“Suit yourself.”
With the young rookie off asking for permission, I approached the firefighters.
“You the men who found the body?” I asked.
One of firefighters looked up. His face was streaked with soot and he had stripped the top half of his yellow coveralls to his waist, exposing his sweat-soaked undershirt. He looked exhausted.
“You a reporter?” With the back of his hand, he mopped his brow and squinted at me.
“I am. Anything you can you tell me about the body you found?”
“Not much. We were clearing the brush. It was our job to clean away any fuel before the fire advanced. I was about to take an ax to that dead tree over there when I saw a body,” The firefighter pointed to the area where the body had been found. “Or what I thought was a body anyway.”
I took out my notepad. “So the body, it looked like it had been there for a while?” I scribbled the word “date” with a question mark next to it on my pad. If the body had been here for a while, Pete certainly hadn’t been. Not if he was with Cate in San Diego.
“Hard to tell. ’Tween what the buzzards and the sun done to her, wasn’t much left. Other than hair and bones.”
“You’re sure it was a woman?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. She was tied to the tree with some kind of rhinestone dog collar ’round her neck.”
“A dog collar? You sure it was a dog collar?” If it was a dog’s collar, it was the first time the Model Slayer had varied from a rope choker.
“It looked like one of them real fancy kinds. ’Bout two inches wide with lots of jewels on it. I saw one once on some rich lady’s poodle in Beverly Hills.”
“You notice any tags?”
“Don’t know. I didn’t get that close, but I did notice she had bracelets on her wrists and high heels. In my book, that’s a woman.”
I had expected to hear that the body had been tied to the tree. That much matched with the Model Slayer’s MO for displaying his bodies. But the idea that this latest victim had been found wearing a rhinestone dog collar made me wonder if this might have been more of a copycat. I wrote the word “copycat” on my notepad and put another question mark next to it.
“Anything else you can you tell me? Color? Length of hair?”
“Dark brown, maybe. Or could be it was just dirty. But it was short. A couple inches at the most.”
“And if you had to guess, how tall do you think she was?”
“Five feet. Five two maybe. Hey, I’m sorry, I know it’s your job to ask these questions, but soon as we realized what we had, we covered her with a tarp and called the captain. He told us to stay put and wait for the police. ’Tween you and me, if it’s all the same, I’d just as soon get back to my unit. Not much anyone can do for that poor girl, and there’s no point in our hanging ’round here when there are folks who still need us.”
I thanked the firefighters then looked back toward the tent. A harried-looking plainclothes detective ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape. He had taken off his jacket and his gold LAPD shield attached to his belt caught the midmorning sun. I hurried in his direction.
“Detective?” His white shirt was spotted with dirt and sweat from the heat. “You got a minute?”
“What is it with you people? You don’t have enough to report on with the fire?” The detective looked annoyed and turned back toward his car.
“I just need a minute, Detective.” I pulled my mic from my bag and chased after him. “Can you tell me what happened here? Do you think this is another of the Model Slayer’s victims?”
The detective stopped and glared at me. “What’s your name?”
“Carol Childs. KTLK news. And you’re?”
“Detective Springer.” He reached into the car where his sports coat lay on the seat and pulled out a business card from the inside pocket. “And if it’s a quote you’re after I’ll tell you this, we’ve got a body. Whoever she is, or was, she’s been there for a while. As for whether she was a victim of the Model Slayer, I can’t tell you that. So if you’ll excuse me, you’ve got your quote, and I’ve got an investigation to get back to.” He slammed the car door and started to walk back to the tent.
I followed as far as the yellow tape and yelled after him. “How about Marilynn Brewer? The girl that’s been missing for–”
“Six weeks.” Springer stopped and looked back at me. “I know who Marilynn Brewer is. You satisfied?” Spring’s eyes challenged mine. I held his stare, and seeing I wasn’t about to back down, he continued. “And no. We don’t know if it’s Ms. Brewer’s body who some psycho killer lynched to a tree and left to die in the desert. And don’t quote me on that. I don’t need my lead detective coming down on me because I lost it with some reporter who’s looking to make a name for herself from the murders of a bunch of young women who thought they were going to a photo shoot and ended up fodder for some newscast.”
