Pretty Corpse

by Linda Berry

  Pretty Corpse

  A Lauren Starkley Mystery Thriller

  LINDA BERRY

  Copyright  2017, 2019 by Linda Berry

  Pretty Corpse is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This work is protected in full by all applicable copyright laws, as well as by misappropriation, trade secret, unfair competition, and other applicable laws. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without written permission from Linda Berry, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. All rights reserved.

  First Edition, April 2017

  Second Edition, October 2019

  ISBN: 978-0-9998538-5-6

  Published in the United States of America

  www.lindaberry.net

  “Well conceived and intelligently executed, Pretty Corpse is a gripping police thriller. In Patrol Officer Lauren Starkley, Linda Berry gives us a strong and intelligent protagonist, one who is determined to see the job completed—even if that means jeopardizing her career …. The pace and dialog both move along smartly. Pretty Corpse is a must-read for any fan of suspense and thrillers.”

  —Dave Edlund, author of the award-winning Peter Savage action/political thrillers

  “Berry brings her big city cops to life with jolting excitement and vivid detail.”

  —Paul Bacon, author of Bad Cop: New York’s Least Likely Police Officer Tells All

  To Phyllis Pianka, my friend and mentor.

  Thank you for the many years

  of exceptional writing instruction

  Books by Linda Berry:

  Hidden Part 1

  Hidden Part 2

  Pretty Corpse

  The Killing Woods

  The Dead Chill

  To learn of new releases and discounts,

  add your name to Linda’s mailing list:

  www.lindaberry.net

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Also by Linda Berry

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I WROTE THE FIRST DRAFT of Pretty Corpse in 2001, and then put it away for fourteen years. In 2016, I took if off the shelf, dusted it off, and completed it.

  I give a big thank you to the police officers at Mission Station in San Francisco in 2001. My initial research for this novel came in the form of dozens of ride-alongs with Patrol Officer Nancy Guillory, who inspired the character of Lauren, and Patrol Officer Daryl Dee, who inspired the character of Peanut. Captain Greg Suhr generously consulted with me about police procedures and inspired some of the qualities found in the character of Captain Jack Monetti. Many of the side stories in Pretty Corpse are based on actual events relayed to me by police officers from Mission Station.

  I could not produce quality work without the assistance of many other writers/editors. Thank you Phyllis Pianka, Joe Cagnino, Jim Hammond, Nickole Harris, Tim Ruben, Bob Kruger, Bob Sizoo, Karen Brodski, Kristina Bak, Andy Tillman, Bob Pierce, Beth Stephenson, Jan Smith, and Kent Smith. A special thank you to my husband of thirty wonderful years, Mark Fasnacht, who has read and edited every sentence I’ve ever written.

  CHAPTER ONE

  October 1999

  OFFICER LAUREN STARKLEY tugged her gaze away from the computer screen and glanced up. Calls had come in nonstop since she and her partner started their evening shift four hours ago. Then, for the last fifteen minutes, nothing. Dispatch was directing units to other parts of the city. “I need a java jolt. High octane.”

  The car shifted abruptly as Officer Steve Santos stepped on the brakes, jerked the wheel to the right, and pulled over to the curb. The Roasted Beans coffee shop glimmered in the darkness across the drenched sidewalk. Though the rain had stopped, big drops fell from the awning, splattering on the concrete.

  “Fast enough, Princess?”

  “The whiplash wasn’t necessary,” she said dryly.

  “Sorry. You could’ve driven.”

  “Nope. Your turn.” She’d had her fill of maneuvering on rain-slick city streets. They’d been soaking up the light drizzle all evening. Her uniform was damp, she was chilled to the bone, and the car was warm. Putting on her most charming smile, she asked sweetly, “You running in for me, darling?”

  “You know I can’t resist when you call me darling.” He grinned, opened the door, and strode quickly across the wet pavement.

  Trying to release the tension in her shoulders, Lauren rolled her shoulders back and forth. San Francisco had been under a deluge for days. The storm had finally let up, but worse than the rain was the fog that drifted steadily into the Mission District from the bay. There were always more collisions on nights like this. They’d already written up three fender benders and two DUIs. Nothing serious so far, but it was midnight; the witching hour. Prime time for drunks to start emptying out of bars.

  The smell of wet asphalt rolled into the cab as Steve slid into the driver’s seat balancing two take out cups. Passing over a café mocha, he couldn’t resist a teasing remark. “Here’s your frou frou drink. That sugar and cream’s going straight to your booty.”

  “My booty’s just fine, thank you very much.” Steve liked to rib her with dieting tips, despite the fact that she was trim and toned, and could arm wrestle most of the female cops at the station any day of the week, and win. They both hit the gym hard almost every day. He was solidly packed muscle, while she, admittedly, ran five pounds overweight, which gave her a little paunch and forced her to constantly suck in her gut. “This ain’t where I’m cutting back.” Mochas were her secret weakness and she wasn’t about to give them up. Lauren removed the lid and sipped, sighing her pleasure.

