THE FOURTH BULLET: A Novel of Suspense

by Patrick Dakin

  “You little queer,” Dupree mutters. “You couldn’t uncover shit if you were standing in it.”

  * *

  Inspector Rene Fortier is facing a team of detectives who have exhausted every lead so far developed in the Belik case. If things had been different maybe the murder of an exotic dancer wouldn’t have been very high on their list of priorities. But the memory of Port Coquitlam pig farmer, Willie Pickton, who murdered at least twenty-seven prostitutes in Vancouver back in the late nineties is far too vivid in the public’s mind for the VPD brass to give Miss Belik’s untimely death anything but their full and undivided attention. Chief Constable Jamie Fullerton has made it clear he wants results. And he wants them yesterday.

  “All right,” Fortier says, “listen up. We’ve got a good description of a very distinctive looking suspect. Somebody out there has to know who he is. He’s too recognizable to just fade into obscurity. We’ve got the TV guys broadcasting his picture on the news every night and his mug shot prominently displayed all over the city. Something is going to turn up eventually. But there’s a good possibility this guy’s going to kill again if we don’t get to him fast. So I want every one of you to hit the streets. Concentrate on the strip clubs, nightclubs, and gay bars, and the restaurants surrounding them. Talk to every bartender, waitress, stripper, and patron in those places. Get in their faces. Don’t be satisfied until you’ve got a lead to work on. I don’t want to see any of you in here again until you’ve each got a solid lead to pursue. Is that clear?”

  Heads nod in affirmation.

  * *

  Within an hour of their return to L.A., Jake and Lillian meet again with Bobby Schultz. The disappointing outcome of their meeting with Dorval Williams comes as no shock to Schultz. “The way this investigation is going,” he says, “I’m losing the ability to stay positive. It’s almost like we’re jinxed. Every time we come up with a lead, it crumbles. Nothing is going right.”

  “Don’t give up, Bobby,” Jake admonishes him. “This guy is only human, and humans make mistakes.”

  “I know,” Bobby says. “I know.” But there is a look of defeat about him that bothers Jake greatly.

  They’re interrupted by Tristan’s arrival. She comes into the den where Jake, Bobby, and Lillian are huddled around Jake’s desk. “Hi, everyone,” she says. She goes to Jake and wraps her arms gently around his neck.

  “Hi, baby,” Jake says.

  “I’m so glad you’re back home safe,” she says. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How about you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Still seeing Keith?”

  She gives a quick nod of her head. “We’re just friends, Daddy.”

  “Oh, really?” Jake says, surprised. “I thought maybe there was a serious romance in the works with this one.”

  “He’s a friend, that’s all.” Without further elaboration she disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

  Jake has kept his opinions on the matter of Tristan’s love life to himself, but the truth is he’s secretly worried that there may be more to her relationship with Abrams than she's letting on. Not that he has anything against the young man. It’s simply that he’s a cop and Jake would prefer that when Tristan gets serious it’s with somebody who’s got a nice boring job - like an accountant or a teacher. Somebody that works from nine to five with weekends off. Jake has tuned in to some vibrations coming from Tristan where Abrams is concerned that he is unable to interpret. It's not clear whether she's enamored or not .

  “Everything all right, Jake?” Lillian says, watching him closely.

  “Yeah, fine,” he answers.

  “Well, I gotta get going,” Schultz says. “I’ll check with you guys tomorrow.”

  Lillian walks him to the door.

  “How is Jake doing?” Bobby whispers as he steps out on the verandah.

  Lillian follows him out and pulls the door quietly shut behind her. “I’m worried about him, Bobby. He’s getting really bad headaches but nothing I say to try and get him to ease up in his efforts to get this guy has any effect. Maybe if you talk to him…?”

  “I love the guy, Lil, you know that. But I also know him better than most people. And if I know anything it’s that once Jake makes up his mind about something there is nothing anybody can do to change it.”

  Lillian shakes her head in a sad way. “It might kill him, Bobby.”

  Schultz hangs his head. “As if I wasn’t already under enough pressure.”

  * *

  Stefanie Fortier, tall and lithe, greets her husband at the door with a glass of red wine and a kiss. “Welcome home, Inspector,” she coos.

  Fortier accepts both the wine and the kiss with equal amounts of enthusiasm. “What a day,” he sighs, kicking off his shoes.

  “Anything new on the Belik case?”

  “Not yet. Something’s got to give soon.”

  Stefanie follows him into the den where the evening newscast she was watching is just wrapping up. Fortier sits back in his favorite recliner with his feet up. The weather girl is trying to put a positive slant on the fact that the next three days are expected to be cloudy with showers. Fortier sighs disgustedly. “Anything interesting in the news?” he asks.

  Stefanie picks up the t.v. remote and adjusts the volume down. “Have you been following that case in L.A? The one they call the Goddess Slayer?”

  Fortier looks at his wife with a mildly surprised expression. “Only superficially,” he responds. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just struck me when I was watching an update that it’s kind of similar to the case here, don’t you think?”

