Pretty Corpse

by Linda Berry

  “He’s just trying to avoid a lethal injection.”

  “Death for Gordon might be preferable to jail. His phobias would make doing time a living hell.”

  “He tried to strangle you in his shed, Lauren. He’s homicidal. A lunatic.”

  “I’m not sure Gordon is homicidal. I don’t know that he would have killed me. Just put me out, like he did the girls. Until his mother’s diagnosis, he was a model citizen with no prior record.”

  “You’re painting him as some kind of choir boy.” David’s mouth curled in revulsion. “What he did to those girls is perverted. His victims will be scarred for life.”

  “I’m not condoning his actions.” Lauren felt her back stiffen and the muscles grow tight across her scalp. “My daughter was a victim, too. I’m just trying to apply some logic. Profile Gordon accurately.” She lapsed into a frustrated silence, and then cleared her throat. “Your reaction is exactly why I’ve kept these views to myself. I’m sorry I told you.”

  Neither spoke for several blocks. The rain sounded like gravel pelting the roof. Beyond the streaked window, reflections of neon lights splintered into jagged pieces on the rain-washed streets. The city took on a garish, artificial appearance. Lauren felt closed in. Needing air, she cracked open the window and a wet wind bit her face. She quickly closed it.

  “I’m sorry,” David finally said. “I was out of line. I’m honestly trying to see your point. Tell me what you meant, that Agnes is the evil one.”

  “I believe Agnes is the true sex offender. I think she raped those girls, with a certain implement found at the scene. The weave design of the belt found on her ceremonial robe is a match to the bruising on the victims’ throats, which leads me to believe she’s The Strangler. The detectives believe it, too. We just have to prove it.”

  David’s tone showed surprise. “The old lady? A rapist? The Strangler?”

  “Yes. There’s no doubt Gordon choreographed the kidnappings and the placement of the bodies. There was a sick tenderness to the way they were groomed and staged. With attention to details, just like the mannequins in the store windows of Neiman Marcus. Everything perfect. Artistic. Consistent with the hybrid roses he grows. I also witnessed Agnes in action. She’s scarier than hell. Coldblooded. Ruthless. Probably capable of murder. Now she’s willing to go to her grave allowing her son to take the rap.” She paused to suck in a breath. “Gordon killing Steve doesn’t compute. The death of a cop doesn’t fit into their religious goals.”

  “You’re saying Steve’s killer is still out there,” David said in a controlled tone. “Yet no other suspects were ever pursued. There’s nothing to go on.”

  “There is one thing. Gordon’s note claimed he didn’t kill Steve, but he saw who did.”

  David gave her a sharp look.

  “Evidence places Gordon in the cathedral at the exact time the shooter was there. It’s entirely possible he crossed paths with Steve’s killer. If I can somehow get in to talk to Gordon, I might be able to get a description of the real killer.”

  “Yeah, that’s gonna happen.”

  “Right. Valona and Keach are convinced Gordon is their murderer. So is the media, and everyone at the station.” Her shoulders slumped. “Who would believe me?”

  “I do,” David said quietly.

  Their eyes met. A silent truce was sealed between them.

  “I suppose you’re going to undertake another secret investigation until someone does believe you?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “Shit, Lauren.”

  “You think I like this? What choice do I have? I have to find Steve’s killer.”

  “Do what you have to do. But you’re on your own.” An edgy silence followed. David squirmed a little in his seat. “You weren’t going to try to enlist my help, were you?”

  “No. I was hoping you’d volunteer.”

  Abruptly, David pulled into the parking lot of Peet’s Coffee on 26th Street and screeched the car to a halt. He looked at her, dark eyes flashing. “You’re in the wrong business, Lauren. Why don’t you get a freakin’ investigator’s license and do this shit legally? You have a need to be in the eye of a storm. I don’t.” He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, then reopened it. “Want anything?”

  “Yes.”

