Pretty Corpse

by Linda Berry

  Courtney gave Lauren a sly glance but moved next to the window.

  “We’re going to Taco Bell,” Lauren announced with forced calm. As she drove, she paid close attention to the conversation. The girls were chatty, covering an array of girlish topics, while Chris spoke only when prompted. Lauren met his blue eyes in the mirror.

  He held her gaze.

  “Mom, watch out!”

  Lauren slammed on the brake just in time to avoid running a red light.

  “Sorry, kids.” Composing herself, she again sought out the young man in the mirror. His gaze was directed out the window, a self-satisfied smile on his face. It unnerved Lauren that he was so sure of himself with an older woman, a police officer, at that.

  The light changed and she crossed the intersection and pulled into the Taco Bell lot. The four filed inside and placed their orders, the girls keeping up a constant chatter, Chris silent. When they were seated with food and beverages, Lauren introduced a topic to test the waters. “I haven’t heard you mention Melissa Cox in a while, Courtney. Is she back at school?”

  The three teens exchanged looks.

  “She’s been back for a week. I’m surprised she wasn’t invited to lunch today.”

  “Get real, Mom. Do you think she wants to see you again?”

  Lauren shot her a warning look.

  “It’s okay, Courtney. Speak freely,” Chris said, apparently the official spokesperson on the subject. “Everyone at school knows what happened to her.”

  “And that my mother, the cop, found her,” Courtney said with distaste. “Don’t look at me like that, Mom. I didn’t tell. People figured it out.”

  “Watch your tone.”

  Courtney’s cheeks colored.

  “How’s Melissa doing?” Lauren asked.

  “I don’t know,” Courtney said. “She keeps to herself.”

  “Is that intentional, or is everyone avoiding her?”

  Courtney and Megan looked uncomfortable.

  “What about you, Chris. I heard you and Melissa were close friends. Do you know how she’s doing?”

  “Don’t have a clue,” he said. “Don’t want to know, either.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Mom, don’t put Chris on the spot.”

  “Melissa has a reputation now. The jocks call her The Strangler’s Bride.” Chris didn’t lose a degree of composure.

  “Did it occur to you, Chris, that you could break down that cold-hearted attitude by befriending her? Taking a stand and doing what’s right?”

  He studied Lauren with interest, a touch of a smile on his lips. “As an athlete representing Cypress High, I have to be careful who I associate with. I want to go pro. That means I have to keep my act clean. Plus, I’ve been warned.”

  “Warned?” Lauren studied him. “By whom? Your father? The coach?”

  His smile deepened. “I’m surprised you’re letting this get to you, Mrs. Starkley. You know better than most what a sick and corrupt world we live in. There will always be a play between good and evil.” His smile disappeared. “There are no guarantees in life. I could get injured tomorrow. Kill my chance to go pro. It’s all a matter of luck. As far as Melissa goes, she got dealt a bum hand. Now she has to pay the price.”

  “You think she brought this on herself?”

  “Women need to be smarter than men, Mrs. Starkley, because they can’t compete physically. Melissa didn’t play smart.”

  Chris’s words infuriated her, but she kept her tone calm and even. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she got his attention, didn’t she? Out of hundreds of girls at school, he picked her. There’s something up with that girl we never saw. But The Strangler did.”

  Lauren detected an underlying dislike of women in his words and was tempted to give him a sound lecture on rapists, one that was realistic, but she realized it would be as beneficial as Steve lecturing the hookers on Capp Street. Larsen’s cynical view and lack of compassion seemed deeply ingrained. Lauren sensed he was dangerous, and quite possibly capable of rape. But was he capable of coldblooded murder? Was she seated across the table from The Strangler?

  She had no wish to remain longer than necessary in Larsen’s company. She didn’t want her daughter to be tainted by his influence, philosophically or otherwise. Lauren urged the teens to finish eating, then hustled them back into the Jeep and drove to Cypress High. Chris and Megan exited the car, but Lauren held her daughter back. She instructed Courtney to sit next to her in the passenger seat.