  He takes a moment to let his mind sort out what little he knows of the California case: a prolific serial killer has stalked the Los Angeles area for the past year and a half; lots of eye witness conflicting reports about the identity of the killer; the assumption being that the killer is a master of disguise. And, to Fortier’s knowledge, no new killings there for the past several months which is the first time there has been a lull since the killing spree began. Combine that with the fact that Belik could very well fit the L.A. killer’s m.o. and … Fortier gets to his feet. “I’ve got some work to do,” he says, heading to his home office. He stops and then turns back to his wife. “You’re amazing,” he says, blowing her a kiss.

  Fortier spends the next hour researching everything he can find on the L.A. case.

  14

  The call Lieutenant Francis Travetti, L.A. Homicide, gets the next morning from Inspector Rene Fortier in Vancouver is met at first with mild apathy. But the indifference isn’t long lived. Once Fortier starts providing details of Darlene Belik’s murder scene Travetti’s interest level picks up fast. There are too many common threads to be coincidence. “From what you’ve told me, Inspector,” Travetti says, “there are enough similarities in our cases to warrant a much closer look. I’d like to send the lead detectives working our case up to see you.”

  “We were hoping you would,” Fortier says. “We’ll be awaiting their arrival.”

  Bobby Schultz and Keith Abrams arrive at Vancouver International Airport amid a driving rain. The forecast of cloudy with showers has turned out to be a gross understatement. The two detectives dash out the airport terminal to a Yellow Cab sitting thirty feet from the door but are soaked to the skin before they get there.

  “Jesus,” Schultz moans after he scoots into the cab, “is that rain or did somebody turn a fire-hose on us?”

  Abrams ignores him, too pissed off to reply. He’s uncommonly fussy about his appearance and is not happy that he’ll have to meet with the Vancouver detectives looking like less than the epitome of class he strives for.

  The ride into downtown Vancouver is spent in silence. By the time the cab pulls up at VPD headquarters on Cambie Street both men are looking forward to concluding their business as quickly as possible and heading back home.

  Inspector Fortier is aware of their expected time of arrival and is waiting in his o
ffice to greet them. After handshakes and introductions Fortier offers them seats and calls in the two VPD detectives in charge of the Belik investigation. When detectives Henley and Parks join them Fortier introduces them and turns the floor over to Henley, a fifteen year veteran of the force, the last five in sex crimes.

  “So, gentlemen, I’ll outline what we have. Darlene Belik worked as an exotic dancer in a downtown strip club. She was last seen in the company of a white male, estimated to be approximately sixty years of age. Long white hair. Described as distinguished looking." Henley hands a composite drawing of the perp to Schultz who studies it for a moment and passes it to Abrams. "Average height and a little on the heavy side," Henley continues. "Belik left the club with him at approximately one a.m. and was never seen alive again. One of her friends, a dancer at the same club, found her in her apartment three days later. Belik had been raped, sodomized, and repeatedly stabbed – the coroner estimates at least one hundred times – with a knife from the victim’s kitchen. There was an abundance of d.n.a. found at the murder scene but no fingerprints. The place had been meticulously wiped clean."

  Bobby Schultz rubs his chin contemplatively. “Do you have a picture of the victim?”

  Henley reaches into the file and extracts an eight by ten glossy of Belik that has been blown up for them. “This was taken two years ago,” he says, handing Schultz the picture.

  Once again, Schultz takes a quick look and hands the picture to Abrams. Belik is dark haired and very attractive. “Every one of the L.A. victims has a very close resemblance to this girl,” Schultz says. “This has definite possibilities of being our guy.” He then describes the crime scenes of several of the L.A. murders attributed to the Goddess Slayer where strong similarities existed. “We know the crimes were committed by the same individual but witnesses give widely varying descriptions of the perpetrator. It’s obvious he’s a master of disguise. We have a letter we believe was written by the killer to the daughter of a detective who survived an attack by the perp that indicates he is highly educated, and possibly a foreigner. We also have a witness who heard the perp whisper something like ‘kiss coo say’ at the last crime scene,” Abrams adds. “Just before he bends down to pick up a gun owned by the detective he had wounded. He then used that weapon to shoot the detective again.”

  Fortier leans forward. “You say he was heard to say something like ‘kiss coo say’?”

  “That’s right,” Schultz says.

  “It’s possible the killer is French,” Fortier offers. “'Qu’est-ce que c’est?' is French for ‘what is this?’ It’s very possible that someone unfamiliar with the French language might hear it a little differently.”

  Schultz and Abrams share a look. “Very interesting,” Schultz says. “Okay, gentlemen,” he adds, “I think we can assume it's very possible we’re looking for the same man. Our people will be in touch with you to do a match on the d.n.a. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be heading back to L.A. We’ll provide you with full details of our investigation to date and we’ll expect the same from you. We have sixteen dead women on our hands. Let’s not give this asshole the chance to do the same thing here.”

  “Amen to that,” Henley says.

