Johnny pointed. "Would you look at that!"
Not one rat, but what must have been thirty or forty were scurrying across the alley, some going left to right, others right to left.
"Let's get out of here," she begged.
"Hang on a minute. I want to see what they're doing. Come on."
Not about to be left alone, she took his hand. Slowly they crept further into the alley. On their right were several old mattresses, probably from the vacant apartments above. A few broken packing crates lay scattered about. The rats spotted the couple and began to retreat. Curiously, they backed off only a few feet before stopping. Some of them rose onto their hindquarters, watching the couple's every move. The pair huddled close together. Johnny began to feel less adventuresome.
"Damn!"
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"We're walking in something wet, that's what."
With her next step she, too, could feel stickiness beneath her feet.
"Get out some matches," Johnny ordered. "Let's find out where we're stepping and get out of here."
"That's the best idea you've had all night." She handed him her disposable lighter. "Here."
Their gasps were simultaneous with the flash of the flame. The puddle they were walking in was a large pool of blood. Johnny held out the lighter to survey their surroundings.
"Oh my God!" he shouted.
Her screams could be heard a block away.
The first cruiser was on the scene within moments. Suzanne had bolted from the alley and Johnny had to pin her against a parked car to keep her from running into the street. The officers yanked Johnny from her and threw him against a storefront.
"Wait," Johnny said, "I didn't do anything. There's--"
"Shut your mouth." The older officer pressed the tip of his nightstick against the small of Johnny's back and began to pat him down. His partner checked on Suzanne.
"Oh, it's so horrible," she sobbed.
"Don't worry, lady, you're safe now. We'll take care of this guy."
"Listen, goddammit!" Johnny protested. "I didn't hurt her. We're together. There's a dead body in the alley."
The officer eased the pressure of the nightstick. He turned toward Suzanne. "Is that right lady?"
Suzanne nodded. "Yes."
The officers placed the pair in the safety of the cruiser and radioed for assistance. Then, with flashlights in hand and service revolvers drawn, they started into the alley. Flannery, the older of the two, led the way. His partner, Leach, with less than six months on the streets, followed. Their flashlights first shone on a pale yellow puddle by the wall of one of the side buildings. They raised the light further into the alley and were amazed at the scores of rats, some of them momentarily frozen in the bright beam of light. The rats seemed to be attracted to something behind a ragged set of box springs propped up against the brick wall. The officers looked at one another and advanced a few more steps. Flannery hesitated when his flashlight shone on a pool of blood. His partner followed the blood to the other end of the box springs. He turned and began to heave violently.
Protruding from under the box springs was a man's grotesquely-twisted body. His clothing had been shredded by the sharp incisors of the rats. They had gnawed so much on the body that the cause of death wasn't readily apparent. They had either eaten a hole in the man's stomach or had simply enlarged what may have been several close knife or gunshot wounds. The abdominal cavity was exposed and the man's entrails were draped in varying directions across the body as a result of the rats chewing, pulling, and fighting over their macabre meal.
Leach, wiping his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, returned to his partner's side. Together they trained their flashlights on the victim. The beams of light jumped up and down as their hands shook. The body was headless. A large rat, bolder or more gluttonous than the others, had not fled when the officers came near. As they stood not more than five feet away, the rat, teeth bared and dripping blood, continued to gorge itself on the corpse's throat, or what had been the throat. Leach aimed his service revolver between the rodent's beady eyes, but Flannery reached over and pushed his hand down. Although it was likely the rats had destroyed much of the evidence, Flannery felt he had to preserve whatever might be left. He took two steps and kicked the rat, sending it tumbling.
"Go call for a meat wagon and see what's taking our back-up so long," Flannery ordered. "I'm going to check out the rest of the alley."
"You're not going back there by yourself."
"Just do it!" Flannery knew he would feel safer facing the unknown alone than with a nervous rookie by his side. Leach sprinted to the safety of the street.
Flannery stood motionless for several seconds, every fiber in his body on full alert. He whirled to his left at the sudden sound of rustling among the packing crates. He saw several rats moving about and noticed a trail of smeared blood leading from the corpse at his feet to the other side of the alley. He walked in careful, deliberate steps. The rats scurried into the darkness. The sergeant's light moved slowly along the trail of blood. Even though he had been preparing himself for what he knew he would find, his entire body shuddered and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. He found himself staring into the eyeless sockets of a human head. In more than one place the flesh had been chewed to the bone. Suddenly it started rocking from side to side. Flannery watched in horror as a rat appeared inside the mouth. It had entered from the throat and made its way to the oral cavity. Its tiny front feet were braced against lifeless lips as it struggled to pull itself free. As it stood upright, Flannery could see that its coat was a dark red. Its hind legs now straddled what little flesh was left on the upper lip.
"Damn you!" Flannery swung his leg at the rat but it escaped unharmed. He turned to check out the rest of the alley.
He shone his light into the abandoned cars and was relieved to find nothing. The rats had retreated but now found themselves trapped against the wall of the warehouse at the closed end of the alley. As he got closer to the wall the rats streamed by, so many in number they brushed against the sides of his shoes. He gave them little notice. He knew that anyone else in the alley would also be trapped ahead of him. With his right thumb he cocked his revolver. When he finally reached the back wall he stopped and took a deep breath. He started to wipe his brow but then remembered the rats. He ran back to the corpse to find his fears confirmed. They had returned to their meal.