  “I hope you were as disgusted as I was by Chris’s attitude toward Melissa,” Lauren said.

  “Mom, did you even listen to a word he said? He has to be careful. He’s being watched right now by scouts from different colleges. He’s up for a football scholarship.”

  “That’s no excuse. Branding Melissa as an outcast is intolerable. What’s your excuse, Courtney, for abandoning a friend in need? I thought I raised you better than that.”

  “You don’t understand anything.” Courtney tossed her thick hair back from her face. “As far as my loyalties, Chris comes first. I’ve been meaning to tell you. He’s my boyfriend now.” She paused, letting the effect of her words sink in. “Besides, Melissa’s mad at me. She thinks I stole him away.” With a superior air, Courtney opened the door to leave. “I have to go.”

  Lauren grabbed her arm, pulled her back. “What do you mean, he’s your boyfriend?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  Lauren released her arm.

  “If you hadn’t been so out of it lately, I would’ve told you. Chris and I have been hanging out together.”

  “Where?”

  “At school, at the games.”

  “You were at Megan’s several nights last week. Was he with you?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  Lauren drew in a slow, deep breath. “Her parents were chaperoning?”

  “Her parents trust us, Mom. They leave us alone in the rec room.” Courtney’s face glowed with subdued pleasure as she recounted her time with Chris. “We listened to music, did homework, watched videos and … stuff.”

  Lauren’s blood quickened as she recognized the symptoms of her daughter’s infatuation. How intimate have you been? In a period of ten days, her daughter had plunged headlong into dangerous territory and was too unskilled to recognize that a predator was circling her.

  “I’m disappointed that you’ve kept secrets from me, Courtney,” Lauren said, straining to keep her temper in check. “You had no right to make decisions about dating without consulting me first.” In a strange turn of events, Lauren listened to herself repeat the hated words her own mother had thrown at her. “This boy is too old for you. I disapprove of him.”

  Courtney’s dreamy look changed to disbelief. “He’s not too old, Mom. You’ve told me yourself, many times, that I’m mature for my age. You’ve told me I’m intelligent enough to make my own decisions about things.”

  “Some things. Not this.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “You’ve abused my trust. Now, you have to earn it back.”

  “That’s an excuse, so you can control me.”

  “I’m not going to split hairs with you, Courtney.” Again, Ann’s words were resurrected, taking shape in Lauren’s mouth. “I forbid you to see Chris outside of school.”

  The look on her daughter’s face frightened her.

  “Do you really think you can control my every move?”

  “Tomorrow we’re eating lunch alone,” Lauren said firmly.

  “If you think you’re going to ruin my chance with the most popular boy in school, you’re wrong. You just want me to be miserable like you. You’re so jealous, it stinks!” With that, Courtney hastily exited the car and disappeared into the crowd of bodies moving on the sidewalk.

  Lauren sat stunned. Her daughter had become unrecognizable. Caught off guard, Lauren had been ill-equipped to handle her rebelliousness. Her policy was to treat her dau
ghter with respect, leaving lines of communication open, but she just severed those lines in one ludicrous argument. Her daughter would no sooner deny her sexual feelings than Lauren did at her age. Courtney had been absolutely right on one account. It would be impossible to watch her every move. Ann had tried to keep guard over Lauren and Ken, and failed. Lauren ended up pregnant and married at eighteen. She had to prevent Courtney from ending up the same way, only at fourteen.

  Reflecting back to her own affair with Ken, Lauren acknowledged the stark differences between her husband and Chris Larsen. Chris was self-centered, arrogant, and had an underlying dislike of women. At twenty-two, Ken had been mature, entrenched in a good career that protected the public, and ready to be a loving husband and father. How could Ann have been so wrong about Ken? And how could Courtney be so blind to the shortcomings of Chris Larsen?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DRESSED IN A RED SILK BLOUSE, black pencil skirt, and knee-high leather boots, Holly greeted Lauren in the lobby at the Oakland Rape Crisis Center and ushered her into her office. Brightly colored African pillows, batik prints, and shelves lined with Mexican pottery reflected Holly’s love of ethnic art.

