by Jamal Shakur
The Last thuggie / Book I
Ripper
Triology
Jamal Shakur
-A Lucky Lomax Mystery pt II-
Prologue
I was at lost for the next few months after the Reaper case I felt as if I was walking around in a glass bubble that was full of fog, you could probably see me from the outside but I couldn’t see you from within. I was forced to see the department shrink. The murders had me and the city under a mental strain; it was obvious to everyone but me. I had to spend my Tuesdays and Fridays listening to this crap. Did I love my mother? Did I feel responsible for my wife and nieces death? They were all valid questions but they were questions I didn’t want to deal with as of yet.
I began to look at police work in a different light; all I had lost and couldn’t regain was because of my dedication to the Philly PD. I tried to think of a different means to do my job in law enforcement; the whole affair in that building in center city had so many horrible memories. There were some good memories one of which was putting away dangerous perps, But at what cost? Would I lose the rest of my family while I went through this madness of chasing after madmen? Did I create the madness by my fame and notoriety or were they going to appear on their own. A sort of evil apparition that grew without check no matter what I did, time would only tell. The old adage that “vengeance is a soup best served cold”, wasn’t a good motivation for me , taking the Grim Reapers life didn’t make me feel any better , it didn’t bring my wife back or any of the other close friends of mines that he murdered. Hence, I thought it might be beneficial for me and the family if I step back from police work for a while. I was thinking of private investigative work, instead of taking the case that I was directed to take; I would choose cases that suited me. I could be home at a decent hour and it would be a good situation all way around for all of us. My relationship with Rebecca didn’t last long; I presume two high powered and energetic crime fighters couldn’t live together without friction. I think what made a connection for us was the adrenalin of danger which heighten our sexual appetites, without those attributes our relationship fizzled.
At this point of my career I was in limbo. I was looking forward to a little moonlighting as a private dick but I did do my traditional “regular” job as the assistant of the M.E. This kept me close to homicide but without actually being there. For some working in the morgue was a gruesome affair; but not for me, it was relaxing, especially in the morning when everything is still and quiet. It’s something very unique about delving into the mysteries of a recently deceased body. My code was to show the victim respect because this corpse that was on display before me was once a breathing human being whose soul permeated throughout its body and what ever happened to the person deserved my utmost attention and reverence. Some detectives were scremish when they came into the domain of death. But all must deal with the reality of an early departure especially in the dangerous job that they were involved in. As a person who likes routine , the morgue was a routine that I enjoyed the most , the dissection of the cadaver the placing of the goggles and setting up the tape to respond to my findings were fascinating. Yet, I was always at the forefront for something strange that never happened before.
Case in point, we had the normal homicides and gang related killings and maybe now and again a suicide. That was before I arrived. But this week has been very strange. There have been at least five suicides per day. Suicide in itself is not strange but the amount was very unusual. The majority of the bodies had a look of terror that was still exhibited upon their faces. Secondly, of all the victims if I could call them vics were related to public officials. A very strange occurrence, suicide to my knowledge has never been designated as a serial killing phenomenon. But I digress; there always is the first time for everything, especially for me.
The family’s identifying the bodies was a who’s who of the political power elite of Philadelphia. I had to play the diplomat between the city morgue and the relatives of the cream of the crop of the city. How did I get this job, I don’t know but it was putting me in the light of the media and the public that I hope to have avoided. There was a difference in dealing with the dead, they could not speak or communicate their pain verbally, but the live relatives were making it a trial to come in every day to work, particularly the rich and the famous. They thought they were more deserving of answers than the average Joe. My first inquisitor every morning for the past few days was the father of State Senator Karl McDonald and also ironically he was my police department appointed Psychiatrist.
“Good to see you once again Dr. but you know the coroner office is only an investigative tool of the Police department the actual foot work is done by the detectives of homicide and not here,” I stated. “While it may seem that you are the only one that I am annoying, I also visit homicide. Right, am I done with you?” he said. I looked at him with my mouth agape and said, “I didn’t mean for you to think you were annoying me however I do not want you to waste your time in visiting me every morning, and also seeing me for our psychiatric session every other day, I just thought it might be sort of redundant and stressful on your part.”