I let the comment go. A lot of cops were on edge with a nervous public accusing them of not doing enough to protect them.
“The public has a right to know,” I said.
“Look, Ms. KTLK or whatever you want to call yourself, I can’t tell you who that girl was any more than I can tell you what caused her death. All I can I tell you is what you already know. A couple of firefighters uncovered the body of a dead woman while clearing brush away from the fire.”
“How about the position of the body? Did it look like she was posed?” I wasn’t about to be cut off. I’d come too far and needed to know how similar the scene might have been to those of the model murders. “Were her hands tied above her head? Was she strangled? Were there any Polaroids found near the body?”
“Polaroids? Are you kidding? You saw the condition of things out here. You’re asking for evidence that’s long since gone. And you should be too. When we’ve got something to report, we’ll call you.”
I knew better than to think a weathered detective like Springer would call me back anytime soon, but I reached back into my bag and handed him my business card anyway.
“Please do,” I said. “You never know when we might be able to help each other.”
I went back to my Jeep and called Tyler. It was ten minutes to noon, and I knew he would be waiting for my call.
“What you got, Carol?
“Could be another of the Model Slayer’s victims. The firefighter who found her said she was tied to a tree. Only not like the others. This one had a rhinestone-studded dog collar around her neck.”
In the background, I could hear Tyler’s fingers hitting the keyboard as fast as I spoke. “Cops think she was posed?”
“Didn’t say. The body was too decomposed, and the detective in charge was tight-lipped. But between you and me, I’d say it’s a slam-dunk this is the work of the Model Slayer, and I’m pretty sure it was Marilynn Brewer.”
“What makes you think so?” Tyler stopped typing. “She doesn’t exactly fit the Model Slayer’s profile.”
“The story about Marilynn’s disappearance in the paper. There was a photo, and you’re right she didn’t fit the profile. But the article said she was a freelance accountant for some gentlemen’s clubs and an aspiring stand-up comic.”
“So?”
“When I was at Sky High Club there was a standup working the room between acts. A fill-in so the dancers could get a break and guests could visit the bar. If the Sky High Club was one of Marilynn’s clients, maybe she talked them into giving her a break and ran into someone who didn’t like her act.”
“Like Ely Wade?”
“If I could get hold of Xstacy, she’d know. But she’s not returned any of my calls. Give me some time to do a little digging around. If I’m right, and this is the Model Slayer’s work, there’s no way Pete’s involved.”
“Pete I’m not concerned about right now, Carol. That body in the desert, that’s the story
I want, and I want it right away.”
“I’ll have an audio file to you in five.”
I picked up my iPhone and, with a view of the red mountains and the blue tent in front of me, I began my report. iPhones these days are remarkably effective for reporters in the field. A simple app allowed me to record and edit a segment Tyler could insert into the broadcast in a matter of minutes.
“LAPD homicide detectives aren’t saying if a body found tied to a tree in the Vasquez Mountains this morning might be the Model Slayer’s fourth victim. But firefighters who were clearing brush for the Oh Susana Fire and found the body aren’t so sure. The woman’s body appeared to have been tied to a tree with a rhinestone dog collar around her neck. Cause of death has yet to be determined. Meanwhile, the recent disappearance of Marilynn Brewer, who vanished six weeks ago from the same area, is still under investigation and police have refused to say if they believe the two cases may be linked together.”
On my way home I kept thinking about the grisly scene the firefighters had described. How Pete had been charged with the murders of three young models and was sitting in a jail cell awaiting trial. Would the police find some way to add today’s discovery to that list? My head ached as I thought of the possibilities. If the body found today was tied to the Model Slayer, and the date of death was some time in the last six weeks, there was no way the police could charge Pete with her murder. If what Cate told me about her relationship with Pete was true, then the two of them would have still been down in San Diego while Cate finished up the semester at the University. And, if the body was Marilynn Brewer’s and I could find evidence she had been doing standup at the Sky High Club, then I might be able to prove a connection to Ely Wade. I picked up my cell and tried to call Xstacy again. When she didn’t answer, I left a message and told her to call me. Soon as possible.
