by Linda Berry
***
After a quick dinner with Sofie and Courtney, Lauren made a dash for the station wearing her exercise clothes. After sweating it out in the gym for an hour, she showered, dressed in her uniform, and went to eight p.m. roll call. As usual, Steve Santos rushed in just late enough to test Lieutenant Hardy’s patience. With a mischievous wink, he took his place in line in front of Lauren.
A smile played at the corner of her mouth as she took in her partner’s solid build and narrow hips. Steve bought extra-large uniforms, which his wife custom-tailored. The result was impressive. Steve looked ready to step onto a Hollywood set, while she and the other officers in their standard-issue uniforms suffered bulges, tight crotches, and baggy rears.
Lauren saw that Jack Monetti had made good on his word. Extra personnel brought in since The Strangler’s attack doubled the normal ranks. Standing in formation three lines deep, the officers represented a wide range of ethnic backgrounds, women making up thirty percent.
Facing the group from his podium, Lt. Scott Hardy cleared his throat, sounded off roll call, and then alerted the officers to the evening’s priority criminal activity. No surprise, The Strangler case came first. “The station is being hit with dozens of leads, as you’ve all witnessed,” Hardy said. “So far, all dead ends. A dark van was seen parked at one of the crime scenes in Oakland. Could be black or dark blue. Keep an eye out for anything matching that description, especially near the parks. Stay visible out there. Keep the public calm.”
After running through the rest of the cases and dismissing the group, Lt. Hardy caught Lauren’s eye. “Starkley, Captain Monetti wants you in his office. Now.”
Someone made a low wolf call. Lauren heard a snicker, and a few cops flashed her knowing smiles as they filed past. She felt her face burn. Steve approached, grinning.
“What?” she demanded.
“How long you been boinking Monetti?”
She flashed him the evil eye.
“Think you could sweet talk him into giving me extra vacation leave?” The grin deepened. “Or a pay raise? That would be sweet. Real sweet.”
“Cut the crap.”
He hiked his eyebrows. “So, you’re not boinking Monetti? Yes, no, maybe?”
“Do something useful. Get our equipment. I’ll meet you at the car in five.” Bristling, she headed down the corridor to Monetti’s office. She saw Jack through the open door, yet she knocked sharply on the frame.
Looking up from his computer, he said brusquely, “Come in. Shut the door.”
She did as told.
Wearing a stern expression, Jack walked around the desk and stood in front of her, looking tall and intimidating in his crisp blue uniform. “Inspector Camino came by this afternoon.” The chill in his tone made her back stiffen. “Said I’ve got a patrol officer over here who’s out of control, who’s interfering with her case.”
Lauren glared at him.
“Camino said you interrogated a couple of teachers and the principal at Cypress High. By the time she got to them, they had their guard up. She got nothing. Principle Lasko told her he released a confidential employee list to you. He thought you were an inspector.” The cords in Jack’s neck bulged out above the collar. “Damn it, Starkley! What the hell were you thinking? I told you to do outreach. You went on a kamikaze mission. That woman can do you damage. And me. I had to let her think I knew what you were up to.” Jack leveled a gaze at Lauren that made her stomach knot up. “Don’t make a liar out of me again, or you’ll be out of this station faster than you can blink.”
Lauren didn’t flinch.
“What do you have to say?”
“Camino can take a flying leap.”
“What?”
“To hell with Camino, Jack.” Lauren strained to keep her anger in check. “There’s a sadistic rapist on the loose. Seems rules and procedure are more important to Camino than these girls getting attacked. Yeah, I overstepped my bounds, but if Camino would do her job, I wouldn’t have to do it for her. I made headway at that school. I rode out my hunches. I knew by the time Camino got around to questioning those men, their statements would be rehearsed. I got them fresh.”
Monetti studied her with narrowed eyes. “Any other surprises you want to tell me about?”
Lauren’s mouth felt dry. She licked her lips.
“Damn it, Lauren, what else have you been up to?”