After back-up assistance arrived and the mouth of the alley was cordoned off, Flannery decided his partner had seen enough for one night. Judging Suzanne and Johnny too drunk and too shaken to drive, he gave the rookie the job of taking their statements and driving them home to their spouses. Flannery allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought that Leach might see further bloodshed.
Mel Weeks of the medical examiner's office was going about his work under portable floodlights when Lieutenant Frank Satterfield walked over.
"Hey, Frank," Weeks said. "How come you're out of your territory?"
Satterfield looked down at what Weeks was doing. "I'm working the hit on that crack dealer over in Stone Canyon last week. When they heard this one was a decapitation they thought there might be a connection. What have you got so far?"
"Well, it's very unusual, Frank. This guy had a nasty gash in his throat, but he wasn't beheaded. At least not at first. The rats had a feast here in the area of the cervical spine. After the supporting structure was chewed away they must have pushed the head over there," Weeks pointed to the packing crates, "where they kept eating. In addition to the blunt force trauma to his face, the guy has multiple broken bones and lacerations, too, though it's hard to tell the cuts from what the rats did. He's so messed up we won't know anything for sure until we get him on the table. But there's something else that doesn't quite square."
"What's that?" Satterfield asked.
"No spatter pattern. None at all. There's only that large pool of blood by the body and the trail made when the head was pushed by the
rats. With all these injuries, this guy should have been squirting blood all over the place. It tells me he was killed somewhere else and dumped here."
Flannery walked up to Satterfield and Weeks. "Lieutenant, take a look at this. I found it near the body." He held out a chain necklace with a small pendant. Both were encrusted with blood. "Go ahead, we can't get any prints off it." Satterfield took the necklace and slowly turned the pendant with his fingers.
"Anything else?"
"Yeah," Flannery replied. "This was in the guy's pants pocket." He handed Satterfield a bloodstained slip of paper.
"Miss Stephanie...555-2154."
Chapter 27
Stephanie switched on the lamp. It was five twenty-six. She wondered who would be knocking on her door that early on a Sunday morning. Not Randy Ebert, I hope. Whoever it was began to pound harder. She slipped into her robe and went to the door. Switching on the porch light, through the peephole she saw a man dressed in a tan sport coat. Curly brown hair filled the triangle formed by his open shirt.
"What do you want?" she asked through the door.
"I'm Frank Satterfield, LAPD. You're Stephanie Kenyon right? We talked before on the phone." "He held his ID up to the peephole.
Stephanie couldn't read the ID through the small round glass. She also wasn't sure the voice was the same one from their earlier conversation, but he had been angry then.
"Why aren't you in uniform?" she asked.
"This is my uniform when I get called out of bed at three o'clock in the morning. May I come in?"
Stephanie opened the door but kept the safety chain in place. "Let me see your ID again." He handed it to her through the gap between the door and the jam. She studied it, then gave it back to him. "Who was the police commissioner before Bradbury?"
"Phillip Stone," he replied. "And before that, Earl Humphrey. Look, if you're trying to verify who I am, I called you about my ex-wife, Sheila, and told you to back off. Now can we talk?"
Stephanie unchained the door and opened it. "I'm sorry for being so cautious, but some weird things have been happening to me lately."
"No apology necessary." Satterfield stepped inside.
"What brings you here, Lieutenant?" she asked, closing the door. "If this is about your ex-wife, I told you she had nothing to worry about."
"It's not about that," Satterfield replied, "but I wish it were. I'm here because we found a body a few hours ago, a probable homicide victim. We haven't been able to ID the guy yet, but he had your name and phone number on a piece of paper in his pocket. Do you know who it might have been?"
Realization and dread hit Stephanie at the same moment. She buried her face in her hands. "Oh no, not Weasel. Oh, God, no."
"I'm sorry." Satterfield put his hand on her arm. He pulled out a kitchen chair and helped her sit down. "I know this won't be easy for you, but I have to ask you some questions."
Stephanie nodded between sobs.
"You said his name was…Weasel?" Satterfield asked.
Stephanie wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure. "His real name was Eddie Messina, but he went by Weasel."
"We found some sort of necklace--a peace sign?"
Stephanie nodded again. "That's his."
"How did you know him, Miss Kenyon?"
"He was a source for a story I'm writing," she said. "And he...he was a friend." More tears trickled down her cheeks.
"When did you last see him?"
With the heel of her hand she again wiped her eyes. "I didn't actually see him, but he called me last night, around midnight. He said he was in trouble and needed to talk with me. When I got to where we were to meet he wasn't there. He lives at Severman House, a shelter down on 2nd Street. I stopped by, but he wasn't there, either."
"You said he was a source...what's the story you're working on?"
"It's the one about former members of Mother Earth's Family."
"I see. So how was Messina helping you?"
"I...I can't tell you." Stephanie hesitated. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. He used to be in The Family."
Satterfield studied her. "Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?"
