casual.”
Right on cue, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation and McCall waved in Harris, Nelson and Bakes. He had asked them to wait a few minutes, to let Eileen get comfortable, before joining them.
“Chris, you already know these guys,” he said as the three detectives entered the room. “Eileen, I’d like you to meet Joanne Nelson and Frank Bakes. Tim Harris, you’ve already met.”
He waited while she shook hands with each, watching her closely as she greeted Frank. No reaction whatsoever. Feeling better still, he went on.
“These three have been working the Vigilante case since it started back in late December. I just wanted you to meet them, Eileen, as you may be dealing with them in the future.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eileen politely addressed them before returning her attention to McCall.
“I believe that Chris informed you that I refuse to become the center of attention in this affair, right?” she firmly stated.
“Absolutely,” Dave reassuringly agreed. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not the only person you can contact if you have to.”
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