by Philip Cox
‘I need to know how she died. Did she suffer?’
Now it was Leroy’s turn to take a deep breath. ‘She was found with multiple stab wounds.’ He paused as Mrs Cutler recoiled. ‘But the first we think pierced her heart, so she wouldn’t have known anything about the others.’
Quinn looked over at Leroy.
Mrs Cutler slowly nodded.
‘If and when you go see her, Mrs Cutler,’ Leroy added, ‘she will look as if she’s sleeping.’
She gave him a faint smile and nodded. ‘I’ll think about it. I’ll need to speak with my son, David Junior. He lives the other side of the city. If I go down to Los Angeles, he’ll come with me; or he might go on his own. It depends on how I feel. I’ll call him tonight.’
Leroy left a business card on Mrs Cutler’s table. ‘My number is on here, ma’am, if you need to ask me anything, or need anything.’
Cheadle added, ‘Is there anybody you would like me to call for you? A neighbour, a friend? Your son?’
‘No, it’s fine. I want to spend some time alone. I’ll call my son tonight.’
‘This number here,’ Cheadle said, as she passed Mrs Cutler another card, ‘is the number of a bereavement counselling service. If you feel you’d like to talk to somebody later.’
Mrs Cutler smiled. ‘No, I don’t think I’ll need counselling. But thank you for the kind thought.’
‘We’re all so sorry for your loss,’ Leroy said, as they made to leave.
‘I do have one question, Mr Leroy,’ she said as she showed them to the door. ‘The person who did this: have you caught them?’
‘Not yet, Mrs Cutler, not yet. But I promise you, we will.’
They left Mrs Cutler’s house and walked back across the road to the cars.
‘I’ll call back in a couple of days,’ Cheadle said. ‘See how she’s doing.’
Leroy nodded. ‘I think she’ll appreciate that.’
Just before they got into their respective cars, Cheadle asked, ‘You two guys got any kids?’
They both answered no. Leroy asked, ‘Why?’
‘I have two boys, eleven and six. Her daughter was how old?’
‘Thirty-seven,’ Quinn replied.
She nodded. ‘Whenever I’m dealing with the death of a child, which isn’t that often, thank God, I’m always sitting there thinking…’
‘There but for the grace of God?’ Leroy suggested.
Cheadle nodded. ‘Something like that.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
For the first part of the journey back to LA, Quinn was in the driving seat. Normally when he and Leroy were together in the car, there would be plenty of conversation and banter. Today there was very little. Quinn kept looking over to his partner: obviously today Leroy did not feel like talking.
After they had left Danielle Scott’s mother, and said goodbye and thank you to Officer Cheadle, Quinn drove them back onto Sacramento’s H and 29th Streets, and thence onto the I-5 Westside Freeway to begin the 361-mile journey home.
It was as they were passing Stockton that Leroy’s phone trilled, having received a text message. He checked the message, looked up a moment at the road ahead, then typed in a reply. Quinn glanced over momentarily, expecting Leroy to say something about the message.
He did eventually.
‘That was Hobson again. It seems Mrs Epinoza had agreed to view the body and make the formal identification. They are sending a patrol car to take her up there tomorrow.’
‘That’s going to save the mother a traumatic time.’
‘Yeah,’ Leroy agreed. ‘Or the brother. Half-brother.’
A couple of hours later, Quinn exited the freeway onto the Paso Robles Highway; Leroy had found a diner just outside of Lost Hill. Both wanted to get home as soon as possible and had no desire to have a sit-down meal. After a quick restroom stop, they ordered food to go. Leroy took a hot dog, complete with onions and ketchup, and Quinn an all-day breakfast burger, biscuits being substituted for buns. Both had black coffee.
Now it was Leroy’s turn to drive. As they sat in the car, before restarting the ignition, Leroy demolished most of his hot dog.
‘There’s nothing like healthy eating, is there Ray?’
Not driving, Quinn could afford to eat his food more delicately. He shook his head in agreement.
Leroy added, ‘And this is nothing like healthy eating,’ breaking the ice slightly.