"He thought this guy was after him. I don't know his real name, but Weasel called him Xeno. He used to be in The Family, too."
"How's that spelled?"
"X-e-n-o." She tore off a paper towel and dabbed her cheeks.
"What's he look like?"
"I've never seen him, but I do know he's a big man. There's an abandoned cabin up in the San Gabriel Mountains where he stays sometimes. I can tell you how to get there." Stephanie felt numb all over. In her thoughts, her voice rang hollow...I protect my sources.
"Do you know how to contact Mr. Messina's family?"
"He had no one."
"Satterfield put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to ask this, but would you be willing to come with me and look at that necklace, to see if you're sure it's his? It will take an autopsy and dental records to make a positive ID of the body, but if you can verify the necklace, that would really help."
"Sure. And I…I have to see him."
Satterfield shook his head. "No, you can't, you don't want--"
"Lieutenant…I have to see him."
On the way to the morgue Stephanie told Lieutenant Satterfield how she had met Weasel and how the idea for the series came about. She didn't tell him about the book because she knew he'd want to see it. There was nothing in it that could help his investigation and there was no need to further invade the lives of people who no longer had anything to do with Weasel or The Family. She struggled to remember the things Weasel had told her about Xeno. Satterfield listened with interest when she related the story of Lonesome Lou's murder in Griffith Park. He told her he'd check through the records, but he couldn't recall hearing of a body being unearthed there in the last fifteen years. Griffith Park was such a big area, he said, that it was unlikely the body could still be found without major excavation. Stephanie gave him the directions to Xeno's cabin and he told her he would go there and see what he could find. There was nothing more she could tell him.
Satterfield led Stephanie into the building and down a long hallway. He stopped in front of a heavy metal door with a small square of chicken wire glass at eye level. He asked her to wait. When the door swung open she was surprised by the brightness of the light inside. At almost the same moment her nostrils caught the nauseating mixture of formaldehyde and necrotic flesh. Satterfield went in and closed the door. Through the glass she could see him talking to an Asian man in a white lab coat that was dotted with blood. Their lips were moving but she couldn't hear what they were saying. She sat down in one of the two plastic chairs against the wall.
The door opened and Satterfield walked over to her, a clear plastic bag in his hands. He held it out. Inside the bag, she saw Weasel's necklace, with the inverted fig tree in the shape of a peace sign. She also saw the blood. She closed her eyes and nodded. Satterfield sat down beside her.The wall before her was a vast white canvas on which the events of the past two weeks were painted. What began as a masterpiece was now grotesque, a horrid distortion of what could have been...should have been. For a length of time she didn't track, neither spoke.
"Are you from L.A.?" Satterfield asked, finally breaking the silence.
"Iowa. Iowa City."
"I'll bet that was a big adjustment. Do you like it out here?"
"Not at the moment," Stephanie replied. Without turning to him she said, "Lieutenant, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I really don't feel like talking right now."
Satterfield nodded.
Stephanie's eyes still looked toward the wall, unfocused. If only she had listened to Weasel's warning about Xeno. If only she hadn't let her ambition cloud her common sense. If only...
The man in the white lab coat came through the door and held it open for them. "It's time," he said, "if you still insist on doing this."
"Yes," Stephanie said softly.
; He took her down the corridor and through two sets of double doors. He led her to a drawer, a sheet, a body. Stephanie knew it was too late for concern now. It was too late for anything except tears. She could hear the man talking to her but his voice was distant, his words without meaning.
He pulled back the sheet.
"Thanks for coming, Hal." Stephanie rubbed her eyes. "How long have I been asleep?"
Hal looked at his watch. "About four hours. The doctor said it was just a mild sedative. Are you feeling a little better now?"
"I don't think I'll ever feel better."
He patted her hand. "Sure you will, Steph. It'll just take time, that's all. The important thing now is for you to rest. Why don't you go back home for awhile, see your father?"
"I can't. I can't walk away from this now."
"Don't worry about the series. You already have what--four, five of the stories completed? I can put Adrian or somebody else on it. But it will still be your story. We'll just transcribe the tapes and I'll do the editing myself."
"What about the reunion?" Stephanie asked.
"No big deal. No one knows about it anyway. There's really nothing to call off."
"No, Hal. I've got to see this through. I at least owe him that."
Chapter 28
Frank Satterfield gave the platform mobile on his desk a spin. The little brass policeman on the one end of the shiny gold rod gave pursuit to his masked nemesis on the other end. He picked up the phone and made the call. After talking with his son for a few minutes, his ex-wife came on the line.
"Look, Sheila," Satterfield started, "I hate to ask you this, but I need a big favor." He waited a moment. "Do you remember a guy from The Family named Xeno?"
"Why do you want to know?" She sounded suspicious.
"He's a possible suspect in a homicide." Satterfield hesitated again. "Did you know him?"
"Everyone in The Family knew Xeno."
"Great! I know this is a shot in the dark, but I have nothing else to go on at this point. I need everything you can remember about the guy. Maybe you could even come in and we'll have a sketch made of what he looked like back then. We can computer-age it, and maybe get a better idea."
Family Reunion Page 16