  * *

  Schultz and Abrams arrive back in L.A. late the same day they left. Schultz waits until after their meeting with Lieutenant Travetti the next morning before phoning Jake. “We got a call the day before yesterday from Vancouver P.D. telling us they have a murder that looks suspiciously like our guy. Me and Keith flew up there yesterday and talked with them.”

  “Anything interesting come of it?” Jake asks.

  “Maybe. We’re thinking our man has relocated to Vancouver,” Schultz says. “We’re waiting for results to come back on d.n.a. testing. We’ve got another lead to pursue, too. I’ll stop by after work and bring you up to speed.”

  “Thanks, Bobby. We’ll have a cold beer waiting for you.”

  When he hangs up Lillian sits down opposite him at the kitchen table. “I gather Bobby has some news,” she says.

  Jake nods. “It looks like our guy has struck again. This time in Vancouver, Canada. He sounds hopeful they’ve got another lead to move on. Says he’ll stop by later and fill us in.”

  Tristan gets home from her classes around four o’clock. Jake happens to be looking out the window when Keith Abrams drops her off in front of the house. It’s hard to be sure but it looks to Jake like there’s friction between the two of them. When Tristan comes into the house his feeling is reinforced. There’s a grim look on his daughter's face.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “How’s your day been?”

  “Okay,” she says distractedly. “How about you?”

  “Pretty good. Everything okay with young Mr. Abrams?”

  At first she seems disinclined to answer but then changes her mind. She comes into the living room where Jake is sitting and plops down on a footstool in front of him. “Yeah, I guess,” she says.

  “You sure?”

  “It’s just that he’s a little clingy, you know?”

  “Clingy? How so?”

  “I don’t know… he’s just kind of rushing things a bit too much. He’s a really great guy but I’m not ready for a serious relationship right now. I just wish he’d back off a little.”

  Jake couldn’t be happier to hear this but is careful not to let his feelings show. “I guess you just have to be honest with him and tell him how you feel.”

  “I have,” she says. “But it just doesn’t seem to register with him. He accepts what I say at the time and then, the next time I see him, it’s like he’s forgotten all about it.”

  “Do you want me to have a word with him?”

  Tristan looks suddenly shocked. “God, no, Dad! Are you kidding? Geez, that’s the last thing I want.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jakes says. “Just offering my services. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Tristan stands and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I know. It’s not that big a deal. Really.”

  After supper, while Jake and Lillian are sipping coffees, Bobby Schultz arrives. Schultz waves off the offer of a beer and instead requests a double scotch.

  Lillian does the honors, noting Jake's look of disapproval.

  “So, tell us about Vancouver,” Jake says.

  Schultz recounts the meeting with Fortier and the two homicide detectives concluding with Fortier’s suggestion that the killer is possibly a Frenchman.

  Jake looks a little skeptical. “When he picks up my gun he says ‘What is this?’ Does that make sense to you?”

  Schultz gives a noncommittal shrug. “Could be. Like ‘Wow, what a nice big gun you have here.’ I think it’s possible.”

  “I agree,” Lillian says. “From what I’ve seen of this guy it would be in keeping with his character to make a comment like that. Very relaxed, in full control.”

  “Okay,” Jake says, “that’s good enough for me. Lil and I will do a little digging and see what we can come up with.”

  “Good,” Schultz says. “You guys work that angle along with the task force. Keith and I will focus our attention on other areas.”

  “Speaking of Abrams,” Jake says, “Tristan seems to think he’s trying to push things along a little too fast for her liking.”

  Schultz smiles and nods. “Yeah, he’s a little smitten by her alright. I wouldn’t worry about it, though.”

  Always one to be overly protective where his daughter is concerned, Jake would be curious about anybody showing interest in her and Abrams is no exception. “What’s his story, Bobby?”

  “I don’t know too much. He’s kind of a private guy. Doesn’t talk about himself a lot. He was originally from Oklahoma, a poor family, went to Berkeley on a scholarship, got a Master’s in Criminology. I gotta be nice to him. He’s probably gonna be Chief of Police in three years.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I’ve never seen his place. He’s got a condo somewhere in Malibu.”

&
nbsp; “Malibu? That’s a high rent district. How does a young cop afford that kind of lifestyle?”

  Schultz smiles tolerantly. “Pretty nosy, Jake. Are you always this inquisitive about Tristan’s boyfriends?”

  Jake sits back suitably chastised. “I guess you’re right,” he murmurs.

  “Listen, pal, he’s probably up to his ass in debt like every other poor schmuck wearing a badge.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to me, Bobby,” Jake says. “Actually, he seems like a pretty nice guy. It’s just that he’s a cop. You know.”

  “I’ve never had a daughter,” Schultz says, “but if I did I’d probably be every bit as protective of her as you are with Tristan. But, truthfully, I can’t think of anybody I’d trust her with more than Keith.”

  “That’s good to hear, Bobby.”

  Schultz shoots back the remainder of his drink, leans forward and taps Jake on the knee, then stands. “Okay, well, I’m gonna hit the road. I’ll talk to you guys soon. Meanwhile, let me know if you come up with anything on the French connection.”