  “Frou frou.” He winked. Steve took his java robust and black, no frills. They drank in companionable silence.

  The voice of a dispatcher crackled over the radio. “We’ve got a 618. Report of a woman’s screams in Cypress Park.”

  “We’ll take it,” Lauren said into her shoulder mic. “We’re three blocks away.”

  Steve hit the siren and lights and the patrol car lurched forward.

  Lauren was pressed back against the seat and hot coffee spilled over her fingers. Did he purposely drive lik
e an ass so she’d take over the wheel? With a silent curse, she set the cup in the holder. “Where’s the witness?” she asked the dispatcher.

  “Anonymous call.”

  “Location?”

  “East side. Near the tracks.”

  “Copy that.”

  A report of screams could mean anything, but a decade at the busiest station in the city had taught Lauren to prepare for the worst. City streets flew past the window, the patrol car squealed to the curb on Grifton Street, and she and Steve sprinted into the park. As a soccer mom, she had spent hundreds of hours on the fields of Cypress Park, but tonight they entered the densely forested east side and she found it unrecognizable. Fog blocked out the glare of streetlights and it was pitch black under the thick canopy of leaves.

  Her flashlight beam steered her around trees and puddles, but bushes clawed her uniform and a low-hanging branch whipped her cheek. There was no sound except her heavy breathing and her thick-soled shoes making sucking noises in the wet earth. Thirty feet to her left, Steve’s light sliced through the fog in sweeping strides. She heard him stumble and curse.

  “Where’re the damn tracks?” he yelled.

  “Over here.” Using the faint glimmer of streetlights as a reference point, Lauren reached the rim of the trolley car gulch and swooped her light down to the tracks below, then up the opposite bank. Tattered mist shrouded the steep grades, while to the north the gaping mouth of the tunnel was barely visible. She wiped sweat off her face with the sleeve of her jacket and tuned in to the muffled roar of the city.

  Emerging through the mist, Steve’s shadowy frame solidified as he joined her. He was breathing hard and tracks of moisture glistened in the folds of his neck. “Damn fog,” he said. “Anyone out in this soup is certifiable.”

  “You should be very afraid,” she said in a low, creepy tone. “Vampires and werewolves abound.”

  “No problem.” His handsome Latin features brightened. “My stake’s sharpened, and my cross is freshly doused with holy water.”

  “I feel better now.”

  “I sure don’t hear any screaming,” he said. “Someone’s getting their jollies screwing with cops.”

  Turning her gaze to the south, Lauren peered into a dense grove of sycamore trees. “What’s that in there? A dumpster?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Let’s take a look.”

  She felt the temperature drop as they entered the grove. The air was moist and thick and smelled of decay. The drenched tree trunks looked black and oily and water dripped from the branches. Her beam cut across a glistening carpet of dead leaves, scaled the leg of a picnic table to its surface, and froze. An icy shiver raced across her scalp. “What the hell? Give me more light.”

  “Holy shit,” Steve breathed as his beam joined hers.

  Caught in the crossbeams was the nude body of a woman.

  Lauren cleared her 9mm Beretta from its holster. Steve did the same. Standing back-to-back, their light splintered between trees and probed the latticework of branches overhead. The grove possessed an eerie stillness.

  “Clear,” Steve said after several tense moments.

  Holstering their sidearms, they approached the body. Lauren shuddered as she viewed the woman lying on her back with her arms crossed over her chest. Her body was graceful and athletic, legs straight and rigid, toes pointing outward. Her fingers pressed a full red rose to her pale breasts, and her dark hair fanned away from her bloodless face like a halo. She made a stunning corpse.

  Lauren disliked touching the dead. Ignoring the queasy flutter in her stomach, she pressed her fingers to the woman’s carotid artery, and felt a pulse. “She’s alive!” Lauren hurriedly shook out of her jacket and draped it across the woman’s torso while Steve spread his over her bare legs.

  “We need a 408! Code 3!” Lauren barked into her mic. “We’re in Cypress Park across from the tracks.” With an ambulance and backup units on the way, she turned her full attention to the victim. A cloying floral scent Lauren didn’t recognize wafted off the body.

  “Christ. She’s just a kid.” Steve was holding his beam over her face.

  Lauren swallowed. “Yeah, she is.”

  Alabaster makeup had been carefully applied to her face from hairline to chin. Her generous mouth was painted scarlet.

  “The white makeup makes her look bloodless,” Steve said.

  “Just like a corpse.” As she studied the teenager’s face, Lauren felt her back stiffen and the muscles grow tight across her scalp. The girl was maybe fifteen, sixteen years old.

  “What the hell is she doing out here, like this?” Steve fumed.

  The emotion in her partner’s voice matched her feelings exactly. She and Steve both had teenage daughters. Finding this young victim hit like a sucker punch. Lauren’s light traveled down to the girl’s throat, which was bruised and swollen. A bold weave pattern was impressed in her flesh with evenly spaced, tiny puncture wounds. Lauren found her voice. “Looks like she was strangled with something that had little sharp edges.”

