That’s all this is. A who-done-it. Come on Dylan; solve the mystery, by writing it in. Truth is stranger than fiction and it makes for a killer story line.
I stared intently at the full color, bloodless, prostitutes I held in my hands. If this were a book, the killer would be the least suspected. Which would mean me, or Mike even. Just as in real life, Cyrus would become a suspect because he is the possible love interest of the main character, which in my book was me. But suspicion of him won’t come to fruition.
Who, Dylan?
I thought hard for a moment, picturing every character in this story. I couldn’t imagine anyone really doing it, offing those girls. No one I knew, anyway. There had to be a variable, a third gun-man on the grassy knoll. Perhaps our killer had yet to be introduced in the story. Perhaps we are only in the beginning. The thought that this was only the beginning actually terrified me more than anything. Eight dead girls and he was only getting started.
“At some point, everyone will become a suspect,” I said aloud, sounding very menacing.
You’re such a dork, Dylan. Stop being so serious. Stop thinking you’re going to blow the lid off this. And damn it, stop talking to yourself.
I chuckled and flopped down on the sofa. Closing my eyes, I took a deep relaxing breath.
“What the fuck am I doing?” Talking to yourself again after you just told yourself to stop doing that. Dumb ass.
BAM, BAM, BAM!!!
“Fuck!” I jumped up off the couch, abnormally frightened by the sudden banging at the door. Then it came again without warning.
BANG, BANG, BANG!!
Loud thunderous knocks. The pounding fists against the door wanted something now, of that I was certain. I composed myself and moved toward the door. Standing on my tip-toes, I peered through the peep hole. It was black. Nothing. As if someone was covering my view.
“Who is it?” I asked, trying to sound tough.
No answer came from the other side of the door. I stood on tip toe again, straining to see through the darkened peep hole.
BAM, BAM, BAM! I almost fell backwards as the banging was right in my face at that point.
“WHO IS IT!?” I screamed.
Nothing.
“Fuck you then!” I yelled through the door. Silence.
I stood, glued to the spot. Terrified, for whatever reason, that there was a monster outside my door and he wanted in.
Click, tick, click.
What the fuck?
Whoever was on the outside of my door was opening the lock. I knew I had time, that door is fucked. I scrambled around searching for a weapon, anything. I remembered my gun in my purse; I ran for it. Sliding into my bedroom in record time, I began to throw items around searching my entire bedroom for that fucking purse. I stopped dead, listening, the lock finally clicked over. I had only seconds to find my gun. I slid across my bed, like a bad cop movie, landing on the other side. I flung open my bedside drawer. My knife will work for now. I went prone instantly and tried my hardest to get under the bed. Note to self: Your ass is too big, lose it. Nixing that idea, I clung as closely to the side of the bed as humanly possible, and waited.
The door knob rattled and finally clicked over. The door sticks and I knew who ever it was would have to shove to open it, and they did. The door was open now. I couldn’t see anything from my vantage point, but I know my place and I could hear everything perfectly. The door slammed shut and made me jump. I fought hard to control my breathing. I could hear my heart pounding. I was scared to swallow, breath, blink. I was stone quiet.
Hesitant footfalls, moving through the living room. Silence. Faster, highly-motivated, footsteps now, moving closer. I had to have a plan. Quickly, I devised an idiotic plan to surprise my intruder. I was to fly from my side of the bed, onto the bed, wave my knife erratically, and scream at the top of my lungs.
It should be okay. Right?
Footsteps outside the bedroom door. They stopped. Here was my chance.
“AHHHAAHHHHHAAHHHH!!”
The events that proceeded went as follows: screamed, jumped, fell flat on my ass on my bed. Knife in hand. Things were looking up. I flung up from my back to face my attacker.
“What the fuck!?”
CHAPTER 12
“Dude, what are you doing?” This from the stupid blonde I’d been trying to call all fucking day. I was glad I had the knife still. I was going to kill her.
I stood on my bed; a fisherman’s knife gripped tightly in my hand.
She’s your best friend, you probably shouldn’t stab her.
“Fucking whore! I’ve been trying to call you all day! Then you bust into my house and scare the shit out of me? What if I had actually found my gun? Huh? What then?” Still perched atop the bed I slammed my fists on my hips: a very motherly position.
“Unlikely. You left it at my house.” She then presented the purse I had been carrying the night she and I went to Embrace.
“Oh.” I shrugged and stepped down off the bed.
I snatched the small handbag from Tatum. As I did, I felt the crinkle of the offending bill that started me on this fucking odyssey, hiding inside.
“Why didn’t you answer the door?” she asked inquisitively.
“You blocked the peephole, and didn’t answer when I asked who was there. You scared me.”
“No I didn’t. I just stood there and knocked, a lot, but I didn’t block anything. I never heard you ask who was there. I figured you were in the shitter or something so I used the key you hide behind the porch light. I didn’t want to cruise around with this loaded fire arm in my car anymore.” She tossed my purse on the bed and walked out into the living room. “I gotta ask, D. What’s with the naked girls?” she asked from the living room.