  Lauren had thought to dress casually but professionally—tan slacks and a crisp button-down shirt under a tweed blazer, her badge attached to her belt.

  Mrs. Myers and her daughter arrived ten minutes later. The Strangler’s first victim, Bernadette Myers, was a stunning girl with an athletic figure, sparkling dark eyes, and caramel-colored skin. She sat sullenly next to her mother on the sofa. Mrs. Myers was thin and graying, appeared nervous, her body leaning toward her daughter in a protective posture.

  Holly made introductions, emphasizing that Lauren, as a police officer, had considerable experience working assault cases. Pulling up a chair, Lauren seated herself within a few feet of the sofa and initiated casual conversation. The girl visibly slouched, would not meet Lauren’s eyes, and seemed to withdraw into herself. Lauren had no intention of asking questions about the actual abduction and assault. She attempted to draw out the teenager with topics of movies and music. Bernadette at first responded with yes and no answers, staring at her clasped hands, face hidden behind a veil of curly black hair. After several minutes of casual conversation, Bernadette visibly relaxed and peered shyly at Lauren with almond-shaped brown eyes. Lauren discovered the teen was actively involved in sports, loved classical music, and had studied piano since she was six.

  “Do you study music at school, Bernadette?”

  “No, there’s no music program. I take private lessons.”

  “Here in Oakland?”

  Bernadette nodded. “Mrs. Keener is my teacher. She also plays at our church.”

  “Which church is that?”

  “St. Michael’s.”

  Lauren discreetly moved to the issue of her assault. “Do you know any of the kids at Cypress High?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean by ‘not really’?”

  “Our teams play their teams, so I know who some of the athletes are.”

  “Do you attend the football games?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know their quarterback?”

  A smile touched her lips. “Chris Larsen.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “Just once. My friend Amber is a cheerleader. She invited me to an after-game get-together at Chuck’s Pizza. Chris and some other jocks from Cypress were there. He was really nice. Even talked to me a few minutes. But he’s so popular, I’m sure he’d never remember me.”

  “Do you know any teachers from Cypress?”

  She shrugged.

  “Tell me if any of these names sound familiar. Mr. Perez, who teaches math.” Bernadette shook her head no. Lauren went through several more names until the teen stopped her.

  “Coach Tenney. I know him. I first saw him at sports events at school, and then I discovered he lives near us. I walk by his house on my way to school. Sometimes he’s leaving for work. He offered me a ride once, but I said no. He always waves to me.”

  After carefully jotting down notes, Lauren brought up the landscaper arrested in Cypress Park for giving Ecstasy to a minor. “What about Dill Lafferty? That name ring a bell?”

  Bernadette shook her head.

  “Did you mention Chris or the coach to the police when they first questioned you?”

  “No.” She hesitated and glanced at her mother. “I told them I couldn’t remember much.”

  “I’ve already read the reports, so I don’t need to ask you anything about that night.”

  The girl and her mother looked relieved.

  “If you remember anything else you didn’t tell the police, please call me.” Lauren smiled and handed over her card.

  The two left, and Mrs. Florendo and her daughter arrived ten minutes later. Like Melissa and Bernadette, Ginger was strikingly pretty. Lustrous black hair framed her Filipino features and she had a graceful, athletic figure. She also appeared withdrawn, and at first answered Lauren’s questions in a quiet monotone. Lauren drew her out by asking questions unrelated to the abduction and rape. For the next thirty minutes, Lauren put Ginger through the paces. The teen knew of Chris Larsen and Coach Tenney through sports events but had never spoken to either. Try as she might, Lauren couldn’t find an obvious common link that connected the girls to The Strangler. Bernadette was in volleyball, Ginger in soccer. The two had no mutual friends or hobbies. Bernadette sang in the choir at her Episcopalian church. Ginger was Catholic.

  At the end of her interview, Lauren repeated to Ginger the promise she’d made to Bernadette. “We’re going to find the man who hurt you, and we’re going to get him off the street, so he never hurts anyone again.”