“I made five computer queries. Three names from Lasko’s list, and two juveniles.”
His eyebrows came together but his voice held more curiosity than anger. “Get anything?”
“Yes ….”
“Spit it out.”
Lauren gave him the shorthand on her five suspects.
As Monetti listened, his features relaxed and his eyes brightened. “Write up a full report. I’ll give your leads to Camino.”
“But—”
“She has the means to pursue them. You don’t.” His voice toughened. “Stay away from those five men. No more harassment. Let’s give Camino some cooling down time.”
Lauren pressed her lips together.
“Don’t fight me on this, Lauren.”
“Can I go?”
“Sit down.”
Lauren stared at him with defiance but took a seat.
He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. “Lauren, get one thing straight. I’m not your enemy. I want to work with you. But there are boundaries. Operate within the boundaries, you have my full support. Push the envelope, that’s fine. But step over the line, you jeopardize your career.”
Lauren felt a tiny throbbing in her left temple. She stared at her clasped fingers and reflected on her actions. She exhaled a long breath. “Okay. All right. I screwed up.”
“Lucky for you, you accomplished something.” The stress lines around his eyes relaxed. “You’re a damn good cop, Lauren. You run rings around Camino. But making her look inept will come back to haunt you. I know that’s why your partnership ended with her. Though a subordinate and a rookie, you were the one making headway in cases, and getting the glory.”
“I’ll be more careful.” Careful was the buzzword. She met his gaze and held it. She and Jack both knew she had no intention of giving up the case.
“Now.” Monetti shifted his weight and softened his tone. “What’s going on between you and me? Two weeks ago we were friends. We had one date. Now I don’t recognize you.”
She had no prepared defense. “I’ve been busy. And this case ….”
“You’re avoiding me.”
Silence.
“Look, if I came on too strong ….”
“That’s not it.” She stared at him for a moment, working through the confusion muddying her thoughts. “You’ve been wonderful. It’s just that this dating thing … if it were just between you and me … but it’s the station. My daughter. My life is complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“It is ….”
“You’re going through a rough time, Lauren. After the episode in the park, and this perv homing in on your daughter’s soccer team, you’re understandably shaken. It’s a good time to have a friend. A close friend. Someone to help you if things get bad.” He brushed some imaginary lint off a pant leg. “Just give it some thought. I’d like another chance with you and Courtney.”
She knew this conversation was a struggle for him. Jack rarely discussed his personal life or intimate thoughts, but their relationship was entering a new realm that demanded deeper communication. He was taking the plunge. She was cowering on the shore. She found herself drawn into the depths of Jack’s eyes, which looked warm and sincere, and she resisted an impulse to move into his arms.
It would be a relief to let someone take care of her for a change, let someone else be strong. But she’d forgotten how to relinquish the iron fortitude she’d wrapped around herself since Ken’s death. “Sure,” she said quietly. “We can get together. Do something simple.”
“Pizza is simple.”
“It’s your call, Lauren. Just let me know when.” He walked to the door and opened it wide, then went back to his desk and seated himself at his computer.
Lauren left feeling grateful Jack was keeping a respectful distance, and that he didn’t try a repeat of their last goodbye.
***
Outside in the station parking lot, Steve leaned against the radio car, arms crossed, one foot tapping a beat on the curb. “Thought you said five minutes, Princess.”
Dispatch came in before she could peel off a reply. Code 240. Assault. She and Steve hopped into their vehicle and screeched out of the lot. Within minutes, the two were attending a barefoot man who had been walking down 22nd Street in a daze, dirty, weather-beaten, bleeding from a head wound, babbling about a drug deal gone bad. Lauren wrote up the report and they left him in the care of paramedics.
Next, Code 802. Dead body. Arriving minutes behind the fire department at a tenement building, they found two firemen calming a distraught woman in the stairwell. She had driven in from the suburbs after failing to reach her mother by phone. As Lauren approached the open door of the apartment, she recognized a putrid stench. Holding her breath, she stole a glance inside and spotted the mother sprawled on a recliner in front of the TV. A rerun of Seinfeld was on, but the scene held no humor. After a couple of days in the heated room, the body wasn’t pretty.