“I scored them off of Mike.”
“He’s giving you porn now?” she said seriously as she sat on the couch, picking up some of the photos and paperwork.
“No. It’s the case files for the Bonita Terrace girl, and some of the others from the Valley.”
She dropped the stack as if it were on fire, gasping slightly and scooting back on the couch.
“Why would you want this? Are there pictures of, you know, the cuts and stuff?” Tatum is generally not squeamish, so the fact that she wasn’t interested was a little odd.
“Yeah. It’s all there. Oh, except for the Fresno girls, there should be three more. And the one from this morning isn’t in there yet either obviously--” She cut me off.
“From this morning?” She was coming across more sensitive than she usually does.
“Yeah, you’ll never guess where either. I was trippin’ when Mike called me this morning.”
“Where was it? Somewhere random?” Tatum seemed a little more interested now. She usually is once you introduce gossip into the story.
“Sure. In an alley, behind Pico and Norton.”
“Pico and Norton, Pico and Norton…” She repeated in quietly to herself, thinking of where those streets were located. “Shut up!” She got it. “Are you serious?” Her eyes became a little fearful as she asked.
“Yes, of course. I was scared to go look, but I did it, dude. I looked.” I smiled proudly.
“And?” she asked intently.
“She looked…” I thought for a moment and said the only thing that came to mind. “She looked like you.” Tatum leaned back into the couch, thinking for a moment.
“That’s fucked, dude.” Her voice went a bit blank, devoid of emotion.
“Tell me about it. So where were you all day?”
“Actually working. Some of us can’t go clubbing for our pay check.”
“Excuse me. One, I haven’t even started writing yet. Two, yes you do. You’re a gossip columnist, that’s all you do!”
“Oh, yeah. So, what now?” She sat forward as if she was awaiting instructions.
“I don’t know. I want to call Mike. I need to know what happened to the Fresno files. Let me show you something. I want to know what you see.” I pick
ed up the stack of photos and started sorting them in chronological order. Tatum leaned away from me. “Can you handle it?”
“She looked like me? Really?”
“Yeah. Actually, I had to get a better look to make sure she wasn’t you. Or that other blonde bimbo.” I began laying out the photos side-by-side.
“What other blonde?” She sat forward again.
“The one Cyrus left with last night. Oh my God, dude, I was so scared he was a killer. He still could be I guess. I’m not positive, but I have high hopes.” I spoke blankly, focused on the task at hand.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She was staring at me like I was retarded.
“Oh, I got a call last night from Reggie. She had a tape to show me of the trio of posers she had told us about. I went to see that, instead I saw Cyrus, the little fucker, leaving Macabre Saturnine with some blonde chick.” Almost done with my project, I checked my work.
“Did you get a good look at the girl he was with? Was it the same girl? And what happened with the posers?” She was literally on the edge of her seat.
“I don’t think it was the same girl. The dead girl was much prettier, longer hair, nice manicure. I don’t even think she was a stripper or hooker. She was very clean and well-kept.” I spoke absentmindedly focusing solely on my job. I sat back admiring my work.
“Oh, really? And the trio?” She was looking at me with such intensity.
“Oh, eh. They left with some other poser chick. Black bob, no sense of style. Like the other people in that club. Not a blonde. I think they’re in the clear.” I diverted her attention to the photos on the table. “Okay. I just want you to look at these in order. Then tell me what you see. They start here. The Hanford girl was first. Well actually she was…number…four I think. Anyway, look,” I said, pointing to the sequence of dead girls on my coffee table.
Tatum was hesitant at first, but once she was accustomed to seeing the carnage, she studied the girls just as I had. Looking at each one, then all four together, then back to the first. She picked up one, then another, comparing the two.
“Well, what do you see?” I asked.
“Dead girls,” she said dryly still staring at the photos.
“Aside from that?”
“This one is different.” She handed me the Hanford girl.
“And?” I took the photo.
“They all have different cuts and stuff.”
“Okay?” I sat waiting. Not wanting to give away my thoughts.
“What killer would do something to one and not to the other?” At that she stopped looking at the photos and looked at me instead.
“Exactly!” I said excitedly.
“Call Mike.” Her statement was tenacious.
“Why? He’s probably under a pile of paperwork from the body this morning.”
“I have to know what happened to the Fresno girls. This obviously started there. Why hasn’t anyone gotten those reports? Those girls died over three months ago.”
“I agree. And I have a theory. It looks to me that the girls are getting classier. Maybe the ones from Fresno were in the slums, nobodies. Look at this.” I handed Tatum the ME report from Bonita Terrace, pointing to the box checked transient.
“Mike changed it? I wonder why. Will you call him?” She held up the post-it with Mike’s chicken scratch on it. “And what is this?”
“A note I found in this mess.”
“Call him.” She was handing me my phone. At that point, I knew I had to get to the bottom of things. My mind would never stop working until I did, and I had me a brand new partner who wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone until she got first scoop. She shoved the phone at me again.
“Okay, okay. Pushy,” I said to Tatum as I dialed Mike’s cell; it rang.
