Pretty Corpse

by Linda Berry

  Lauren folded Valona’s coat over one of the chairs. “Thanks for the loan, Dave.”

  The doughnut packed into his mouth limited his response to a grunt, but she got the drift. Her invitation today was his way of saying she’d been accepted into their inner circle. She joined the two detectives in front of a two-way mirror and immediately stiffened at the sight of Gordon Keener. Two Oakland detectives in dark suits leaned over him in postures meant to intimidate, but Keener refused to acknowledge them. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, he sat ramrod straight at a scarred metal table with his arms tightly crossed, his attention focused on the grimy wall in front of him. There was no trace of the arrogance he displayed in the grove the day he posed as Peter Duff, no trace of the hot explosive anger he exhibited when she had him cornered in the shed.

  Keener glanced toward the window and Lauren caught her breath. His nose was bandaged, face bruised, both eyes swollen nearly shut. He peered out of slits, intense blue beads, emanating some kind of power.

  “You and Courtney did a damn good job on him,” Valona grinned. “His balls must be the size of peanuts.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded rearranging a few more bones in his face. One for every girl he assaulted.”

  “I’d have liked to help you.”

  “What gives? He say anything?”

  “They’ve been in there for an hour,” Keach said with a toss of her blond hair. “He’s said zip.”

  “He’s a piece of work,” Valona added. “A real prince. Just like his old lady, Her Majesty. The old bat’s tough as nails. Got herself lawyered up. Won’t let her say shit.” Valona roughly brushed away sugar sprinkles from his orange polyester tie. His hat du jour was a fuzzy angora beret, bright red, pushed back from his deeply creased forehead.

  “Has Gordon asked for a lawyer?”

  “Nah. He’s giving us the silent treatment. He’s pissed. All he’s said is he doesn’t like being touched. Didn’t like all the roughhousing by the arresting cops last night, or the charmers he met in lockup.”

  “His victims preferred not to be touched, too,” Lauren said coldly.

  “He’s in for a shock when he hits San Quentin,” Keach said. “With that meek attitude, he’ll be everyone’s favorite prom date.”

  The door opened and the two detectives stormed out, expressions tight with frustration. With few words, they passed the baton over to the San Francisco detectives and left the room.

  “How we gonna crank open this freakin’ zombie?” Valona asked.

  “Give him his gloves,” Lauren said. “Make him a little more comfortable.”

  Keach shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Fine. I’ll get Prince Phobia his freaking mittens.” Valona skulked out of the room.

  Ten minutes later, Valona and Keach entered the interrogation room. Keener’s lips formed a harsh line and his posture stiffened. Controlled anger. But his eyes brightened when Valona tossed his thin leather gloves on the table. He yanked them on immediately, clenched and unclenched his fingers, then knotted his hands on the table.

  While the Oakland detectives had used strong-arm tactics, Keach and Valona kept a respectful distance. Keach politely expressed sympathy for his rough treatment by the Oakland cops, emphasizing she and Valona were from San Francisco. Keener kept his head down while Keach talked, but his shoulder muscles relaxed.

  “Want a Coke?” she asked. “A candy bar?”

  Surprisingly, he consented to both.

  “You like Snickers, right?”

  He nodded. When refreshments were brought in, Keener popped open the can, downed a gulp, then ripped off the wrapper of the bar and took a couple big bites. “How’s my mother?” he asked abruptly, chewing on one side of his mouth.

  “She’s fine,” Keach said. “Comfortable. Said to tell you she’s okay.”

  “When can I see her?”

  “Depends on how long you keep us here.”

  “They say I’m gonna die anyway, so what’s the point to any of this?”

  “Die?”

  “They say I killed that cop,” he said, his tone hostile. “That’s capital punishment. I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “You’re jumping ahead of us a little bit, Gordon.” Keach’s tone was soothing. “Let’s say you didn’t kill a cop. What about the teenage girls? Are you saying you didn’t commit those crimes, either?”

  Keener said nothing.