  Lauren sat watching him run into the shop and sadly, the memory of Steve doing the same formed in her mind. She hadn’t shared with David that she was up for a promotion. The time wasn’t right. She would sorely miss patrolling with him, and the immediacy of dealing with emergencies on the street.

  When he returned with their coffees, his clothes were damp and his face was beaded with rain. He sipped his brew and looked at her, eyes intense. “Where do you propose we start this insane investigation?”

  “Where one always starts,” Lauren said, resisting a smile. “With the spouse.”

  ***

  The next night Lauren was fairly bristling with information, which she unloaded as soon as she and David had peeled out of Valencia Station following roll call.

  “I did a little nosing around today. I called the Police Officers’ Association and made some inquiries. Told the clerk I wanted to make sure my partner’s widow was well taken care of. Asked about Steve’s life insurance policy. Pamela’s taken care of, all right. In addition to his police life insurance, Steve had a supplemental policy to the tune of a half million dollars.”

  Wong let out a low whistle. “Man. That’s a lot of dough. Still ….” He thought for a moment. “You can’t possibly see Pamela on top of that cathedral with a rifle aimed at her husband.”

  “No, of course not. She would’ve had help.” Lauren filled David in on Steve’s state of agitation, which had escalated into a jealous fit days before his death. “What if there was a basis for his jealousy? What if she was seeing someone?”

  “A lover who helped plot murder,” he mused. “A half million bucks is a shitload of motivation.”

  “People get killed for less every day.”

  “How could it have been coordinated so well? How could they have known about The Strangler’s attack on Tina on Halloween night?”

  “Who said they knew? Maybe they just got lucky. Think about it. They pick Halloween because cops are spread really thin, more so than any other night of the year. Most are covering the gay parade in the Castro district. Pamela knew that. So, this killer gets a police scanner, listens in, waits until the perfect dispatch call. Hears we’re on our way to Cypress Park. Follows us. There’s a number of great places to shoot from, but he sees the cathedral. A view of the entire park. Can’t believe his luck. He slips inside the church, carrying his rifle in pieces in a case, and blends in with the musicians carrying their instruments. The rest just clicks into place. What a bonus when The Strangler ends up taking the rap for Steve’s death. This guy must be laughing himself sick.”

  “That’s quite a story, Lauren. You better take it up with Keach and Valona.”

  “No. Not yet. Not without evidence. Hopefully, I’ll pick something up tomorrow that will stick. Pamela and I are having lunch.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  LAUREN freed a finger to press the door buzzer. She stood on the porch balancing a cardboard box sealed with duct tape and two bulky toys wrapped in tissue paper. It had been weeks since she’d crossed the threshold of her dead partner’s home. Memories of good times rushed to mind, accompanied by a piercing sense of loss. She glanced down the street, taking in the working-class neighborhood in the Sunset District. As unpretentious as Steve had been.

  Dressed in a blue angora sweater and faded jeans, Pamela opened the door with a warm smile, her thick red curls tied back with a saffron scarf. Lauren took in Pamela’s animated green eyes, flawless Irish complexion, and graceful build. Only now, she found herself studying Pamela’s pale beauty in a harsher light.

  Pamela took one of the wrapped gifts from Lauren’s arms and led her into the kitchen.

  “Let’s put these here on
the window seat.” She placed Rosie’s gift on the cushion and Lauren followed her lead. Pamela’s eyes focused on the box that contained Steve’s possessions from the station. “It’s smaller than I expected.” She looked at Lauren, and her smile quivered. “I’ll open it after you leave.”

  “Of course.”

  The table was set, and a delicious aroma wafted through the house. Steve often bragged about Pam’s cooking. His presence lingered in the room. Lauren pictured his running shoes parked by the back door, his jacket thrown over a chair, his coffee growing cold next to the sports section of the newspaper.

  “Rosie’s sleeping. I’ll get her up to open her gifts before you go. That was so thoughtful, Lauren.”

  “It’s nothing.” The least she could do.