Halfway home my phone rang.
“Hi, it’s me.” Sheri’s voice sounded upbeat. A welcome relief from the sight I’d just come from. “You’ll never guess what I did.”
I mopped my brow with the back of my hand and stared out at the dry desert hills. “Don’t make me. It’s been one of those days. What’s happening?”
“I bought a pole.”
“A what?” My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“A dance pole.” Sheri giggled.
“You mean like those we saw at the Sky High Club the other night?”
“Yes. And I’m planning on taking lessons.”
“Why?”
“Do you have any idea how many calories you can burn with a pole?”
Sheri was obsessive about her weight and, being a full-figured Italian and a connoisseur of fine food, she made it a point of being up-to-date on all the latest fad diets and workouts. No doubt she knew exactly how many calories she could burn with a half hour on the pole and had already worked out a routine.
“No. But I’m sure you do.”
“Trust me, it’s a lot. And, I was hoping you could do me a favor?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Can you give me the number of the college girl you’re interviewing about pole dancing? I thought maybe she might be available for lessons.”
I didn’t see the problem with giving Sam’s number to Sheri. Like any college student, extra work meant extra income. I told Sheri I’d text her Sam’s number to her on one condition.
“What do you want?”
“Keep her name between you and me, and don’t mention anything to her about the story I’m working on.”
“That’s two conditions,” Sheri teased.
“Actually three,” I said. “Promise me you didn’t put the pole in the living room where the boys could see it.”
Sheri laughed. “Are you kidding? I put it in the bedroom.”
“The bedroom?”
“Oh come on, Carol. Think about it. It’ll be much more fun there. Particularly for entertaining. Which I plan on doing.”
I winced. Sheri’s love life hadn’t been all that wild or successful. Other than her son’s father and a few brief, failed romances along the way, Sheri hadn’t had a lot of men in her life and didn’t care to. She had no problem telling me she preferred living vicariously through my mishaps, which she believed were more entertaining than those she might have had first hand.
“I take it then you’re busy tonight?”
“You’re not?” Sheri asked.
“Cate’s in Catalina with her dad.”
“And Chase?”
“Chase is Chase. I haven’t heard from him, and I’m not about to call.”
“Well, you should. Because I’m entertaining Max tonight. He’s coming by for Paella. I’ve been shopping all morning. Got chorizo, clams, shrimp. Everything. Things work out well with Max, maybe we can do dinner one night next week. Ciao.”
I was layered with red dust and dirt from the canyon when I got home and couldn’t wait to shower and scrub the smell of smoke from my hair. My cell rang as I was drying off. Holding the towel around me, I reached into my bag for my phone.
“Mom!” Cate didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What’s up? You okay?”
“I’m fine. Dad and I and Steph and the baby sailed over to Catalina yesterday after court. And guess what?” Cate sounded breathless.
“Tell me.” I hated playing guessing games, particularly when it concerned my ex, his wife, and the new baby. What, was she pregnant again? “What’s up?” I asked.
“We were at dinner last night and you’ll never believe who walked in.”
“Who?” I expected her to tell me some big star. Catalina’s famous for star sightings.
“Billy Tyson. Pete’s roommate.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I recognized him from the pictures Pete had of the two of them at the house. Billy has this tattoo on his shoulder of a heart with a knife through it. Pete said Billy got it because he wanted to look sexy when he was playing volleyball at the beach. Then last night, when we were at dinner, this guy comes in wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt, and I recognized the tattoo. Sure enough, it was Billy.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Better than that. I snapped a picture of him with my cell phone and sent to it Chase. Then I called and told him where we were. Chase must have notified the local sheriff’s department, because the sheriff arrived maybe fifteen minutes later–guns drawn–and arrested him before we finished eating. He looked surprised. I don’t think he even knew the cops were looking for him.”
“Where are you now?”
“We’re still in Catalina. Chase is here with a couple of detectives from LAPD. We met for breakfast this morning. He said Billy told them he’d been sailing for the past week and didn’t know anything about Pete’s arrest. He had no idea anyone was looking for him. Chase said they went through his boat. He didn’t tell me if they found anything. But he said the cops were taking him back to L.A. for questioning.”
