Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  He helped her remove her sweater and the spaghetti strap top underneath before unclasping the black bra that kept her full 34Cs from jiggling. She slipped her top back on. The flimsy material stretched thin, displaying the location of her large areolas while the chilly air kept her nipples pointed. She fixed her hair, freshened her lipstick and dabbed her neck and wrists with a perfume sampler. Jerry then kissed his wife and handed her the blade, which she slipped into the back pocket of her jeans.

  From the stairs, he watched his wife walk confidently down the carpeted hall until she reached the musician’s door, the last one on the left. She rang the doorbell and put on a smile. A few seconds later, she waved at the peephole. Come on; open the door, Jerry thought. A second later, the seal of the door cracked.

  He watched his wife bat her eyelashes as she squeezed her arms together. She said something to the singer and began to playfully walk her fingers down his chest as she backed him into his apartment. That was Jerry’s cue. He moved out of his hiding spot and down the narrow hallway, ready to play his part.

  When he arrived, Vicki had already stuck her blade directly into the singer’s voice box, disabling it. Jerry closed the door behind him and revealed his favorite carving knife. The man stumbled backward at the sight of Jerry. His eyes stretched wide. His mouth dropped open. His left hand still had a grasp around his neck, but it could not contain the bloody leak. The singer shook his head no. His watery eyes pleaded for mercy. Jerry nodded yes. His darkened eyes promised no such thing.

  Chapter 35

  It was six a.m. and chilly. The fog had rolled in thick that Friday and settled across the entrance to the Bay and most of the city. When I arrived at Union Square, visibility was better. It was unusual to see it slither so far south. I spotted a couple of black and whites parked near the northwest corner of the square and made the walk.

  The taped-off area looked smaller than usual and piqued my interest right away. I flashed my credentials to the uniform on perimeter duty, and he let me through with a nod. It wasn’t hard to spot Kang amongst the crowd of law enforcement and forensic personnel.

  “Abby. Thanks for coming so quickly. I had the team hold off on processing the scene so you could get a look at it in its original state.”

  I looked around for a body but didn’t see a sheet. I finally had to ask.

  “There isn’t one. There’s only a heart.” Kang motioned for me to follow. “Every year, these large heart-shaped sculptures are painted by different artists and installed around the city. The CowParade exhibit inspired San Francisco to do the same but with painted hearts to play off the song ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco.’”

  I thought Kang was pulling my leg until I saw the bloody organ sitting on top of the installation. It was housed inside a small, acrylic box as if it were on display. It was.

  “They glued the box to the installation. We’ll probably damage it when we pry the box off.” Kang shook his head in disappointment.

  I leaned in for a closer look. It still looked fresh. “Any idea how long it’s been here?”

  “Green’s office hasn’t had a chance to give an official ruling, but I’m guessing no more than a few hours. The area is heavily trafficked except for a narrow window in the early morning.”

  I looked at Kang, and we both knew what the other thought. “I can’t believe we missed this one,” I said. The song was iconic San Francisco. And the killer took it literally. “I wonder where the owner is.”

  “Who knows?” Kang blurted.

  I watched him flip his jacket collar up and pull it tight around his neck. “I have my men interviewing the people around here and knocking on the doors of the shops in the area, though I’m not hopeful. Most of these stores don’t open until ten in the morning. Even so, a couple of drops of super glue, a firm press to the installation—the killer could have done that without even stopping.”

  Kang looked around before turning back to me. The lines in his forehead had deepened. “You still think the killer is your mystery woman?”

  “She’s the best lead I have.”

  “What about my cases?”

  “She’s also the best lead on your cases, because you have none. Why the awesome mood this morning?”

  Kang didn’t answer me and avoided my eyes by constantly looking around. This was a different side of him, one I hadn’t seen before. Where’s the playful Kang I know? I had thought we worked well together and were on our way to becoming friends. Maybe he’s a grouch in the early morning, I thought, though he should know he wasn’t the only one who had to drag his butt out of bed early.

  I did another walk around the crime scene; there wasn’t much to take in. I circled the work of art and did a larger, ten-foot perimeter. Nothing caught my eye. I also agreed with Kang about the area businesses not being open when the heart was placed on the installation; maybe the Starbucks a block up the street, but that’s about it.

  I gave Kang a pat on the back. “Come on; let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “For coffee and answers.”

  Chapter 36

  The night before, the Carlsons had checked out of the Parc 55 and into a charming bungalow on Russian Hill. Vicki couldn’t understand why they had to move from the suite she had grown comfortable with. But when she saw night views of the San Francisco Bay from the private wraparound balcony of the house they had just rented, she forgot all about the Parc 55. The only explanation Jerry gave Vicki for the move was that a change of scenery would be nice and much more private. She figured she had obliged him with the faceless hotel, and he was trying to do the same with a place packed with personality. Their new abode had all the character of an old home, which she craved, yet it was completely modernized to suit their needs.