“Yeah.” Mike’s sluggish voice came over the phone.
“Where are the Fresno girls?” I said abruptly.
“In Fresno,” he answered.
“Why aren’t you combining your resources or something?” The inner workings of the police are beyond me. I have never understood how one district can have information the others aren’t privy to and vice versa.
“Fresno PD obviously has better things to do than track down the killer of a few prostitutes and homeless girls. I tried to get the files. I was told it would be a few weeks. I have a buddy in Sanger. He could get me that file, but I’m not about to call him. I’m tired, Dylan.” His frustration with the case was apparent in his voice.
“I know. I want to help and Tatum does too.” I could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
“It’ll be great publicity for your book if you’re in the middle of everything.” He was being rude.
“Not just for that Mike. I think, well, I have a few theories. But, I need more information. I need more from you.” That was the moment I realized my stupid bills weren’t as important as human life. Well, not right now anyway.
“You aren’t a cop, Dylan. Give it up.”
“I can blend way better than you can and I’m a fresh pair of eyes. It’s Friday. Where’s Bakersfield?” My words were true. My intention was still cloudy.
“How..? On my desk.”
“Post-it,” I said simply.
“Oh.” He sounded exhausted.
“I need everything you have. Please. I think Tatum and I have some theories, but I need to get a broader spectrum of the girls’…bodies.” That was the strangest sentence I have ever said. And there is some weird shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes.
”What is it that you think you know?” he asked.
“You’re just going to have to trust me Mike. We’re journalists. It’s our job to get the story, by whatever means necessary. And you know Tatum; she’ll climb in dumpsters waiting for a lead. Come on Mike. I need this.” I was on the verge of begging.
“Fine. I have the Bakersfield files; I’ll make you copies of the photos only.”
“And the ME report. It’s important for our theory.”
“Fine. But I’m telling you right now Dylan, if I see any of this on the front page of anything, I will personally hunt you down.”
Resistance is futile. “You got it. Where are you?” I was smiling to myself over my tiny victory.
“Work. I’m leaving for home now. Come by my place in an hour.”
“Drive carefully,” I said still smiling.
“Vehicle safety is the least of our worries at this point.” He hung up
I sat for a moment, hoping the files would provide us with something useful.
“So?” Tatum asked
“He’s got Bakersfield.”
“And the others?” Tatum was more anxious than I’d seen her since the Ben-Lo split.
“No go.” I shook my head.
Tatum and I sat for what felt like an eternity. I was pondering the events of the last few days. I began wondering if I was way off.
“Well, let’s go,” Tatum said abruptly cutting into the silence. She was already off the couch.
“He said an hour,” I said refusing to stand before I had to.
“Fuck it. I’m hungry.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” I said from my spot on the sofa.
“I don’t know. What I do know is that this is the strangest thing I’ve ever been a part of and I’m not leaving till the end.” She opened the door with surprising ease and walked out into the sunshine. “Besides, who else is going to save your ass from vampires?”
Till the end. When will that be?
CHAPTER 13
Tatum and I stopped at a random drive-thru and grabbed some lunch before we headed to Mike’s house. Shoving our faces with food, we chatted about theories and possible suspects. If someone wasn’t aware she and I were in no way affiliated with the police department, they would’ve assumed we were detectives by listening to our conversation. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I was a little concerned that I was just going to fuck something
up and not help anyone at all. What was I going to do with the information once I got it? I have no authority to bust in a door and drag a criminal out by their hair. I didn’t even have a reason to question possible witnesses and things like that. No reason - except the book.
“Do you think we’re being stupid and rushing into a situation that we have no authority to control?” I said suddenly during a moment of silence.
“No. Why?” Tatum spit out through a mouth full of food.
“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we’re just morbidly interested, overly involved, and unnecessarily invested. And in the end, we aren’t really going to help at all. I just…I kind of feel like I’m in a shitty movie. A mystery-thriller and we’re the idiotic big-tittied broads that bite the big one in the final fight scene, or earlier.”
“I agree with the movie-thing. I don’t think either of us will even get close enough to anyone to be included in the final fight scene, though. We would be the comic relief, I think, and they never die,” Tatum said, mouth less-full this time.
“Then who’s our hero?” I asked enjoying the current conversation.
“Mike, I guess. He is the detective…and the love interest.” She smiled slyly and stared out the window.
“Fuck it. I am so done dealing with penises right now.” I chuckled. “Naked dead chicks are more my thing as of late. If Mike’s the hero, and we’re the comic relief, then we’re left with the most important character. If we have a protagonist, we must have an antagonist.” We both paused for a heartbeat as I pulled the car into Mike’s driveway. “Who’s our villain?”
“Or villains,” Tatum said as she got out of the car.
“I was thinking the same thing. The theory has possibility and actually makes me question my earlier judgment about our trio-of-freaks. I just don’t think those three could have actually pulled something like this off. I mean, honestly, it takes some kind of…’bad-ass-ness’ to be a cold-hearted killer. I would think so anyway.”
The Scene (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult Series) Page 11
