by Jack Wallen
“What are you smiling at, girl?”
“You,” I said simply, and got into the car. I didn’t want to spoil Skip’s moment and tell him that Jason played for both teams. It would probably devastate him.
FIFTEEN
Skip and I arrived at 3214 Payne Street around 8:45 p.m. It was dark, and there was a smell of full-on spring in the air. The magnolia trees outside the small shotgun house were blooming as if competing for attention. Had I not known what I was about to walk into, they would have had my full attention. However, I’ve heard tell of homicide scenes that were weeks old, and the descriptions are never pretty. It would take an entire field of those blooming trees to kill the smell.
I got out of the car. The first thing I would do was get out the masks. Skip had obviously forgotten because he had already cut the distance between the car and the door in half. “You might want this, Skipper!” He turned. He was obviously very excited to have been called in on this one.
“You did give it a shot of Curve before you tossed it to me, didn’t you?” Skip winked.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I needed it. I knew what I was going to see, and it was all I could do to muster up the strength to go in that house.
“Actually, I sauced it with my own form of love.” I slipped on my mask.
When we walked through the front door, we found the first-response team already hard at work. The house was in a pretty sad state of disarray, some from apparent struggle and some from just living poorly.
“What do we have so far?” I sounded like a sad attempt at Darth Vader. My breath was hot on my face behind the mask.
Craig Wayne was the first to stand and turn. He was a mid-thirties male who always looked like he belonged on the cover of Blender magazine. “Middle-aged male, at least we think that’s what he is.”
Craig was one of the straight men on the force who happened to be of the more accepting variety. He didn’t judge, he didn’t threaten, he didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. Unlike some of the hecklers on the force, I knew Craig would be sympathetic to the victim. Craig would see the dead man as human and not something to be mocked and degraded any more than the killer had already done.
I managed to weave my way to the side of the victim. I wished I hadn’t. Sometimes, I forget that I’m a woman and not quite as hardened and cold as many of the men around me. It hurt. It actually hurt to see the victim in that condition.
The body was lying on the bed with each limb tied to a post. The bindings were done with what looked like stockings. Although the man had been dead for quite a while, it was fairly easy to match the face with the one we had seen in the picture with Walter Jameson. This was the friend who had caused Jameson to take his own life.
There were considerable amounts of dried blood around the bed and on the sheets, although the victim seemed clean at first glance. After a closer look, it was apparent the killer had wiped the victim down before leaving. I found it strange that the killer took the time to clean the victim but nothing else.
There were bloody shoe prints between the victim and the closet. One of the frat-pack was examining them. I asked if anyone had taken a sample of the blood. No one answered. I took out a small vial and collected enough of the blood for testing. I couldn’t believe I was working with such idiots.
I turned my attention to the dead man on the bed.
The victim was wearing a white satin chemise. Underneath that once sexy garment, a horrific transformation had occurred. It was given away by the rivulets of blood that could be seen through the lingerie.
The victim had makeup smeared haphazardly on his face. His wig was askew, and his earrings were mismatched. This killer was sloppy. It looked as if everything beyond the killing was an afterthought, just poor stage dressing. Yet, at the same time, it all seemed so critical to his story.
“Has anyone taken a look underneath the clothing?” My voice rang out with an authority my fellow officers had yet to grow used to. The response to my question shocked me. Echoing through the room was the unmistakable sound of muffled laughter. I flushed with anger. I stood, turned to the others, and spoke as calmly as I could. “Is this a frat party or a homicide investigation? Would one of you please fill me in on what is so goddamned funny?”
One of the officers checked his titters and stepped forward. “Have you seen what the guy is wearing?” He couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer.
There was nothing I could say or do to stop their behavior. I didn’t have the rank or the power to bust any of them, and I knew the chief would rather see my ass mowed over than to hurt the feelings of his fraternal order of sidekicks. Frustrated, I turned back to the body and continued my examination.
Craig knelt down beside me. “I’m sorry about their behavior, Jamie. It’s embarrassing…”
“It’s infuriating,” I whispered.
“Yeah, it is. I’ve only been dealing with it for a few months, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stand working with this circle of good ol’ boys,” Craig whispered, and then allowed a short silence to fall before he continued. He was obviously a little nervous about cutting down the frat-pack within earshot. Instead, he changed the topic back to the crime. “The body and the clothing have been checked for prints, and necessary samples have been taken, so you can feel free to examine them.” His voice returned to a whisper. “No one else bothered because they were too busy cracking jokes.”
“Thank you, Craig.” I touched his arm, and we shared another moment of silence. This time, however, the moment was electric. There was a moment of recognition between us, a moment of realization. Craig smiled a melt-my-heart-like-butter smile and stood to go back to his own duties.
With my gloved hand, I lifted the silk fabric of the victim’s chemise. The killer had taken the time to slip on a pair of matching panties. There was something very odd about the way the genital area appeared through the silk. I had read that cross-dressers were fond of tucking their genitals back up inside their bodies, or some wore gaffs to flatten the pubic area. But this was neither. Hesitantly, I pulled aside the fabric and was hit by a strong desire to wretch. I turned, dropped to the floor, and grabbed my mouth.
