And Matt told me to keep my mouth shut!
“While O’Hara’s digital image does not show the faces of the malefactors, Mother, it does offer rather sharp silhouettes of their heads. No visor-the witness said he was wearing the visor to the rear, over his neck-was visible fore or aft.”
He called me “Mother.” Goddamn it, now everybody will.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir,” Olivia said.
“Apology noted,” Washington went on. “We have such a visor cap among the unclaimed items at the crime scene. On it the lab, on its first look, found a rather poor print of what may be an index finger. Detective Harris has gone to the lab asking them to exert greater effort. I have visited the lab myself with the same purpose. I am going to drop by again on my way home tonight.”
“Would I do any good, do you think, Jason?” Coughlin asked.
“With all due respect, Commissioner, I think that would be counterproductive.”
“Is that so?” Coughlin challenged.
“On the other hand, if Captain Hollaran could find a moment in his busy schedule to drop by the lab,” Washington replied, “that would suggest great interest in their activities by someone in a high position without invoking the terror a visit by you personally would generate.”
“Terror?” Coughlin chuckled. “Your call, Jason.”
“When, Jason?” Hollaran asked.
“To preserve what little is left of my once-happy marriage, I am going home-via the lab-just as soon as we hear from Doctor Payne,” Washington said. “How about immediately after you see the commissioner home?”
“Done,” Hollaran said.
“Our finding a useful print is what the wagering fraternity would term a long shot,” Washington went on. “But at the moment, it’s all we have.”
“Just before I came here, Matt,” D’Amata said, “I checked the results of the door-to-door interviews. Zero. Nobody saw or heard a thing. So Harry and I are going to try that again in the morning.”
There was the sound of tortured metal, as if a bumper had scraped the curbstone.
Wohl looked at Matt. They smiled.
“She must have missed the fire hydrant,” Matt said.
“One of her good days,” Wohl said.
Amy came through the door a moment later, holding a lined pad. A stethoscope stuck out of the side pocket of her suit jacket.
“Everybody’s here,” she said.
She bent over Coughlin to kiss his cheek, slid into a chair beside Wohl, and smiled at the people around the table.
“What did you just hit?” Wohl asked.
She looked at him in genuine surprise.
“Nothing,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
They’re all smiling. She really must be a lousy driver, Olivia thought.
And she really doesn’t look old enough to be a doctor.
And she doesn’t look at all like Matt.
“I appreciate your help, sweetheart,” Coughlin said. “It’s important to us.”
“Sweetheart”? What’s that all about?
“What have you got for us, honey?” Wohl asked.
“I’m not your honey, Peter,” she said. “I’m doing this as a concerned citizen.”
Good for you!
“Okay, Concerned Citizen,” Wohl replied, smiling, “what have you got for us?”
“Can we get you a drink, sweetheart?” Coughlin asked.
“God knows I earned one,” she said. “Yes, thank you, Uncle Denny.”
“Uncle Denny”? What’s that all about? Are they related?
“What?” Coughlin asked.
Amy looked at Olivia.
“What are you having?”
“Diet Coke.”
“That’s not going to do it,” Amy said. “I’ll have a Bushmills martini.”
What the hell is a Bushmills martini?
“Jerry,” Coughlin called to the bartender. “One of the Doctor’s Irish Specials, please.”
“Coming right up.”
He knows what she means. Which means she comes in here often.
As Wohl’s… what? Girlfriend? More than that?… But with him. Not alone. Not like that poor Williamson girl, who went to Halligan’s Pub alone looking for Mr. Right to ride in on a white horse and make eyes at her.
Poor Williamson girl? Who am I kidding?
When Charley the bartender told us that Cheryl wasn’t looking for a one-night stand, that he never saw her leave the place with any of the guys who hit on her, I thought, I understand. That description fits me.
That’s how I spend my spare evenings, going to Manny’s, where I don’t think they know I’m a cop, which is important because if Mr. Right ever rides into Manny’s on his white horse and makes eyes at me, I know he will gallop right out again the moment he hears the whispered words “she’s a cop” from the bartender.
But what if Mr. Right has just ridden into my life in a silver Porsche? At least…
“You take Irish whiskey…” Commissioner Coughlin said.
He’s talking to me!
“… and you put it in a cocktail shaker with ice, and shake it well, and then you pour it into a martini glass. That way, you don’t dilute the whiskey as the ice melts.”
“Very interesting,” Olivia said. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“They’re really pretty good,” Amy Payne said.
“You want to try one?” Coughlin asked. “You really earned a drink today with the Williamsons.”
“Why not?” Olivia said.
“Jerry!” Coughlin called. “Two Doctor’s Irish Specials.”
“Two Doctor’s Specials coming up,” Jerry called back.
Olivia looked at Matt.
He was rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
Yeah, I know. “Lay off the booze.”
Fuck you!
You’re not my father. You don’t tell me when not to drink.
How dare you be exasperated, disgusted, whatever with me?
“Did you get a chance to talk to Dr. Mitchell, Amy?” Washington asked.