  Keach proceeded to lay Polaroids of the five girls on the table in front of him. “We don’t need your testimony. Thanks to your meticulous documentation, we have all the evidence we need to put you in a cell for life.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Talk to us, Gordon. Make it easier on yourself. We’ll see if we can get you some special privileges. Maybe get you a cell all to yourself. So nobody touches you.”

  Valona added, “You don’t cooperate, well, you can try to cover your own sweet ass.”

  Keener’s features sharpened. His clasped hands on the table tightened.

  Remembering her daughter lying in his shed, Lauren felt no sympathy. She touched the welts on her neck. The intensity of emotion that welled inside surprised her. Anger, coursing through her like venom.

  “You employed, Gordon?” Keach asked.

  He nodded.

  “Can you respond verbally so the tape can pick it up?”

  Keener glanced around the room for the video camera. For a moment he seemed to catch Lauren’s eye. She shuddered.

  “Yeah, I’m employed. I grow specialty flowers. We sell arrangements for weddings and funerals. My mother handles the business end.” He corrected himself. “She did handle it. She set everything up.”

  For the next few minutes Keener spoke of a life buffered from the outside world by the machinations of his mother. He told them most of their customers were his mother’s contacts at several churches where she played piano and organ. She handled the sales, marketing, and public relations, while he stayed off the radar, doing flower arrangements and deliveries. He avoided most public places like grocery stores, or movie theaters, where someone might brush up against him, or he might touch something teeming with bacteria. It appeared his phobia placed him in a position of almost total dependence on Agnes.

  Keach steered the conversation to the assaults. “Want to tell us about Bernadette Myers? How you two met?”

  “At church. Ma gave her piano lessons.”

  “Did you ever talk to her before the abduction?”

  “No.”

  “But you watched her.”

  “Yes.”

  “You followed her around. For how long?”

  He shrugged. “Couple weeks.”

  “Did Ginger ever see you watching her?”

  Again, he shook his head.

  “Please speak up.”

  “No.”

  “How did you manage to get so close without being detected?”

  “Disguises.” His lips curled up with a touch of arrogance. “No one knew what I really looked like, except Ma.” He smirked. “That’s why no one could ID me from your asinine sketch.”

  Silence.

  Valona continued in an even tone. “Your mom pick out the girls for you?”

  Keener shot him a look of pure contempt. “Leave Ma out of this, or I don’t talk.”

  Keach took over with her gentle approach. Over the next couple hours, Keener gave chilling testimony, admitting to the abduction and assault of all four girls and the abduction of Courtney. He filled in the lurid details of the ritual that took place in the shed, but contrary to Courtney’s account, Gordon confessed to every aspect of the assaults and strangulations, and insisted his mother had no involvement whatsoever.

  “How did you pick out the girls at Cypress High? Were you watching the school?”

  “No. I was delivering flowers to Pillsner Cathedral for a wedding. I noticed the soccer game in the park across the street and went over to watch. I spotted Melissa right off.”

  “Why Melissa?” Valona asked.

 
He snickered. “Why do you think?”

  “Answer the question,” Valona said in a cool tone.

  “She fit the bill.” He paused. “Looks like a goddess, doesn’t she? Stunning.”

  “Then you stalked her?”

  “I don’t like the word stalked.” His face darkened. “I watched her.”

  “You saw Courtney there, too?”

  “Yeah.” He half-smiled. “And her mother, Lauren.”

  Hearing her name on his lips made Lauren’s skin crawl.

  “Why did you break into Officer Starkley’s house?” Keach asked. “To find out about Courtney?”

  “Partly. But I wanted to know more about Lauren. I saw that by getting to her daughter, I got to her.”

  “Why Officer Starkley?”

  Keener glanced toward the window as though he knew Lauren was watching. “She intrigues me. I wanted her to notice me. She and I … we’re very much alike.” He looked at the window again, holding a steady gaze. Lauren couldn’t take her eyes off him. Keener seemed to be talking directly to her. She looked into those eyes and saw a cold, psychopathic mind. Capable of terrorizing women with no sense of remorse, or shame. Possibly damaging them for life.