Moving away from the stench, she and Steve waited with the daughter in the hallway until the ME arrived. After determining the cause of death was natural, the doctor authorized removal of the remains. Lauren and Steve completed the report and left, sucking fresh air deep into their lungs when they hit the street.
Cars passed by as people went about their daily lives, oblivious to the grim scene inside. The two got into the patrol car without speaking. Steve cranked the engine and drove. The horror loosened its grip but set the tone for the evening: relentless dispatch calls, Steve driving at high speed from one crime scene to the next, siren screaming, brakes squealing.
***
The two were about to take a break when another call came in. Code 459. Burglary in progress. A race across town brought them to a run-down industrial district. Steve pulled to the curb in front of a poorly lit two-story brick building entombed in shadows.
Lauren read the sign out loud, “Brown’s Crematorium. A crematorium?” Thoughts racing, she turned to Steve. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Necro rapist?” Her partner’s expression tightened. “Let’s check it out.”
As they exited the patrol car another unit pulled up behind them. All four officers quickly conferred, then split up. After rounding the building checking entry points, they met up in the back alley at a rear door. A quick examination by Steve showed it had been jimmied open. Holsters unsnapped, Berettas drawn, the four entered the building with Lauren in the lead. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw they were in a long, musty corridor of closed doors, except for one at the end of the hall, which was partly open. She felt sweat break out on her forehead as she crept toward the door, the other three officers shadowing her.
A floorboard creaked beneath her foot. She froze. Pressing herself against the wall with the others, Lauren held her breath. A flashlight beam from inside the room darted out and illuminated a slice of hallway, then withdrew back inside the room. Lauren gave a hand signal. Clicking on their own flashlights, the officers burst into the room. “Police,” she shouted. “Don’t move!”
A man spun around, blinking in the bright light of the beams. His gaze fell to a pistol lying on a desktop.
“Hands up!” Lauren snapped.
The suspect’s arms shot skyward.
Steve flicked on the overhead lights and Lauren peered at the suspect: a skinny Latino teenager with long stringy hair, dressed in baggy jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He stood with every muscle tensed, grinding his teeth, hands shaking badly.
Lauren crossed the room and confiscated the firearm.
Steve and another officer cuffed the suspect. “Need a fix, eh bro?” Steve asked.
The teen licked his cracked lips. “Bad, man. Real bad.”
“What’re you after in this place?”
The boy shrugged, eyes hollow.
“Anything he could sell,” Lauren said, nodding toward the desk, where he had set a computer, fax machine, and printer.
“I’m sick, man,” the teenager whimpered. “I need help.”
Clearly, the kid was in bad shape, but Lauren felt little sympathy. She’d seen too much drug-related gangbanger violence in her time, and she had no doubt he would have used his gun if he’d gotten to it in time.
“Let’s get him to the ER.” Steve grabbed the teen’s arm and marched him toward the door.
Holstering her gun, Lauren heaved out a sigh of frustration. A junkie, not a clever rapist looking for a macabre location to stage a victim. The Strangler was still at large.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STEVE AND LAUREN cruised Mission Street into the heart of the Castro District, which featured bookstores, sex shops, boutique coffeehouses, and restaurants. The mostly gay community never seemed to sleep. Even at two a.m., the streets were active with well-muscled men dressed in snug t-shirts and jeans. Five percent of the police force was gay, which helped the two factions live under a respectful truce. The presence of black-and-whites was seen as a mildly threatening peacekeeper, and the men on the street avoided eye contact as she and Steve cruised by. The community was clean, orderly, and upscale, but like all neighborhoods in their sector, they were well acquainted with its gritty underside. Tonight all appeared calm. Lauren was hungry and craved a caffeine fix. The need to empty her bladder was nearing critical mass.
“Pull over at the Garden,” she instructed irritably.