“Cause of death was a broken neck,” Amy said, matter-of-factly. “There are contusions on the right side of the face, suggesting that she was thrown, or forced, against the bedside table with such force as to break the neck.”
She jerked her head violently to one side in demonstration. “Big guy, huh, Doc?” Slayberg asked.
Amy nodded.
“We’re sure it’s a male?” Olivia asked.
Detective Lassiter saw that Sergeant Payne was rolling his eyes again.
Why now? Why was that a stupid question?
Oh, God, the sperm on her breast!
That was a stupid question.
Keep your mouth shut!
“There was sperm on the body,” Amy said.
Sergeant Payne was now shaking his head.
“On the body,” Amy went on. “On her breast and face. None in the vagina, anus, or mouth…”
The bartender set a martini glass before each of the women. Amy took a sip.
Olivia reached for the glass and picked it up.
She glanced at Sergeant Payne. He was holding both his hands palms outward. The gesture was clear: I wash my hands of you.
Fuck you again.
I will drink this drink and I will keep my mouth shut.
The drink had a strange, heavy, but not unpleasant taste. Something like a martini.
“What do you think, Lassiter?” Coughlin asked.
“Interesting,” Olivia said.
“Don’t take more than two at one sitting,” Wohl said.
“I won’t.”
“I presume there were sufficient quantities of that bodily fluid for DNA?” Washington said.
“Plenty,” Sergeant Payne and Detective D’Amata said at the same time.
“I asked Dr. Mitchell to see if there was any saliva,” Amy said.
“You think he licked her, Doc?” Slayberg asked.
Was that a bona fide q
uestion, or homicide humor?
“I think he may have spat on her,” Amy said. “If so, that would confirm my first guess about this man.”
“Which is?” Washington asked, softly.
“That he gets his satisfaction from the humiliation of his victims.”
“Victims, plural?” Wohl asked. “You think he’s done this before?”
“I think he has. For one thing, with the exception of killing the victim, which may have been-probably was-accidental, I think things went as he wanted them to go, as he planned them to go.”
“Why do you say that?” Wohl asked.
“Those plastic things he used to tie her to the bed. That and the knife. People don’t usually carry things like that around. He brought them to the apartment, intending to use them.”
Wohl grunted agreement.
“Let me put it this way,” Amy said. “Psychologically, this guy is the opposite of Isaac ‘Fort’ Festung.”
Who the hell is that?
“Fort Festung?” Coughlin asked, visibly surprised. “What’s his connection with this?”
“Bear with me, Uncle Denny,” Amy said.
“Your show, sweetheart,” Coughlin said. “Handle it any way you want.”
“When I was at Martha Pekach’s party, she told me that David was upset because he’d gotten another postcard from Festung. I guess he’s been in my mind since then. He’s another interesting character, psychologically speaking.”
“Harry,” D’Amata said, chuckling, “ ‘interesting character, psychologically speaking’ is doctor talk for miserable slimeball. ”
Wohl chuckled. Amy smiled at D’Amata.
Why do I know that if Inspector Wohl had said that, Amy would have snapped his head off?
“How, Joe, and why did Festung kill that girl?” Amy asked.
“Mary Elizabeth Shattack,” Coughlin furnished.
“He beat her to death,” D’Amata said. “With his fists.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t like her?” Wohl asked, mock serious.
“Screw you, Peter,” Amy said.
“She left him,” D’Amata said. “He couldn’t take that.”
“She was his possession,” Amy said. “And when she misbehaved-announcing she had found someone else-that was unacceptable behavior, and he punished her. Like you whack a dog with a newspaper when he poops on the carpet.”
“Sweetheart,” Coughlin said, “you’re losing me.”
“And then he stuffed her body in a trunk and just left it there,” Wohl said. “Where are you going with this, Amy?”
“I believe the phrase you policemen use is modus operandi,” Amy said. “They’re different here.”
“Explain that to me. I’m a little dense this time of night,” Wohl said.
“Let me have a shot, if I may, Amy,” Washington said. “You are saying that Festung regarded Miss Shattack as something worthless that he could deal with-in this case, discard-in any way that pleased him at the moment. An empty cigarette package, so to speak.”
“Right,” Amy said.
“And the Williamson girl?” Matt asked.
Amy ignored him.
“Which suggests to me that Festung has an enormous ego,” she said.
“Which would also explain the postcards,” Wohl said. “Festung is making the point with his postcards that he can do whatever he wants to do, and there’s nothing we can do about it. ‘We’ being the police, representing society.”
She ignored him too.
“Are you suggesting, Amy,” Washington asked, “that the Williamson girl was in some way important to her killer?”
“I think that as Festung had this pathologically enormous ego, the man who killed the Williamson girl has a pathologically inadequate ego, which he has to buttress. I don’t think he intended to kill her or, possibly, even rape her. What he wanted, what he was driven to do, was humiliate her. He had to prove to himself that she was in his power.”
No one responded.
“Rape, generally speaking,” Amy went on, “is rarely to attain sexual gratification. The satisfaction comes from having the victim in your power, terrifying them, forcing them to do something they really don’t want to do, something that will humiliate them.”
“The sperm on the victim’s face and breasts… ” Wohl said.