  “I was in Lauren’s bedroom,” Keener continued. “I watched her for several hours while she slept. She looked so beautiful. So peaceful.” He continued in a soft voice, as though sharing an intimate confidence. “Then she woke. When she saw me, she opened her covers and invited me into her bed. We lay together for a long time. It was ….” He swallowed, and almost whispered. “A beautiful experience.”

  The room was dead quiet.

  A feeling of revulsion crept up from Lauren’s stomach and tightened her throat. Keener spoke as though he and Lauren had shared an erotic episode. Intense intimacy. She took a deep breath, shaking off the spreading anxiety, telling herself that everything was fine, that he would never be able to hurt her or Courtney again.

  Keener shifted his gaze back to Keach, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ve been in Lauren’s house three times. I ate breakfast in her kitchen. Pet her cat. Looked in all her drawers, her closets. Touched her clothes. Learned things about her. Secret things. Lauren and I have a very special connection.”

  Feeling nauseated and lightheaded, Lauren backed away, putting distance between herself and the monster on the other side of the glass. Still his voice filtered in, in a sickly-sweet tone.

  “Lauren is strong, but also gentle.”

  “Like you?” Keach asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah, like me.”

  “So, you want her to like you?”

  “Respect me. That’s all I ever wanted.”

  “You tried to kill her, twice,” Valona said. “Once in Cypress Park. Once in your shed.”

  Keener shook his head. “No. Never. Just scare her.”

  “If you wanted her to like you, why did you assault her daughter?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Why not?”

  Keener gave her a long, steady look, then he pressed his lips tightly together.

  Keach repeated the question. She continued to question him about Courtney, but Keener didn’t budge, just sat in a trancelike state, staring at his clasped hands on the table.

  “What about Tina Duff, Gordon?” Valona jumped in.

  Keener met Valona’s gaze, said without hesitation, “Retribution.”

  “For Duff’s articles about you?”

  “He printed lies. Vulgar lies.” His lips curled in distaste and he let out his breath in a little snort through his nose. “He misunderstood my motives.”

  “What were your motives?”

  “To select pure, virtuous wives.” His voice took on a boyish, dreamy quality, which raised the hairs on Lauren’s neck. “Each girl had to be a virginal vessel, pure of thought and deed. Untouched by mortal men. I watched each one for weeks. They had no contact with men. Ginger and Bernadette spent a lot of time at church. Bernadette sang so sweetly. Ginger played piano like an angel. That’s a sign. All the girls look like goddesses. That’s also a sign.” A smile played on his lips. “I did my job very well.”

  The detectives exchanged a look. Lauren could feel her skin flush hot, and it seemed suddenly as if the room were getting smaller.

  “You think you were marrying these girls?” Valona asked.

  Gordon’s expression was contemptuous. “You live in a dirty world, Detective. You think dirty thoughts. Just like the reporter. These girls were given a gift no mortal man could possibly offer.”

  “Help me understand, Gordon,” Keach said gently. “What was the gift?”

  “Freedom from the corrupt influences of human society. It’s sickening how promiscuous girls have become. I revile the way they dress, the way they act.” He gave Keach a superior look. “These virgins pleased one much greater than ourselves. Their rewards will come in the afterlife.”

  “Who would that be? The one greater than ourselves?”

  Keener’s eyes went vacant and rolled upward as though he were seeking counsel with voices in his head.

  “You were just the foot soldier, is that correct?” Keach asked. “Going through these rituals for the benefit of … what? A higher power?”

  “Yes.” The intense blue beads were back. Focused laser-like on Keach.

  “Your mom pick out the Bible quotes for you?” Valona asked.

  “I picked them.” There was sudden unhappiness in his face, and a sense of underlying grief. “She’s an old lady. Leave her alone.”

  “Tell us about the implement you used to penetrate the girls,” Valona said. “It looks old. Has a special meaning, does it?”