Skip was right there. “Jamie, what is it? Are you okay?” He knelt beside me and began rubbing my back. I had broken out into a cold sweat. I’ve seen so much in my career, but this was by far the worst.
“Skip, the killer changed his sex.” I rattled through my shaken breath.
“What are you talking about, sweetie?” Skip stopped rubbing my back.
“The killer gave the victim a sex change. Right there in the bed. He removed the….” I had trouble getting the words out because the nightmarish image was still dancing behind my eyes. “He cut off the male genitals and attempted to create female genitals. I would guess he did the same to his chest.”
I was busy catching my breath and wiping away the sweat from my brow, when I realized the victim had more than likely died from shock or internal bleeding. And then the most horrifying thought of all: Did the killer even know he’d killed this man?
I finally managed to stand up. I didn’t even care what the others were thinking. I looked at Skip, who was still on the ground staring at the body. I wasn’t sure if Skip was in shock or just didn’t know what to say. Either way, he was silent for a long while. I put my hand on his shoulder to bring him from his trance.
“What should we do?” Skip’s voice was distant, like he was caught somewhere between his childhood and the present. I helped him to his feet to rouse him back to the current time.
“The first thing we need to do is scour this place for clues. We can’t overlook anything.”
“You’ve got something working in that pretty little head of yours.” Skip interrupted my train of thought, his voice giving away the fact he was still clearly shaken. “Wanna share?”
“I’m just sure that the killer will have left us something. He’s already sent a letter to one of the local groups. He wants us to know who he is
and what he’s doing.” I started feeling the flow.
“I need to talk to Craig. I want him to get rid of the goon squad, so I can get some real work done. Would you….”
“…get him for you? Of course.” Skip was very good at finishing my sentences these days. “Take your time, Jamie. Assume nothing. You can do this.”
As soon as I leaned down to take a look at the body, Craig returned to my side. “You wanted to see me?” His voice was still soothing.
I decided no more than a whisper was necessary. “Could you remove the frat-pack for me? I can’t really get anything done with them gawking and laughing.”
“Consider it done. And if you need anything else, let me know. Anything. Okay?” Craig left without another word. I didn’t even bother to watch his handiwork with the peanut gallery; for some odd reason, I knew I could trust him.
I motioned for Skip’s attention. “I need you to turn this house upside down looking for clues, anything out of the ordinary. If you need help, grab Craig.”
Skip’s smile widened. I gave him the behave look. His smile faded, but he gave me a reassuring wink.
I turned back to the body. As much as I hated it, it was time to get a much closer look at the killer’s work. Would the killer have been so ordinary as to leave a clue on the victim? Typically, that was reserved for more impulsive killers. This had been planned. But nothing surprised me, anymore. I quickly took a mental inventory, reminding myself of all the skills I had learned for examining a dead body. Some of those skills, however, didn’t seem to apply in this situation.
The victim had the ghastly look of weeks’-old death. All of the fluids had settled to the back side of the body, so there was a flatness to the eyes and skin. Obviously, the lingerie had been placed on the victim after the wounds had been inflicted. That meant something to or about the killer. It was almost as if he was living out some fantasy. The victim could have been raped, or worse.
I would have to wait until I got the coroner’s report on the victim before I could find out if there was in fact anything hidden on the body. I didn’t want to risk destroying any possible evidence.
But why the makeup? It didn’t look as if it was applied and then smeared in any sort of struggle. I was sure that it had been applied after the fact. But why? Why bother to make up the face when you’re destroying the body?
“Bingo!” Skip yelled. “We have an identity, Tom Evander, aka Mako Chung. Tom Evander sounds familiar.” Skip was holding a purse and a wallet. “I know that name from somewhere.”
“He owns a used-car dealership in town. You probably remember the commercial with him in the bunny suit,” I suggested.
“Oh, yeah. ‘Get on outta the hutch, at Evander’s you won’t spend much.’ What horrible commercials he had.” Skip walked over to the bed. “But he looked much better in the bunny suit than the silk number he’s wearing now.”
Skip knew I wasn’t pleased with that little bit of humor. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Sorry. That was ugly, I know.”
I touched his arm to say it was okay. Before I could say anything, Craig returned.
“I have the goon squad searching the perimeter. I told them to bring in news of anything that looks suspicious. I also assigned them neighborhood recon.” He started to leave. “And the photographer and the janitors are on their way.”
By janitors, he meant the coroner’s assistants that would inspect and remove the body. I was actually surprised that the photographer hadn’t already been here. But then, some days nothing worked as it should. That meant I had a limited time to finish my search. I decided to focus on the bed and have Skip do his favorite, the closet sweep.
