"Mr. Worthington, this is Detective Killian, Phoenix Police Department. How are you today?"
"Just fine officer. What can I do for you?" The man sounded busy.
"I'm calling concerning Tony Espinoza.
"Oh yeah. Why is it after reading the presentencing report I thought I'd hear from a cop some time about him. You want the usual?"
Killian chuckled. "Sure, the usual."
"I've seen him twice so far in six weeks. He's due back in two weeks. Says he lives at 1684 W. Cocopah, reportedly with his divorced sister and her three children. He goes to the Southside Drug Treatment Program, is on methadone and drops urines there twice a week."
"What's he driving?"
"I don't know. That's not information he's required to list on his report."
"Is he supposed to work?"
"Yes. He says he works as a field laborer, almost impossible for me to check on. Why your sudden interest?"
"It's not sudden. I've known Tony three years. I busted him for the burglary you've got him on. I just don't think he plans to change so I thought I'd keep an eye on him for a while."
"Sounds good to me." Pause. "I wouldn't want him hassled."
"No hassle, just keep an eye on him."
"O.K. Frankly, I don't think he's going to change either but I'll give him my best shot. I've seen worse turn around."
Killian considered that. "Me too, but I don't think Tony's going to surprise either of us.”
"Probably not," Worthington admitted. "But it’s a shame. When he's not on junk, he's a pretty pleasant guy. Once they get into the cycle of heroin and burglaries though, it almost never ends, except with prison."
"Do me a favor and don't tell him I called, O.K.?" Killian asked.
"Sure."
"I'll be in touch again."
"That's fine. I wish more cops would call."
"Say, one more thing. Two more actually. Would you mind finding out what he's driving and letting me know?"
"I'll check in to it next time I see him."
"Also, if you can, let me know if he tests dirty on urinalysis. If he's using again, he'll be doing something to support himself."
"O.K. I can do that. Just forget I told you when I do.”
Killian left his number and said goodbye. The P.O. sounded alright. He probably couldn't provide anything useful but you never knew.
~
The following morning at approximately ten Killian made the mistake of parking too long on Tony Espinoza's street. Espinoza walked out into the weedy yard in filthy denims, shirtless and shoeless.
Standing on the broken cement sidewalk he peered directly at Killian, then smiling, pushed the flimsy gate aside and hot footed it, literally over to the unmarked car.
"Hey man, I thought that was you sitting out here in the hot sun. Why don't you come in for a cool one?"
"No thanks," Killian replied. "It's a little early for me. How's work?"
"Work? Who works man?"
"Not you I see. I heard you're doing field labor these days. Pretty good hours you got."
"Field labor? Don't shit me man. That's for wetbacks and alkies. You talk like you spoke to my P.O." Espinoza was getting hot, bouncing from one bare foot to the other.
"Your P.O.? What the hell would I talk to some social worker who put you on probation for? I bust ‘em, they turn ‘em lose."
"That's what I thought. You pi... cops, hate ‘em like I do. Different reasons though, hey man? I gotta go. I'd tell you not to be a stranger but I see I'm still on your list so I'll be seeing you again." He turned to go.
"Who you living with Tony?"
"Ah, my sister. She's the only one in the family who'll even let me stay at all." Espinoza now backed away, standing in the grass of the yard beside the hot sidewalk.
Killian got out of the car and squatted down on his heels, Espinoza following suit. "You using, Tony?" he asked bluntly.
"Nah, I'm off that shit. They got me on this methadone crap. Really fucks up my love life."
"Who you trying to kid, Tony? Junkies don't have any sex life unless they're hookers and I never took you for that scene."
"Get off it, man, you know me better than that." Espinoza hesitated before continuing, "Your right though. Ain't no fuckin’ when you’re shootin' shit."
"I'll get you, Tony," Killian stated softly. Espinoza looked the cop in the eye for the first time that morning, comprehension there.
"For what? I'm clean. I ain't doin' nothin'."
"Stay that way, Tony. But it’s not gonna work, not like this. You gotta have a job, some respect, a place of your own. Living off your sister just won't make it."
"Same old shit, huh? Get a job. For what? I'm makin' it."
"Sure but the old friends are gonna come by with the same line. You'll hit up, then get strung out, then you'll be back in the life and I'll bust you."
Espinoza shrugged, stood up stretching his legs and scanned the street in his habitual junky style. "What can I say man?" He started across the sidewalk to the street. "You got all the answers." Espinoza walked to the shade of the car on the asphalt.
Killian stood up feeling a hot rush of blood through his knees as he did. "Stay clean, Tony. I'd rather see you straight than in prison." Espinoza grinned. Killian walked to the car.
"Hey, cop!" Killian looked up.