Back on the Paso Robles, and then the freeway, Quinn spoke first.
‘Sam, let me ask you something: is this case any different for you?’
‘Different to what?’
‘Other cases,’ Quinn replied, knowing Leroy knew exactly what he was getting at.
‘No. Why?’
‘Because of Harlan Cordell.’
‘I shot the right person that night, Ray.’
‘I’m not saying you didn’t.’
‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’
There was silence for the next five minutes, until Leroy spoke first.
‘But yes, I guess I do feel differently about this case. But I want to catch the son of a bitch as much now as I did then.’
‘How does Lieutenant Perez feel? The same way you do?’
‘I’ve no idea. I haven’t asked him.’
More silence.
‘He was the right man, Ray. He was. There’s absolutely no doubt about it.’
‘Was there any forensic evidence?’
‘No, but every scrap of evidence gathered from that house pointed to him. Everything. There was no doubt. There was no DNA left on any of the victims, but the lubricant they found inside the victims was a match to what he had in his den. Stored with a box of condoms. Five condoms gone, five victims. He had pictures of the victims plastered all over the walls of the den. He’d been stalking them; telephoto lens pictures. We found the camera and some of the pictures were still on the camera’s memory card. Including some of victims he hadn’t gotten to yet. And why did one of his neighbours put in that call? Why did he run? Why did he pull a gun on me?’
‘And there was no indication of Cordell having an accomplice?’
‘Nothing. Just him alone in his little one storey house and all his blown-up pictures and tape and wire and pentagrams and -’
‘Cell phone?’
‘Say what?’
‘Did he have a cell phone?’
‘Yes, of course. He left it behind in the house when he ran. We checked the numbers on his contacts list: from memory, there wasn’t much there. A doctor, a couple of pizza delivery companies; and yes, his mother. But her number was unobtainable. We also got a list of calls he’d made and received, texts he’d sent and received, but came up with nothing.’
‘Did he use social media?’
‘He had a slight social media presence, not much. No messaging, just a few Instagram and Facebook groups he followed. What you’d expect: stuff like perverts ‘r’ us, that kind of thing. But nothing, absolutely nothing, linking him with anybody else. No serial killers page, where they all sent in updates of what they’d done that day.’
‘Jesus.’
‘We’re going to find something like that one day, Ray. You can bet your life on that. It’s not called the dark web for nothing.’
‘Is it worth looking at Cordell again now?’
Leroy looked over. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not sure exactly why. Maybe to look at him and what he did in the context of our two murders.’
‘What would be the point? Cordell didn’t kill our two Jane Does. I mean Danielle Scott and our one Jane Doe.’
*****
They arrived back at the station just after six. Leroy said he would clock Quinn out, so Quinn walked over to his own car and went home. Wearily, Leroy stepped inside, nodded to a couple of patrolmen who were on their way out, and headed straight to his desk.
It was his intention to give Perez a face to face, but the lieutenant’s office was empty, his desk neat and tidy. Leroy took that t
o mean either Perez had gone home uncharacteristically early, or was at some kind of meeting. Probably about overtime budgets, Leroy ruminated.
He did contemplate having another look at the airport video, but decided that evening was not a good time to do that. He was tired, and fatigue and weariness and attention to detail were not good bedfellows. He checked his message board just in case there had been a third pentagram killing, and to his relief, there had not. It had been a long day, a long drive, for very little. Sure, in view of the distance, he could have requested that somebody from the Sacramento Police Department to visit the mother on his behalf, but there was no way of knowing when and with how much enthusiasm it would be carried out, as it was not an SPD investigation. In any case, he was the senior investigating officer, so, as with attending post-mortems, he felt it was his duty to attend personally.
He took one more look around the office, the details of the victims still pinned to the wall, this time with no defacing additions, and left.
When he finally arrived home, he was hungry. The hot dog he had eaten earlier had not filled him for very long. He found a microwaveable mac ‘n’ cheese in the freezer and nuked it while opening a bottle of San Miguel. After he had eaten, he flopped down on his couch, nursing the beer.