  ***

  Plagued by guilt over her argument with Courtney, Lauren begged off her dinner date with Holly and drove straight home to San Francisco instead. Courtney expected her home at eleven p.m., but Lauren pulled into the driveway at nine thirty. A good dose of motherly salve was needed to soothe her daughter’s emotional bruises. The kitchen was empty when she entered but the smell of popcorn lingered. The sound of the TV drew Lauren into the living room, also unoccupied. Strewn across the floor were Courtney’s jeans, socks, and shoes. Another act of rebellion? Lauren swept the items up in her arms, headed down the hallway to Courtney’s bedroom, knocked softly, and opened the door. Hunched over her computer, her daughter sat with her back to the door.

  “You’re home early,” Courtney said without turning.

  Dropping the bundle of clothing and her handbag on the floor, Lauren sank into the cushioned armchair. “Spending time with you is more important than eating out. We need to talk. Is Sofie in bed?”

  “She’s not here. I told her not to come.”

  “You’ve been here alone?”

  Courtney turned and faced her mother. “Know what, Mom? I’m fourteen. I don’t need a babysitter anymore.”

  “So you’re making the household decisions now?”

  The sudden flapping of the curtain drew Lauren’s attention to the window, open several inches. A stream of cold November wind gusted into the room. Dressed only in an oversized cotton t-shirt, Courtney’s legs and feet were bare.

  “Why are you dressed like that with the window open? You’ll catch cold.” Lauren walked to the window to close it and paused, straining to hear. Muffled footsteps sounded outside on the gravel path.

  “Turn out the light,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Do it.”

  Behind her, the room turned black. The contrast of moonlight and shadows came into focus in the yard. Shadows of branches trembled on the grass and flecks of moonlight highlighted her garden. Soundlessly, she eased the window open.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Quiet.” Lauren watched a long, dark shadow dart behind her tool shed at the far end of the house. “Hand me my purse.”

  Courtney did as she was told. Lauren pulled out her Glock a
nd removed it from its holster. “Get in the bathroom. Lock the door.”

  “Mom—”

  “Don’t open it until I say so.”

  Hearing the click of the bathroom door behind her, Lauren lowered herself out the window, then reached up and slid it shut behind her. Sticking to the shadows, she trailed the fence line until she was ten feet from the shed. Pulse racing, gut tight, gun clasped in both hands, she stepped into full moonlight and rounded the shed. Nothing stirred. The intruder had quietly moved away, but still lurked in the confined area between the side of the house and the gate opening to the street. Backing into the shadows, she studied the long narrow strip of yard. The intruder could go over the fence or try to get out the gate.

  Lauren felt sweat drip down her back, and her hands got clammy. She wished she had called for backup. A spray of bullets aimed in her direction could easily kill her. She sucked in a long breath. Blew it out. Time to move. Sticking to the shadows, she soundlessly walked toward the gate. Her foot hit an irrigation head with a dull thud. A man leapt from the shadows, made a run for the gate, and attempted to scale it. He was halfway over the top when Lauren grabbed his leg and yanked him back. The intruder hit the pavement hard, groaned, sprawled on his back.

  “Keep your hands above your head. Spread your legs apart. Don’t even think about moving!”

  The man obeyed.

  “Do you have a weapon?”

  “No.”

  As Lauren patted him down, she heard a window open behind her, then her daughter’s frightened voice. “Mom?”

  “I’m okay.” Lauren backed away from the intruder, breathing hard, the gun aimed at his head. “Call the station, Courtney. Identify yourself. Tell them I need a Code 3 immediately.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Now!”

  “Mom, it’s Chris. Don’t hurt him!”

  “What?”

  “Chris was with me tonight. He climbed out the window when you drove up.”

  Lauren recalled the clothes on the floor in the living room, Courtney’s skimpy outfit, the open window. The pieces fell together in a pattern of deceit and lies. What had this boy done to her daughter? Momentarily, white-hot anger blinded her.