"What else my P.O. tell you, huh?" Espinoza was grinning ear to ear.
Killian smiled back, watched Espinoza hop across the street and then pulled off slowly down the street.
Well, that's done, Killian thought. I've warned him. Now we'll see.
~
That afternoon Killian was wrapping it up a few minutes before five when Worthington called.
"The car's his sister's, he says."
"I thought you weren't going to see him for two weeks?"
"I wasn't but today he comes walking in off the street, grinning. Says he knew we'd been talking."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. I told you I wouldn't tell him we had talked and I didn't." Silence. Then, "What do you think of that girl they found in the desert? Messy."
"You probably know more than I do. I work burglaries," Killian replied.
"One of the P.O.'s here knows the Medical Examiner's investigator. I understand she was butchered like a steer, throat to crotch. They found parts of her laying on the ground beside her. Sick, really sick," Worthington said. "Well, have a good night. Say, what did you say your first name was?" the P.O. asked.
"Bob. You're Chad, right?"
"Right. Have a good night, Bob. We'll talk again."
CHAPTER SIX
The body had been placed on a wheeled hospital-style table and pushed down the corridor to a spacious room where it was placed beside three other corpses. The first had died alone in a fire and was burned beyond all usual recognition. The second had perished for unknown reasons in an abandoned skid row shed in downtown Phoenix; the cadaver lay undiscovered in the building for ten days in the summer heat. The body had bloated the first four days and then shrunk as the fluids dissipated and the corpse mummified. The third was an infant who had floated in the family swimming pool fifteen minutes before his mother discovered him.
Otto Kruglick, the Medical Examiner, arrived promptly for work at seven, talking briefly with staff as he checked the list of receivables from the previous night. He poured a cup of coffee then went to the autopsy room. The wino found in the tar paper shed Kruglick left for his assistant. It was not that he objected to “stinkers” as the strong smelling bodies were called but rather he wanted to be free to take
care of the girl's body himself. She was a homicide and as a rule he preferred to do them himself whenever possible.
Donning gown and gloves, Dr. Kruglick proceeded with the autopsy. Cause of death was obvious but the doctor proceeded methodically to catalogue each incision, cut and tear of the tissue and internal organs. The skin was examined for signs of trauma and in turn the brain, liver, heart and ot
her internal organs were examined and weighed. Dr. Kruglick dictated his report as he proceeded and terminated the examination forty-three minutes after it began. The body was wheeled into the refrigerator, the doctor turning his attention to the drowned infant.
~
Jared slept until three o'clock that day, a deep restful, dreamless slumber. His mother left him undisturbed as was her habit. The panties were shoved beneath his pillow although this day he would place them with the others in their hiding place.
In the kitchen at three-fifteen for an afternoon breakfast of cold cereal and coke, he suddenly realized that he was to see Dr. Hendricks at four. He didn't like these visits to his psychiatrist but his P.O. required it and he had no wish to return to jail. Jared resigned himself to the interview.
He arrived twelve minutes late, typical behavior for him and expected by the psychiatrist who usually took a cat nap during the interlude. Today there had even been time to eat the sandwich he had sent his secretary for two hours previously.
Jared waited only a moment or two before being told he could go in and see the doctor. The office was opulently furnished but Jared usually found it too dark and he was generally uncomfortable with all of the leather and paintings and statues.
"Hello, Jared," Dr. Hendricks said as the patient entered the office and threw himself down in a chair.
"Hi." Jared generally talked as little as possible during these sessions and saw no reason to change today.
Richard Hendricks looked at his patient for, he estimated, the fifteenth time and wondered if he would ever crack through. He doubted very seriously that he would. Jared was deeply troubled and generally speaking unamenable to therapy. He resisted all the doctor's efforts and these sessions continued primarily because they were a term of the boy's probation that Worthington refused to release him from.
It was all just as well, Hendricks thought. There was absolutely no chance of improvement without treatment and maybe, just maybe, if the boy came back long enough, they might make the breakthrough needed so that real treatment could begin.
This session went much as the others. Hendricks asked questions or made open comments to which Jared avoided direct replies. The patient kept his answers as short as possible. The less he said
the less chance there was of gaining insight and without insight these sessions would never go anywhere.
Not that Dr. Hendricks needed further insight, no indeed. He already knew enough about this boy to treat him. It was Jared who needed insight and it was he who struggled so successfully against it.
Today was different tough. Dr. Hendricks could feel it. Jared was more relaxed and casual, at ease for a change. This sent a cold chill down the doctor's neck. Deviants like Jared were only released from their moment to moment anxieties by one of two means. Either they made a breakthrough in treatment or they had acted out a fantasy that they found satisfying and pleasurable.