Cordell… Cordell… Cordell. It kept coming back to Cordell.
He rubbed his chin with the top of the beer bottle. Maybe Ray might have a point. Maybe he might be on to something. If this killer was using Cordell as some kind of inspiration, using his modus operandi as some kind of textbook, then it might be worth spending a day reviewing the old case. After all, the checks on the Beetle and the Chevrolet had so far drawn a blank, as had the airport video so far, and they had only just found the name of one of the victims. They still had no idea of who the other was. And there was always that niggling feeling that the next victim was around the corner.
Good old Ray. He’ll make a detective yet.
So, tomorrow’s plan would be to retrieve the evidence box and revisit the details of the Cordell case. Maybe even talk to Perez about what he recalled.
Leroy sat back, feeling happier now there was a definite plan for the next day.
It was then that Russell Hobson called.
Leroy noted the time as he answered: 9:12pm.
‘Hey, Russ. Wassup?’
‘You okay to talk, Sam? You alone?’
‘Russ, it’s just past nine. Why would I not be alone?’
‘Hm. Sorry to disturb, buddy. I guess this could wait till the morning, but -’
‘It’s fine, Russ. What is it? Everything okay?’
‘Sure it is. Look, Sam: what have you and Ray got planned for tomorrow?’
Leroy explained about the conversation he and Quinn had had that day and how they were going to review the old Cordell case. The case records will be stored at West First. I’m planning on going over there first thing, while Ray goes through the online records. Why?’
‘Before you guys do that, can you come over to the lab? First thing?’
‘We can do, sure. What’s up?’
‘I think you might have a third victim.’
Leroy had been slouching on the couch; now he was sitting bolt upright. ‘Say that again.’
‘I think you may have a third.’
‘Where? When?’
‘How could you not know about it? It’s not a case that came in today. The body’s been here since last week. It came in through Hollywood Division.’
Leroy sighed. ‘So now we have a Jane Doe Three.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean, not exactly?’ Leroy asked.
‘I mean not exactly because this one’s a man.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The red hand slowly made its way to the figure twelve. As it did so, the black minute hand flipped over to ten.
It was seven fifty.
‘Nice and prompt?’ Russell Hobson said breezily.
‘We aim to please,’ Leroy replied, in the same vein. Quinn just nodded: in this place of death and decay, he always failed to understand Hobson’s light-hearted, off-hand manner. Maybe it was the way he had to deal with what he saw, and what he had to do here.
‘Lester’s just getting him out of the freezer for us.’
They stood to one side and watched as Hobson’s assistant wheeled the gurney over and he and Hobson lifted the rubber-bagged shape onto the table. Hobson unzipped the bag; Leroy and Quinn stepped closer.
‘Take a look first,’ said Hobson.
It was indeed a man. He was average height - Leroy estimated five six - and slim. Not toned, but not skinny either. Just average. From the lack of any crease marks around the eyes, Leroy guessed he was late twenties. Aesthetically, he was good-looking. Not overtly feminine, neither did he appear particularly masculine. His blond hair had highlights and was cropped very short. Leroy could see the familiar Y-shaped cuts going from under the shoulders, meeting in the centre and continuing to just above his pubic hair, which had been shaved a day or so before death. Even through the pallor of death, they could see he had not been tanned. The arms lay by the side of the body and the fingernails were painted a deep red. There was a tattoo on the left upper arm.
‘Jesus…’
Leroy exhaled loudly as he studied the man’s chest. There were dozens of stab wounds everywhere, at random, from the top of the breast to the lower stomach.
‘Thirty-seven in all.’ Hobson knew what Leroy was thinking.
Leroy leaned forward and studied the genital area. The genitals were intact. Lester was wearing gloves, and parted the man’s legs slightly.
‘Nothing there,’ Hobson commented. ‘No marks.’
Leroy nodded and gazed down the rest of the body. The toenails were painted the same deep red as the fingernails.
‘Look at this, guys.’ Hobson and Lester carefully turned the body onto its front.