  Pamela’s gaiety seemed slightly artificial as she ladled beef stew into two bowls and pulled biscuits from the oven. When both were seated at the table, she opened a pricey Merlot and filled their glasses. Steve drank beer, Lauren recalled, but he never denied Pamela her indulgence in fine wine.

  To Lauren’s dismay, Pamela held up her glass and half whispered, “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  Lauren didn’t want to be held up as a hero, not here.

  Pamela’s eyes grew moist, and she looked down at her plate. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

  If this was a performance, Pamela was one hell of an actress. Some small doubt cast a shadow across Lauren’s suspicions. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, Pam. Tuna sandwiches would’ve been fine, though the stew smells heavenly.”

  “I thought you’d like to have a hot meal on such a cold day. Steve always did. Police work took a lot out of him.” She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them with a frank smile, a little shy. “Here, have some butter.”

  Butter melted into a warm biscuit and Lauren took a bite, then she savored the stew. “Delicious, Pam. I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “It’s nice having someone to cook for. I haven’t had much company.”

  No boyfriend? How could she tactfully pose that question? “What about Sarah? I was expecting her to join us. The other gift’s for Jesse.” Lauren had been looking forward to meeting Steve’s brand-new grandchild.

  Her face shadowed, green eyes uneasy. “Sarah moved out.”

  Surprised, Lauren asked, “So soon? The baby’s only a few weeks old.” Steve had said that Pamela and Sarah didn’t get along, but this move seemed unduly hasty. How was a twenty-year-old with no job and a new baby supporting herself?

  Pamela seemed to read her thoughts. “Steve set Sarah up with a trust fund. She moved in with her boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Old boyfriend.”

  Lauren choked on her stew. “Tony Romero?”

  The muscles tightened in Pamela’s face. “So Steve told you.”

  “Yes. But I thought Romero was in jail.”

  “He was released early.”

  “Steve said Romero abused Sarah and sold drugs.”

  A painful expression crossed Pamela’s face. “That’s true. I pleaded with her to stay, Lauren. I truly did. With Steve gone, it was a comfort to have someone else in the house. We were actually starting to get along. I felt responsible for her and little Jesse. But she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Steve worried this would happen.”

  “He detested Tony,” she said with a touch of anger. “But Sarah has a blind spot where he’s concerned. Tony came to move her out. He frightened me. I’m worried about the baby.”

  They sat in silence while Lauren absorbed the gravity of the situation.

  “I hate to ask anything else of you, Lauren, you’re so busy. Putting in so many off-duty hours to find ….” She took a moment to compose herself. “Those people who killed Steve, but is there anything you can do to help? If Steve were alive, he wouldn’t have stood for Jesse being with Tony for a minute.”

  Lauren met the widow’s hopeful eyes. “There’s not much I can do. Sarah’s an adult. The law supports her choices, unless there’s evidence of abuse. Social Services won’t send over a caseworker unless there’s good reason. Is Jesse being mistreated?”

  “Not physically.”

  “Do you suspect drug use by Romero or Sarah?”

  “I can’t really tell. I don’t know the signs. I never see her alone. She never comes over. I’ve made visits to their house but he’s always hovering, watching, listening.” Pamela visibly shuddered.

  “Are there signs of domestic abuse?”

  “Not to my eye. But Sarah’s not herself. She’s so submissive. I think she’s afraid of him.”

  Lauren reached across the table and squeezed Pamela’s hand. “You shouldn’t have to be worrying about this right now. I’ll drop in on Sarah. Check things out. Give Jesse his gift. If anything bad is going on, I’ll find it. I promise.”

  With a relieved sigh, Pamela got a pad and wrote down Sarah’s address and phone number, tore off the page, and handed it to her.

  “Don’t tell her I’m coming. I want a surprise visit.” Lauren scribbled down her cell phone number. “Call me anytime, for any reason.” She looked Pamela in the eyes. “Even if you just want to talk. I haven’t been a good friend lately. I mean to change that.”

  Pamela nodded, her expression softening.