Dr. Hendricks shuddered. He knew the kind of fantasies his patient enjoyed and the extent of the death and pain Jared would inflict to satisfy himself.
Jared had never been candid with Dr. Hendricks. To the psychiatrist’s credit he had sought all the background information concerning the young patient he could. By piecing together what was known of the boy's behavior during his periodic episodes, getting acquainted with the parents and searching for signs within conversations with Jared, the doctor had formed a pretty accurate picture of his desires and capabilities. The doctor erred only in assessing their potential magnitude and in judging the young man's capacity for seeking gratification.
"You seem unusually happy today, Jared."
"I suppose so."
"Why is that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Things are just going good these days."
Unexpectedly the boy snickered. Dr. Hendricks was so taken aback by the obscene sound that he momentarily lost his composure and stared at his patient. Just what the hell is that all about, he thought.
"In what way are things going well?" The doctor's voice remained steady.
"Just going good." And again, wholly out of character and totally unexpected, the boy snickered.
Jesus Christ, Hendricks thought, he's up to something. "Don't you want to tell me about it?"
Jared looked at Hendricks as though the doctor was the last person on Earth he would like to give the time of day. "Naw," then, "not today."
"Perhaps another time," the doctor suggested. Jared shrugged. Well, Hendricks thought, maybe, just maybe he's cocky enough to hint at it or tell me about it, whatever it is.
They spoke in familiar circles for thirty more minutes. As the session ended, Dr. Hendricks said, "Jared, I'm leaving on vacation shortly and I would like to get another meeting in with you before I leave. Why don't we schedule an appointment for you next week."
Most of this, spoken with such sincerity and seeming candor, was a lie. Hendricks had no intention of seeing the patient for another month until the obscene snickering started but the doctor wanted one more crack at his patient before leaving. Just in case.
"Sure, why not," Jared replied. The interview ran down quickly to its conclusion and finally Jared left without a goodbye.
Dr. Hendricks leaned back in his chair and thought a long time before summoning his next patient.
~
Jared had dismissed the doctor from his mind the moment he left the office. He settled into a pleasant daydream of a mildly erotic, sadistic nature and enjoyed the trip to his car and from there to home. He was rudely pulled back to reality by his father's harsh voice.
Herbert Pratt was worried much more than usual that afternoon. A robust, energetic manipulator, he made an apparently successful and lucrative livelihood as an architect-general contractor, a not unusual combination in Arizona. At fifty-one he coped with middle age by simply denying it. So what if he was forty pounds overweight. So what if he smoked three packs of cigarettes. So what if he had suffered two incidents of heart palpitation in the last seventeen months. It all meant nothing.
He was as good as ever and would go wide open until some day he passed way, at a very advanced age, during sleep or as he was fond of saying, in the saddle with some high priced whore. At fifty-one, Herbert Pratt had learned to deny very well, especially to himself.
Today, however, he was having difficulty denying the reality of the business world. Affairs were not going well for him and while he knew there was some way out he was damned if he could see it.
There had to be a way, there always was and always would be, he thought with no assurance. Right that minute his son arrived home and served as a convenient target. "Where the hell have you been?" the senior Pratt growled, a chilled Coors in hand.
"I... I was at the shrinks," Jared answered looking about him as though searching for an exit.
"What the hell for? You been going the last year and your still the same fucked up fag you've always been, only now it's costing me plenty to find it out."
Jared remained silent. He had learned as a child to deal with his father in this way and at age twenty he had discovered no more effective a method. Give his father time and he would talk himself out.
"Look at you." Herbert examined his mildly plump, acne scarred, quiet son and literally shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe you’re my son. There is no way in hell you came from me. No way!"
He finished the beer in one long pull and produced another from the refrigerator, popping the top in a single continuous motion, lifting its still icy foam to his thick, sensual lips. "You're fucked up, you know that?" he continued, sitting on the counter top passing wind loudly. "Look at all the trouble you get caught for."
Jared remained silent, his head hung in seeming shame, not hearing his father's tirade, waiting only to be dismissed at its conclusion.
"Like that old secretary in the minister's office. Well, not so old really but too God damn old for you! If you'd 've fucked her I could understand it but all you did was knock her around and grab her tits. That's weird! And
that hitchhiker. What the hell you want to do a stupid thing like that for? You want a broad, pick one up proper. Hell, they're all over. Those young ones are the easiest of all. They've got no morals. They'll fuck anybody who takes five minutes to show an interest and then don't take no for an answer. Shit. I bet you have never been laid, have you? Have you!"
Silence.
"Weird. You're just some weird God damn fucked up fag like I always said. A God damned fag! Shit, I get queasy just looking at you." Jared correctly took that to mean dismissal and nearly bolted down the hall for his room.
The Flower Girl Page 4