  Silence. Again, the rolling up of eyes. Finally Keener answered, his voice devoid of emotion. “That’s sacred. I won’t divulge the mysteries of Dionysus to an infidel.”

  Keach and Valona exchanged another look.

  “Tell us about Dionysus,” Keach said. “Greek god of some kind?”

  Keener retreated into a trancelike shell. Spine perfectly straight, body motionless, eyes closed.

  “What about the high-powered rifle, Gordon?” Valona said, switching gears. “The one you shot Officer Santos with? Pretty good shot. You an expert marksman?”

  The questions continued, but Keener remained silent for the next fifteen minutes. Keach and Valona looked at each other with a pleased expression. They were used to sifting lies from truth; it was their job, and they were good at it. They now had everything they needed to convict Keener on four counts of rape, and five of kidnapping. Valona rapped on a steel door with a small window and a uniformed cop entered. He pulled Keener to his feet and escorted him out of the room. The detectives joined Lauren back in the viewing room.

  “Nut-job appears to be in a trance,” Valona said with a smirk.

  “We need to find out about this Dionysus crap.” Keach squared her shoulders and poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “The missing part is how Agnes fits in. He’s going to protect her to the end.”

  “And deny he killed Steve,” Lauren said sharply.

  “We’ll have to build our case in court to get him for Steve’s murder.” Keach stirred in packets of sugar and creamer. “So far, it’s all circumstantial. No rifle was found on his property.”

  “Even without the rifle, Prince Phobia’s going away for life,” Valona said. “No possibility of parole.”

  “What about placing him at Pillsner Cathedral at the time of the shooting?” Lauren asked.

  “We’ll get Vincent Pera to pick him out of a lineup when his face clears up. But we have no weapon, no confession. Nothing puts him up in the tower,” Keach said.

  Valona added, “As far as the old bat goes, let’s hope some of the evidence collected at her place incriminates her. We can’t hold her for long. She could be out on bail at her arraignment today.”

  “She pulled a gun on me, threatened to shoot my daughter,” Lauren said more sharply than intended.

  “Her lawyer claims she heard a disturbance,
went to check it out, found you trespassing with a gun trained on her son. She was only protecting Gordon.” Valona unwrapped a piece of gum, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed. “She looks like anyone’s grandma. And she can do the old lady act real good. It’s bullshit, but bulletproof.”

  “What about the red robe?”

  “The red robe doesn’t mean crap. It’s just a red robe,” Valona said. “Her lawyer says she knew nothing of Gordon’s secret life. He always kept his room locked.”

  “She’s lying.” Lauren paced, adrenaline fizzing in her veins. “I saw her in there.”

  “When you were trespassing without a warrant? We can’t use that. Our warrant starts when you smelled the chloroform in his van.”

  “Agnes is the more dangerous of the two.”

  “Now you’re getting it,” Valona said. “She won’t be getting into more mischief any time soon. Even if released, she’ll be under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

  Deeply disappointed, Lauren said her goodbye to the detectives and headed back to San Francisco. Her face felt clammy and her hands were sweaty on the wheel. The thought of Keener roaming freely through her home, touching her things, standing in her room for hours watching her sleep, made her feel contaminated, as though a layer of filth stained her skin that would never wash off.

  Unearthing Gordon’s motivations put some questions to rest, but hairline cracks had been exposed in the case that the detectives were glossing over. Lauren wanted Agnes to pay, and she needed a solid murder conviction rammed down Keener’s throat that would hold up in court, for the sake of her former partner’s family, and her own peace of mind. She had no authority to investigate Steve’s murder further, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  LIFE TRUDGED ON. Courtney went back to school. Participating in a teen therapy group and returning to a normal life helped to dilute lingering anxiety. Lauren was scheduled to see a counselor the following week. In the meantime, she went back to work and was horrified to find herself heralded as a hero. The public had flooded the station with letters of gratitude, and there were messages from reporters wanting interviews.