  Lauren managed to get through the next hour without losing her composure, politely eating her meal, helping Pamela with the dishes, and greeting sleepy-eyed Rosie, up from her nap. She smelled of shampoo and baby lotion. The two-year-old was the image of her father. Lauren’s heart ached as she held the curly-haired toddler in her lap. Rosie would never again feel her father’s loving touch, hear his soothing words, or have his strong hands lift her to his knee.

  With Lauren’s help, Rosie stripped away the wrapping paper on her gift, unveiling a fluffy brown teddy bear with shiny glass eyes. Grinning with delight, she held the bear up for her mother to see, and then hugged it close, planting a kiss on the top of its head. Pamela’s eyes filled with tears.

  When saying their goodbyes at the door, Pamela said, “You’re my role model, Lauren. You lost Ken and recovered. I know I will, too.”

  “In time.” Eyes moist, Lauren hugged her warmly.

  Leaving the house in a sullen mood, she reprimanded herself for suspecting Pamela. The widow’s grief was touching. Vivid memories of her own husband’s death haunted her as she drove toward the station. Ken’s body had been so badly burned there had been no public viewing at the funeral. No chance for a last goodbye. She identified with Pamela’s anguish, and the devastation that enveloped a family in the wake of violent death.

  Somewhere out there in the sprawling city, the man who did this to Rosie and Pamela was enjoying his freedom. She vowed his liberty would be abbreviated.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  LAUREN entered Valencia Station knowing she couldn’t run a check on Tony Romero in the computer room while dressed in civilian clothes. She went straight to Jack’s office.

  Looking up from his desk, his face brightened. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “Two things. First, when are you free for dinner? I’m cooking.”

  He grinned. “I thought I was going to have to subpoena you to get another date. How about tomorrow night?”

  “You like Italian?”

  “My name ain’t Monetti for nothing.”

  “Seven?”

  “Seven’s good. What’s number two, and the real reason you dropped in on me?”

  “Scout’s honor, dinner was foremost.” She smiled wickedly. “Courtney’s staying over at Sofie’s.”

  “Does that mean I should bring a toothbrush?” His voice was warm, full of confidence.

  “You’re getting the picture.”

  His smile widened.

  “Second, Jack, I need you to run a name through the system for me.” Lauren explained that Steve’s daughter was living with a felon who had violent tendencies.

 
“Let’s do it,” he said without hesitation.

  In the computer room, he brought up Romero’s criminal record. It was rife with drug busts and petty crimes.

  Jack whistled. “One more bust and he strikes out.”

  “Right. Then he’ll be calling a prison cell his home for life. He better start working on sainthood. Look at this.” She pointed to the computer screen. “For his last offense, Romero got six months, but was released early for time served during the trial.” She did some quick math. “Two weeks prior to Steve’s death.”

  Jack looked at her, not understanding.

  “Steve told me he was dreading this punk’s release. All the while, Romero was already out on the streets, probably in touch with Sarah, which was Steve’s worst nightmare. I’m going to pay them a visit and make sure the baby’s okay.”

  His forehead creased. “Watch your step.”

  She nodded.

  Out in the hall, unconcerned that several cops were milling in the corridor, Lauren bestowed him with a brief, but warm kiss. The surprise in his eyes melted into undisguised affection. A bittersweet longing swept through her when they parted. She reached the exit and glanced back. Jack was still standing there, watching her.

  ***

  A fierce, biting wind had kicked up outside. Leaning into it, Lauren crossed the lot to her Jeep and scrambled inside. Trees waved their branches. Leaves somersaulted in the air and tumbled against the windshield. Storm clouds were congealing, moving swiftly inland from the Pacific, promising a torrential downpour. The wind buffeted the Jeep as Lauren fought traffic going south on Highway 101.

  She exited on Army Street and drove through a ramshackle neighborhood known for drug peddling, prostitution, and burglaries. Winos loitered in doorways, trash littered the streets, graffiti defaced walls and billboards. She turned onto a narrow street lined with dilapidated Victorians, their backyards opening to acres of unattended fields where broken-down trailers and rusting vehicles sprouted through the weeds.