  Of course, the real reason for the move was that Jerry’s nerves had worsened over the last few days. The kill the night before, while executed flawlessly, had made it worse. Anxiety was a rare emotion for him. Vicki was usually the nervous one who wanted precautions and every move planned. But lately, Jerry had found the roles reversing. He couldn’t quite understand why. He’d never cared about the details in the past. The kill was what mattered the most, not the how, who or where.

  From the moment the two met on a night years earlier in a dive bar, Vicki had brought structure into his life. It had been hard in the beginning, but she stuck with him, and he had learned, or at least accepted, that this was a better way to continue what he loved doing most.

  Both had been single back then, but spending time in that bar hadn’t had anything to do with meeting someone of the opposite sex and had everything to do with filling their macabre desires. Jerry didn’t care who he killed. He had been simply waiting for someone to exit through the back door. After hours without an opportunity, Jerry’s patience had run its course. He had decided to head out back and walk the alley behind the bar in hopes of coming across someone—anyone.

  A young man in a mullet and a sweat stained T-shirt with the sleeves cut off had presented the loudest mouth in the bar that night, and he’d been spreading his putrid body odor, all while his chest remained artificially inflated thanks to the beer muscles he acquired over the night. Vicki had trained her eye on the man. She had watched him carefully after he stood in front of her, babbling and trying to drag her onto the dance floor. She had nearly vomited in her mouth while he tugged on her arm.

  Vicki had decided to take matters into her own hands. She had walked over to the loudmouth and whispered in his ear before heading out the back door as well. A few seconds later, the man had followed.

  Jerry had heard the door open and the click-clack of heels on the pavement. Finally, he had thought as he’d ducked into the shadows. In one pocket he had possessed wire. In the other, a knife. He fondled both, unsure of which to use. He needed to see the person before deciding whether to deliver a close and personal kill or an angry torrent of slashing. He hadn’t been able to hear the heels any longer, and he worried that he might have missed
his chance. He took a risk and leaned out of his hiding spot. He saw no one. But before his anger could rise, the back door flew open, and out walked the man he had noticed earlier. Perfect.

  Jerry removed the knife and readied himself. He could hear the scraping of boots against the asphalt as each step came closer to him. But suddenly, Jerry heard the heels again. They were fast and coming his way. Two? Could it be my lucky night?

  Jerry relished the opportunity and made his move. He stepped out from his position in the dark, hand raised, knife poised to strike, only to find a strange woman standing behind the man. She had placed one hand across his mouth, holding him tightly against her. Her other hand had brandished a knife that had been driven deep into her mark, slicing through muscle and sinew. The man gurgled and grasped at his neck. Jerry still stood in the same pose, from which he had exited his hiding spot. The only change had been the mask of confusion that had spread across his face as he watched some other killer poach his victim.

  “What the hell?” he blurted. “He was mine.”

  “Yours?” the woman responded. “I lured him out here.”

  It had been love at first sight. Jerry had helped Vicki stash the body, but not before giving it a few stabs. He had waited while she changed into fresh clothes. She then produced baby wipes for them both to clean their hands and arms. After, the two headed back into the bar for a drink. Jerry and Vicki had been inseparable ever since.

  Chapter 37

  We walked uphill from Union Square to the Starbucks at the corner of Sutter and Powell. The sign on the door said they opened at five in the morning. Surely they had to arrive sometime before store hours.

  Inside the coffee shop, we faced a buzz of early morning commuters all wanting their caffeine fix before they faced the monotony of their office jobs. I walked up to one of the employees, a teen girl who was busy wiping a table. Lately, wherever I saw teenagers doing something, I wondered if one day my two kids would do that. It entertained me.

  “Excuse me,” I said, producing my identification. “Is there a manager I can talk to?”

  “Uh, yeah.” The girl swallowed before running off.

  Kang and I stood quietly before he suggested getting a coffee. “I’ll take a cup of hot water.”

  He slipped into line while I waited. Everyone had their faces buried in their smartphones, and the few who didn’t were yacking away on them. It made me feel a little self-conscious that I didn’t have something to do on my own phone.

  A few seconds later, a woman in her early thirties approached me. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a pen was tucked behind an ear. “How may I help you, Officer?” she asked. Her tone was even and her face looked tired.

  “It’s Agent. My name is Abby Kane. I’m with the FBI, and we’re investigating a crime that took place in Union Square early this morning.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows and followed that up with a breath of disappointment. “What does that have to do with my store?”

  Uh oh, looks like I drew the short straw and ended up with the bitch. “What time do you and your staff usually arrive in the morning?”

  “Jenny—that’s the girl you talked to earlier—and another girl got here at four-thirty this morning, same time I did.”

  Kang returned and handed me my cup. I nodded my thanks. “I’d like to continue talking to you while my partner here talks to Jenny and the other one, if that’s okay.”

  The store manager took a deep breath, and her face remained flat. “It’s not, but I can spare a few.” She then turned to fetch the girls.

  “Boy, I’m glad you’re taking that one,” Kang said, raising his eyebrows.

  “She and her minions arrived here at four-thirty this morning. They might have noticed something on the way in.”