My bed search came up with nothing. The killer had to have left clues, but they were none too obvious. There was plenty of dried blood, which would be taken in and tested. What I was looking for, however, were little tell-tale signs that were a bit more obvious. Sometimes killers would leave their cards out in the open for everyone to see. I checked the body as closely as I could without disturbing the position. I reached to lift one side of the man to check underneath until Skip stopped me. He shook his head quickly to remind me not to move the body.
“Nothing in the closet. Unless you’re Martha Stewart, in which case, he’s stolen her entire wardrobe.”
My cell rang. “Davenport.”
“Jamie, it’s Jason. I think I’ve found something. I realize that I probably shouldn’t have done this, but…” There was a nervous silence. “I networked Walter Jameson’s computer, just to see if it held any more clues, and something came up you might want to see. It’s an email, a new one, to the kycrossdresser mailing list. I think it’s from the killer.”
My heart stopped. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you, Jason. Oh, and don’t say anything to anyone about this.” I hung up and noticed Skip giving me that ‘fess up look.
“Jason found something, a new email on a mailing list, and he thinks it’s from the killer.” I could hear the urgency in my voice.
“Go on, get out of here. I can handle the rest of this scene.” I did something I hadn’t done in a long time; I gave Skip a kiss on the cheek. “Well, princess, that was certainly sweet.” He was all smiles. “Go, I give you leave, go!”
As I was leaving the house, one of the frat-pack confronted me before I could escape.
“I found about as close to a witness as I think we’re going to get.” He presented me with a gray-haired lady, obviously blind as she was sporting a walking stick. I wasn’t sure if this was some sort of cruel joke. I gave the officer a look I was sure would kill him.
“Seriously. She overheard something.” He turned to the lady and gently prodded her to tell her story.
Her voice was paper-thin but filled with a dignity learned decades ago. “I don’t remember how long ago it was. But I remember that I was having tea when I heard two men arguing next door. The fighting grew very loud until it sounded as if the two were destroying the house. And then, it went silent. After a while, I heard a man leaving the house. He was singing something. It was a lovely tune.” The lady hummed the tune in question. She had such a sweet voice that made me think she had lullabied many children to a quiet, peaceful sleep in her time. Though I consider myself a lover of music, I didn’t recognize the tune. However, I committed the haunting melody to memory. At that point, I would take anything.
I thanked the lady and motioned for the officer to return her to her home. I was in my car and on the road before the photographers even arrived.
SIXTEEN
When I entered Jason’s department, warmly referred to as “The Dungeon,” he was sitting in front of the deceased Walter Jameson’s computer. The look on his face could only be described as satisfaction laced with a sprinkling of horror.
“The email originated from an anonymous email account. There’s really no way to track who it came from. But it was from the killer; there’s no doubt it’s him.”
“I hope what you have for me is good. I like it good.” I tried to lighten the mood with the innuendo.
“I think it is.”
Damn, he missed the hint.
“I thought maybe if I connected the machine to the network I might find something. Lo and behold.” He turned the screen toward me. The email went straight to the point.
I am your surgeon and your salvation. You need not thank me. Your happiness is all the thanks I require. But remember, when you one day ascend the steps of heaven, to mention my gift in the eyes of God.
Doucement glissons de son flot charmant,
Suivons le courant fuyant
Dans l’onde frémissante
D’une main nonchalante
Viens, gagnons le bord
Où la source dort et
L’oiseau, l’oiseau chante.
Do not worry, you all have been chosen to receive my blessing. One by one, you will become butterflies in a cocoon of my making.
Love in sisterhood,
Dr. Gabriella Lakmé
> “Have you…”
“Translated the French? One step ahead of you.” He slid me a notepad that had the translations. “My French is a bit rusty, though. Actually, I didn’t translate it; I just found the translation on line. I put the first phrase in a search engine and it came up with that. It’s from the opera Lakmé. It’s the Flower Duet.”
On the pad was written:
Gently floating on its charming risings,
On the river’s current
On the shining waves,
One hand reaches,
Reaches for the bank,
Where the spring sleeps,
And the birds, the birds sing.
“I don’t get it. Why this song? What does it mean?” It was a partly rhetorical, partly real question.
“I downloaded the mp3 of the song if you’d like to hear it.” He was obviously two steps ahead of me. He swung around to another computer, and with a single click of the mouse, a very beautiful melody sprang forth. The melody was immediately familiar. It was the melody the blind lady had heard from the man leaving Mako Chung’s house. A chill ran through me.
“Oh, my God. That gives us confirmation from a witness!” I yipped, grabbing Jason and hugging him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Keep everything you’ve found. Back it up, do whatever it is you do to keep things safe. If you come across more information like this, let me know immediately.”
“Hey, you want this?” He held up a printed copy of the email.
“You’re the best, Jason!” I grabbed it and ran out the door.
I ran straight to the third floor to the War Room. The War Room was the heart of our investigations. It was where we met, posted leads, and discussed what was happening in any given case. Posting something like this in the War Room would normally be a grand affair for me. Unfortunately, I had the horrid misfortune of running into the chief. He was standing with his back to the door and staring at the evidence board. He must have known by the click of my heels that it was me.