Steve complied, double-parking in front of the restaurant. The two got out, leaving the doors unlocked and the car ready to peel out to the next emergency. He followed her inside but waited by the entrance. Lauren scanned the room as she crossed the floor to the restroom, taking in the walnut paneling, brass trim, frosted glass partitions, and sparkling array of liquor bottles stocked behind the bar. The soulful strains of Paul Taylor’s sax poured out of the speakers and a dozen patrons sat cozied up to the bar. Because the clientele was mostly male, the Garden provided a fast, reliable pit stop for Lauren. The ladies room always had a vacant stall.
When she emerged minutes later, Steve was standing just outside the restroom door.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Check out the bar. A cat fight waiting to happen.”
She heard shrill feminine voices before she located the source—two gorgeous women, a blonde and redhead, parked next to each other on barstools, faces screwed tight with anger. The leggy blonde was dressed in a black turtleneck, tight miniskirt, and stiletto heels. Her red-haired companion was squeezed into black leather pants, equally high heels, and a shimmering gold blouse that emphasized a generous bust line. Their sex appeal went unnoticed by the Garden’s male patrons, but Steve’s eyes glimmered with appreciation. Lauren jabbed him with her elbow.
He startled, and said, “Hey, looking ain’t against the law.”
The blonde’s sharp voice rose abruptly, just short of a screech. “You cunt!”
“You slutty bitch,” her companion shrieked back.
The other customers, willing to tolerate some disruption, now shot annoyed looks at the pair, and expectant glances at the officers.
Steve faked a yawn. “Think you can handle these fluff balls, Lauren?”
“Sure thing, big guy.” She cracked her knuckles. “You stay here where it’s safe.”
Lauren was in no mood for nonsense. She would make this problem go away fast, escort the women out of the bar so she could grab coffee and a burger. As she approached, the blonde’s right hand snaked out like a rattler and red nails raked her companion’s powdered cheek.
With a bloodcurdling scream, t
he redhead responded by locking the blonde’s head in a vise grip, violently yanking her off the barstool.
“All right ladies, break it up,” Lauren said, attempting to disengage the two, but the redhead’s hold was impressively strong.
“Let up, Ginger,” the blonde whimpered.
“What do you say?”
“I’m sorry,” the blonde said meekly.
Ginger released her hold and the blonde staggered backward. Lauren placed a hand on her back to steady her. She reeked of alcohol. “It’s time to leave, Blondie. As in, go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Blondie hiccoughed. “I gotta right to be here. Having a drink with my girl.”
“You’ve had enough for one night.”
“Who you bossing around, Pig?” Her open palms slapped the air in a comical performance that made Lauren think of Lucille Ball impersonating Bruce Lee, and she dodged the attack easily. Steve rushed to her aid while calling for backup. It took both of them to wrestle Blondie to the floor. Lauren planted a knee in the small of her back, but the woman writhed like an python, frustrating Steve’s attempts to cuff her.
“Ginger! They’re hurting me!”
“Get off her, bitch!”
Lauren felt strong fingers bite into her shoulders, and with the strength of a linebacker, Ginger yanked her to her feet and slammed her against the bar, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Momentarily stunned, Lauren barely dodged the fist streaking toward her face. The blow glanced off her jaw, sending shock waves through her neck and shoulders. She felt her bottom lip split open, tasted blood. Launching herself away from the bar, she averted Ginger’s next lightning jab by a hair.
The hushed crowd backed away and gave the women a wide berth. Tension in the room stretched tight.
Grunting and cursing, Steve was still scrambling on the floor with Blondie.
Lauren’s brain clicked into survival mode. Light on her feet, she weaved back and forth in front of Ginger, who was broad-shouldered and five inches taller. Lauren dodged several wild attempts to land a blow. Waiting for an opening, her right fist smashed into the redhead’s mouth. Her left followed, crushing the cartilage in Ginger’s nose. Her right fist came back and pummeled Ginger’s abdomen with all the force she could throw behind it.