  Kang nodded and took a sip of his coffee. We split off from each other when the manager returned.

  “How do you arrive to work?”

  “I catch the number three bus and get off at Union Square, then I walk the one block to the store.” She couldn’t have sounded more disinterested if she tried.

  “Were there other people around when you exited the bus?”

  “You mean in the square?”

  No, dipshit, on the moon. “Yes, in the square.”

  She tilted her head to the side, and her eyes went blank for a moment before answering. “I was the only one who got off the bus. There were maybe a couple of people around, across the street. I guess they were walking to work. But it’s not my job to conduct a census every morning when I arrive.”

  “Is there a problem, miss?”

  “Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, it’s rush hour here, and every second I’m here talking to you is a second longer someone has to wait for their coffee. Next time, I’ll come to your job when you’re slammed and tell you to stop so I can discuss the intricacies of brewing coffee with you.”

  She was barking up the wrong tree, and I wasn’t in the mood for any backtalk. “All that hot air escaping your mouth—not helping your situation. So either answer my questions, or I’ll handcuff you right now and drag your sorry ass down to my office and question you there.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and relaxed her shoulders.

  “Anything about these people pop out as different or unusual?” I continued.

  “No.” She shrugged. “I had my iPod on and wasn’t paying attention.”

  That’s how people get mugged. I shifted my weight to my left foot. “Did you notice the large heart at the corner?”

  “Sure, it’s only been there since the beginning of the year.”

  My eyes latched onto hers, and I lowered my voice. “Do not test me. Last warning.”

  She eyed me for a moment before giving me a slight nod. I suspect she tried to think through whether I could legally handcuff her and haul her in. Another remark and she would have found out. “Did you see anything on it, or a person near it or walking away from it?”

  “No.”

  I took out my phone and produced the picture of our mystery woman. “Did you see this woman this morning?”

  Her eyes slowly shifted to the phone. “No, she doesn’t look familiar.”

  I hope Kang is having better luck than I am. I pocketed my phone. “Were you the first to arrive this morning?”

  “I’m the manager. I have the keys.”

  I’m the manager. I have the keys. I want to make everyone else in the world hate their lives as much as I hate mine. It took an extraordinary amount of effort not to sigh audibly and throat punch her. “Thank you for your time. Let me know if you remember something else.” I left my card with her and walked toward Kang as he wrapped up his interview with the second of the two girls.

  “You moved through both girls fast.”

  “The first one was a waste. I think she was stoned.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped down the rest of his coffee.

  “And the second?”

  “Nothing,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  I never got around to making my tea and Kang had already left the coffee shop. When I caught up with him, I grabbed him by the arm and slowed him down. “What’s wrong? You’ve been in a funk all morning. If you didn’t realize it, I’m the one that interviewed Medusa.”

  He shrugged and looked everywhere except at me. “Eh, what’s it to you?”

  “What’s it to me? We’re partners. I need to know that your head is in the game. But that’s not all; I really do want to know what’s bothering you.”

  “It’s nothing.” His distant look continued for a moment longer before he looked my way. “I’m sorry if I’ve been obnoxious this morning. I’m bothered that we’re running into dead ends and now there’s another body on top of the two I already have.”

  “Could have been four,” I said with a smile.

  Kang finally cracked and laughed as his shoulders relaxed “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Well, I’m glad the Kang I know is back.
I missed him.”

  “Did you really?”

  I punched him in the arm. “Of course I did. I need someone to tease.”

  The case was a headache for us both. The last thing I wanted was for us to contribute to that.

  As we turned to walk back to Union Square, I spied a homeless person across the street. He was lying in the doorway of a business that had not yet opened. He might have seen something if he’d been there all night. I motioned for Kang to follow me, and we crossed the street.

  It wasn’t until we were closer that I realized I mistook his squinting for sleeping. He watched us until we stood in front of him. To break the ice, I reached into my purse, took out the remaining half of my Ghirardelli chocolate bar and handed to him. He hesitated at first, looking at the chocolate, then back at me. I leaned in closer, still holding the bar out in front of me. “Go on; take it.”

  He cautiously reached up, took the candy from my hands, quickly removed the paper and bit into it, though his eyes never left us. His wrinkles cut deep into his leathery skin and barely moved as he chewed. When he reached up and brushed a chunk of matted hair out of his face, it fell right back.

  “What do you want?” he finally spoke, propping himself up a bit.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked.

  “What’s it to you? I’m not breaking any laws.”

  “No one said you were. We only want to talk.”

  “You a cop?” he asked. His eyes shifted to Kang and then back to me.

  I showed him my identification. “I’m an FBI agent. My name is Abby Kane. What’s yours?”

  “People call me Simon Says.”

  A chuckle escaped Kang’s mouth. “What? Like the game?”

  Simon shot Kang a look. “Hey, Long Duck Dong, you on a school field trip?”

  “I’m a detective with the San Francisco Police Department,” Kang shot back.

  “I’m a detective with the San Francisco Police Department,” Simon mocked in a teasing voice.