“Precisely, Peter,” Amy said. “Breasts he exposed by cutting away her clothing with that enormous knife…”
“… suggesting he masturbated, ejaculating on her face…”
"… for the purpose of humiliation,” Amy finished for him. “I can think of nothing more humiliating for a young woman…”
“Who was not a bimbo,” Olivia said.
“… he believed to be a, quote, nice girl, unquote,” Amy said.
Olivia had a quick mental image of herself tied naked to a bed while some sicko… did that… in her face. She felt a chill.
She picked up her Doctor’s Irish Special and took a deep swallow without knowing she had done so until the whiskey began to warm her body.
She sensed Matt’s eyes on her and glanced at him. This time she thought she saw understanding-maybe even a little sympathy-in his eyes.
“You’re saying this guy is a real sicko,” D’Amata said. “I mean, we know he’s sick to start with, but…”
“This man is driven, Joe,” Amy said. “And from the- what do I say? — practiced manner in which he did this-the plastic ties, the knife, the camera to capture the victim in her humiliation-I would be very surprised if this was his first victim.”
“And you feel certain there will be others?” Washington asked.
“That opens another unpleasant avenue of thought,” Amy said. “His reaction to her death. I don’t think he intended to kill her. But he did. The question then becomes whether the knowledge that he has taken a life is going to frighten him, possibly to the point where he will at least try not to let something like that happen again, or whether killing the Williamson girl gave him greater satisfaction than the previous incidents of humiliation ever gave him. And thus make him want to do it again?”
“Jesus Christ!” Slayberg said.
“So who do we look for, Concerned Citizen?” Wohl asked. “How do we find this guy?”
“I don’t think he knew her,” Amy said. “I mean, I don’t think you’re going to find him by finding a rejected suitor. He may have known about her… as Detective Lassiter said…” She paused and looked and smiled at Olivia. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten your first name.”
“Olivia.”
“As Olivia said, the Williamson girl was not a ‘bimbo.’ Maybe that’s why this man selected her as his next victim. He may be a customer at some bar she went to…”
“Halligan’s Pub,” Matt furnished.
“… or someone at work, at church. I was about to say car wash, grocery store, but I don’t think so. I think this man is intelligent, which would tend to eliminate minimum-wage people. For that matter, he may be from Podunk, South Dakota, just passing through… So, I have no idea where to look for him.”
“Has anyone thought to ask Special Victims if they have jobs like this?” Coughlin asked.
“I did,” Olivia said. “When Sergeant Payne and I were there printing the photographs. No, sir. They have had nothing like this.”
“Accepting for the moment,” Washington said, “the doctor’s premise that this is not the first time this fellow has done something like this, and I think she’s right, and Sex Crimes-”
“Special Victims, Jason,” Wohl interrupted.
“To be sure. Special Victims,” Washington said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you, Inspector, for the correction. The proper terminology is now burned indelibly in my memory. May I proceed?”
“As long as you get the terminology right,” Wohl said, smiling, unabashed. “Correct terminology, as you have so often pointed out to me in the past, is very nearly as important as turning over the stone under the stone.”
&nbs
p; Coughlin chuckled. Hollaran, D’Amata, Slayberg, and Matt smiled.
“A serpent’s tooth causes no greater pain than an ungrateful child,” Washington said, solemnly. “Or a once barely adequate Homicide detective who, realizing his inadequacies, left Homicide for the far less challenging arena of supervision, and then mocks his mentor.”
“Commissioner,” Wohl said. “I think he’s talking about you.”
“I thought he was talking about Frank,” Coughlin said.
Now the suppressed laughter could not be contained.
“Is there no one at this table except for Olivia and myself over the mental age of fourteen?” Amy demanded angrily.
“Probably not, Doctor,” Washington said. “But I will nevertheless continue.”
He waited until everyone was looking at him.
“Despite serious doubts that any or all of you has the mental capacity to follow this reasoning, I submit the following possible scenario: In the presumption that this fellow (a) is everything Dr. Payne believes him to be and (b) has done something like this-possibly, probably, without fatal results-several times before, and inasmuch as we have no record of a similar modus operandi here… Were they positive about having nothing similar at Special Victims, Olivia?”
“Yes, sir.”
He called me by my first name.
“The reasonable inference may be drawn that the previous incidents were in another large city.”
“Why large city, Jason?” Coughlin asked.
“I have added to Amy’s hypothesis (a) he is intelligent and (b) he was probably not known to the victim; that he stalked, so to speak, Miss Williamson because she represented the type of nice young female he wished to humiliate. His pool of potential victims would obviously be in proportion to the population of a city-”
“And he would not be known in-could hide easier in-a large city not his hometown,” Wohl interjected.
“Perhaps you did learn something from your mentor after all, Peter,” Washington said. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Peter said. “Yes, I’d love another.”
He signaled to the bartender for another round of drinks.
“I will not rise to that,” Washington said. “You are not very bright, but you knew precisely what I meant.”
“I want somebody here to be sober enough,” Coughlin said, “to check the NCIC database tonight, and maybe to send wires to every large-”
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