‘Fuck me,’ exclaimed Quinn as they saw the man’s back.
There was indeed a pentagram carved on the back, but not neatly, and not artistically. It had been hacked, untidily. On the two Jane Does, the knife marks were even: here, some had literally just scratched the surface, others were deep gouges. It was clearly a pentagram, but looked as if it had been drawn by a child.
Leroy’s eyes went down the man’s body, the lower back, the buttocks and the legs. ‘Any trauma?’
Hobson shrugged in a dismissive gesture. ‘Not trauma, but there were signs he had engaged in sexual activity, and quite recently.’
‘Lubricant inside?’
Hobson shook his head.
‘Last night you said Hollywood Division,’ said Leroy. ‘Is that where he was found?’
‘I believe so.’ Lester passed Hobson the victim’s file. ‘Thanks. Let’s see: he was found, naked, in the back of a car. An orange Fiesta, would you believe?’
‘Cramped,’ Quinn observed.
‘Where was the car?’ Leroy asked. ‘The others have all been in plain sight.’
‘In Hollywood. Here it is.’ He checked the notes. ‘Parked on Orchid Avenue.’
Leroy frowned. ‘I don’t know where that is.’
Quinn took out his phone and went to a maps app. He found the street in seconds. ‘Off Franklin Avenue,’ he said, showing Leroy the map on his screen.
Leroy nodded. ‘Hollywood. No ID?’
Hobson shook his head.
Leroy went back to the man’s left arm and crouched to get a better look at the tattoo. It was of a sword, pointing down, and with a snake wound around its handle. Either side of the sword, each holding one part of the handle, was a cherub, naked except for a loincloth. In front of each cherub was a banner, one endorsed with troy, the other with marc.
‘Troy and Marc,’ Leroy read out. ‘Which one is he, I wonder?’
‘Or is he a third?’ wondered Quinn.
Leroy agreed. ‘Yup. It’s too bad he doesn’t have their cell numbers tattooed on also.’
‘There’s something
else you need to see,’ said Hobson. He walked back to the end of the table and he and Lester turned the body back over. ‘Look at his face. His mouth.’
Leroy and Quinn looked closer. The man’s lips were dried, cracked. There was red inflammation around the edges of the lips. Hobson put two gloved fingers into the man’s mouth and parted the lips slightly.
‘You won’t be able to see too well, but it continues inside. The whole buccal cavity was inflamed. The inflammation has calmed down by now, as you’d expect, but you can still see traces.’
Leroy straightened up. ‘So what does that mean?’
‘It’s an allergic reaction,’ Hobson explained. ‘To latex. The correct terminology is irritant contact dermatitis.’
‘That would explain why there was no anal trauma,’ Leroy cut in. ‘I’ve come across that allergy once before, a few years back. Any traces of lubricant in the mouth?’
Hobson confirmed no.
Quinn asked, ‘Does the tattoo mean anything to you, Sam?’
Leroy studied it once more. ‘No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t look like anything gang-related, not some kind of tag. I think it’s just an ordinary, run of the mill tattoo. Maybe his name is Troy and Marc is or was his lover; or his name is Marc and Troy was his lover. Or ex.’ He looked again. ‘I don’t even recognise the work.’ He looked over to Hobson. ‘Who’s dealing with it at Hollywood?’
Hobson checked the file again. ‘Estevez and Glover.’
‘I’ll talk to them. See how far they’ve gotten with the investigation. I doubt they’re going to want to hand it over to us; that might have to be done at the lieutenant’s pay grade. If we can find out where the tattoo was done, then that might give us a clue as to who this guy is. Not that that’s any guarantee as to who offed him.’
Leroy cleared his throat. Hands in pockets, he stepped back and walked around the table. Hobson, Lester and Quinn watched as he did so, waiting for him to speak. After one circuit, he did so. ‘You know what I think? I think this is our third victim. I think this guy is transgender. Or transsexual, or transvestite. Look at the pretty-boy face, look at the painted nails. The two victims so far have been female, as were all of Cordell’s.’
‘Cordell?’ asked Hobson.