  Steve released a quick exhale. “These cuts must’ve been bloody.”

  “No doubt. The sick creep who did this had her for a while. Cleaned her up, and took the time to get this makeup just right.”

  “Had to be someone strong to carry her in here from the street.”

  She nodded. “Then he took his sweet time staging her like a corpse. Fanning out her hair, placing the rose under her fingers. Everything perfect.”

  Steve’s jaw bunched. “A regular Picasso.”

  “I’m sure he thinks he’s a genius.”

  “One thing’s for sure. She couldn’t have screamed. She’s out cold.”

  “You’re right. The anonymous call must’ve come from the assailant. He wanted us to find her right away.”

  “Admire his handy-work.”

  “Let’s see if he left other evidence,” she said.

  They scoured every inch of the clearing. No sign of the girl’s belongings, no disturbance in the leaves. “Didn’t expect to find anything,” she said, chilled by the perp’s meticulous planning. “He’s too careful.”

  A low guttural moan jerked their attention back to the victim. The girl’s eyelids fluttered open and Lauren gave a little gasp. The whites of her eyes were red. The strangulation had forced blood to burst through the eye vessels.

  The teen held a fixed stare, then her eyes widened in terror. Lauren placed a gentle hand on her arm and said slowly and softly, “You’re okay, hon. We’re police officers. We’re here to help you. Do you understand?”

  The girl’s expression alternated between dazed and frightened. Her hands jutted out from under the jacket and lightly touched her throat, fingers trembling. She winced and made a choking sound. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her temples. She tried to rise, but Lauren pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Lie still for now. Help is on the way.”

  The girl lay back, motionless.

  “What’s your name?”

  No answer. Blank stare.

  Lauren repeated the question. “What. Is. Your. Name?”

  “Melissa. Melissa … Cox.” Her voice was raspy and triggered a spasm of coughing. Her hands moved down to her groin. “It hurts.”

  Lauren and Steve exchanged a look. His face darkened. Lauren quelled her own anger and spoke in a soothing tone. “Hang in there, Melissa. An ambulance is on the way. You’re safe now.”

  Melissa reached out and grasped Lauren’s hand. “Will you … go with me?”

  “Yes. We both will.” Noticing Melissa wore a gold band on her left ring finger, Lauren made a mental note to ask about it later. “Melissa, do you know who did this to you?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Can you tell me your phone number?” Steve asked.

  Melissa rasped out a number and Steve wrote it in his notebook.

  A twig snapped just outside the grove. Lauren froze. Did a shadow flicker in the darkness? An animal? She peered through the mist, only half hearing Steve
eliciting personal information from Melissa. The next sound Lauren heard was unmistakable. Muffled footsteps, moving away from the grove. Her partner’s voice was interspersed with static as he gave an update to Dispatch. Lauren met his eyes, signaled. He nodded.

  Lauren squeezed Melissa’s hand. “I have to leave for just a minute, but Steve will stay with you.” Clearing her Beretta from its holster, Lauren left the grove, her beam fanning between columns of trees. Disoriented, she waited until the haze parted and dim lights appeared in windows on King Street, seemingly floating above ground. Footsteps slapped pavement a short distance to the east heading for the footbridge crossing the ravine. Lauren bolted through the underbrush and reached the gorge as the hazy figure of a man darted onto the bridge some twenty yards away. Dark clothing. Ball cap.

  “Stop! Police!”

  He paused for a second and then disappeared into the fog. Lauren thought she could intercept him if she angled down the embankment and up the other side. The terrain dropped away as she descended the rocky slope in long, careful strides.

  Across the grade, the suspect reappeared directly above her, metal glinting in his hand.

  Shit!

  Explosive shots cracked open the night. White sparks bounced off the rails below.

  Adrenalin charged Lauren’s system. She moved fast, sliding on gravel. One leg skidded out from under her and she lurched into a tumble, somersaulting once. Her head struck the rocky berm of the tracks as she came to a jolting stop. Dazed, she scrambled to her feet as a trolley car burst from the tunnel. Caught in the stunning glare of headlights, she made an easy target.

  This is it. I’m dead.

  Gunshots exploded. Dirt shot up the hill behind her. Then the ground exploded on one side of her, then the other. The shooter was circling her with bullets. Deliberately missing. Taunting her.

  Blood pounding in her ears, Lauren fired off a few rounds before the trolley blocked her view. It rushed past in a rumbling blur of metal and lights. The tracks cleared. The shooter was gone.

  Heart racing, breathing hard, Lauren shot across the tracks and trekked up the hill. Mist moved in gauzy sheets over King Street. Parked cars and tenement houses appeared and disappeared. Heart punching her ribcage, senses wide open, she scanned the area in slices. Nothing human moved. The distant wail of sirens rushed toward her, grew piercingly loud, and then multiple vehicles screeched to a halt. Blue and red strobes fractured the night. Car doors opened and slammed. Footsteps slapped asphalt. Uniformed figures approached through the haze.