“That’s great news,” I said. If finding Billy took the heat off of Pete, it meant the cops would be looking in another direction.
“Isn’t it! Mom, I’m so excited. I know this means they’re going find Pete had nothing to do with all this and they’ll let him go. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t know, Catie. But I’m sure if–” I was about to say if Pete was innocent and caught myself. I didn’t want to dowse her hopes and have her blame me for suggesting otherwise. Instead, I said, “I mean, when they get a chance to question him, I’m sure it’ll help.”
“Dad thinks so too. Anyway, I just wanted you to know. Oh, and Mom, don’t be mad. I’m going to spend Sunday night at Dad’s. I’ll see you Monday after work.”
Cate didn’t have to tell me how conflicted she felt. I could hear it in her voice and felt it in the pit of my stomach. In he
r mind, her attorney Dad was the sound voice of reasoning. Whereas I was the reporter. The person who brought Pete’s name to the forefront of a hideous crime and was keeping it in the news. In theory, I knew Cate understood my job. She appreciated it was my responsibility to inform the public. But when news hits close to home and the court of public opinion is breathing down your neck, it’s not so easy to remain impartial. I felt as though Cate viewed me as part of the problem. Part of the machine that perpetuated the non-stop chatter of truths and half-truths. The sooner I could prove Ely Wade was the Model Slayer and that Pete had nothing to do with it, the sooner my relationship with my daughter would get better. Until then, things were going to get a whole lot rockier.
I called Chase as soon as I got off the phone and told him I’d heard from Cate. “She said you’re in Catalina.”
“For the moment, yeah. We’re waiting for a chopper home now.”
Chase explained that after he had verified Cate’s photo of Tyson with LAPD, he and a couple of robbery-homicide detectives had hopped a police chopper to Catalina. By the time they had arrived late last night, the local sheriffs had picked Tyson up for violating his parole. As a sexual offender, he had failed to notify the authorities that he was living aboard his boat in the harbor next to a beach area where children played.
“You bringing Tyson with you?”
“You bet,” Chase yelled into the phone. In the background, I could hear the heavy buffeting of a helicopter’s blades. “Got to go, Carol. I’ll call when we’re back.”
I hung up with Chase and called the newsroom. First is always best in the race for news and so far, with respect to the Model Slayer, KTLK had a lot of firsts. Seven months ago, I had been first to report finding the body of Shana Walters in Big Bear. I’d gone there on an assignment for the station. A new ski lift had opened, and Tyler wanted me to report on it firsthand. I did a series of interviews with skiers and restauranteurs and was on the way home when my GPS failed. I took a wrong turn and ended up on a remote canyon road and spotted a body off the side of the mountain. Had it not been for that wrong turn, I never would have seen Shana, or been the first reporter to report on her murder. Then three months later, I was first on the scene again when a commuter was driving up Benedict Canyon and called the station to report what looked like a body off Mulholland Drive. I had no idea the two were related. Again, I was on my way home and Tyler called and told me to check it out. Her name was Kara Stiffers, and when I saw her body, I knew the police were dealing with a serial killer. A month later, I was in the newsroom when I heard a report on the police scanner. A hiker had found a woman’s nude body in Griffith Park tied to a tree near the old zoo. I could feel it in my bones. The Model Slayer had struck again. I didn’t wait for Tyler to tell me to go. Not every reporter would know the park so well, but I had hiked the trails there as a kid and knew the area around the old zoo well. When I arrived, I was the first reporter on the scene. The police had already strung yellow crime scene tape up, but I could still see the victim. She had been posed exactly like two women I had seen before. It took a while to identify the body and notify her family. Her name was Eileen Kim. And now, I had been first to announce the arrest of Pete Pompidou as a probable suspect. Plus, I had just broken the news about a possible fourth victim in the desert. And KTLK was about to broadcast news that Billy Tyson, a known sexual offender, had been transported from Catalina back to L.A. for questioning with the model slayings. Anyone following the story might think KTLK had an inside track. In fact, it wasn’t long before I realized the cops were beginning to think so too.
REASON TO DOUBT Page 8