“You know as a doctor and also as your therapist, I think I can make simple deductions as to which police agency that I am dealing with, but as I told you before, you are not the only law enforcement agency I will be dealing with, someone murdered my son, I intend to get some justice on his behalf,” he said forcefully. I didn’t say anything else; enough was said on his part and mine. I decided to get back to work. No pun intended but the bodies weren’t going anywhere, but they were crying out for justice. I started early this morning and I was finishing up on the last corpse. I found a strange drug that I couldn’t identify. I sent it out to the lab and was waiting to hear from the head of that department. I was in a nice situation but this was the same environment, I needed something different and something that would stimulate my psyche; I was looking for office space, to start my business as a PI; I finally found an office in the downtown area. It was a funky little office on fifth and Market. I was sandwiched in between a photographer and massage pallor. It didn’t matter to me the location or how it appeared, I just desired to do something that I could call my own. The door slowly opened and I could hear the silent whine of someone familiar, it was a proverbial affair, I guess a residue from my previous case. But suddenly I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Mia, Mia, however I woke up in a cold sweat, sadly it was just a dream.
I received my PI license in the mail and after cleaning out the room and trying to use my abilities of Feng-Shui while placing my furniture in, especially my new leather couch which I planned to use as my bed. There was a knock on the door which surprised me because it was my first day and without advertising who or what I was. The door slowly opened and an elegant young woman slowly walked into my presence. She was the splitting image of my diseased wife, Mia. Her hair was pulled back and very short and she wore the same red lipstick that illustrated her large full lips. I was dumb founded to say the least and stuttered uncontrollably. “Can, can I help you please,” I stammered like a blubbering fool.
She gave me an odd stare and said, “My name is Sara Davenport, and I have a special problem that deserves your immediate attention. I have followed your career through the printed media and also TV and I believe you are the best in your field, and I am willing to pay any amount even double for the best to take care of my business”. She could afford to talk with lack of concern and authority, the Davenports were old money from a Black family that made its money during slavery in the Philadelphia area unlike most of the people of color in Philadelphia they were free; u
sing their skills of ship making to create an empire that still lasts until this very day. “I like everyone else in the Philadelphia area know well of the Davenports, what is your problem?” I said. She looked at me earnestly and slowly pulled out a photograph. “This is a photo of my husband John Henry Davenport III, he has been missing for three weeks, I want to know what has happened to him.” “I take it that you’ve been to missing persons but what I will need is his itinerary and the type of person he is, for instance, was he a person who went out a lot or stayed away from home for long periods of time.” “I don’t like the tone of your questions my husband was a good man and never had succumbed to anything nefarious but I must say that we had an open marriage.” Just by mentioning the last few words of your statement makes this case a very puzzling one to look at, have you thought of the possibilities that he may be with one of his paramours that you don’t know about ,” I retort. “That’s a possibility but we have no prenuptial and I would gain all of his money and assets, even though the marriage is open it isn’t a contract stating that fact.” She gave me a puzzling stare and I gave her the same look. I don’t know how the moral code of the rich works but in my world when you give a man a pass to debauchery then you must expect anything to happen.
Ch 1
A New turn
It was a new move for me checking out somebody without the credentials and the backing of the police department. People seemed to automatically cede to me with simply the showing of my badge. But the ID of a private dick is not the exemption to the rule. People seem to group all private
eye’s with the TV and movie version of the so-called gum shoed detective. To them the private eye is not legitimate but somebody that works on the fringe of the law. However, I had one advantage I had somewhat of a little fame in Philly for solving detestable murders and my face was the persona of the homicide division. Hence, I planned to use this facade to the utmost degree. I started by going to all the known haunts of John Davenport. His was not the usual haunts of the rich; he seemed to enjoy the trashy digs of the poor. I was at a strip club that he was known to frequent. One noticeable dancer by the name of Sibyl was his main provider.
“Yea I know, John, all I had to do was touch him in the right places and he would be satisfied in minutes, my man would climax quickly as in 5 minute race,” she laughed loudly with a gaze trying to remember the good times of her easy mark. She went on, “You know he was known to frequent a lot of these places on the avenue if you look for him hard you will eventually find him, it shouldn’t be difficult he’s hooked on lap dances like a crack head hooked on crack.” Finding a visibly rich guy in this neighborhood with Davenport’s pension for driving a very expensive Jaguar and designer clothing would seem to be very easy. To make sure that I was on the right trail I back tracked and perused some of the rich gentlemen strip clubs in center city and sure enough on my second try I got a hit. The bartender was standing there with want seems like with nothing to do. The club was a spacious dwelling that shouted out the word rich and old money. He gave me one of those suspicious stares, you know the one that said emphatically “cop”. “Look don’t even try it, my name is Detective Lomax and I got a few questions for ya.” I said.
He just shook his head and said, “I recognized you when you first came in from the TV and newspaper.” He whispered reluctantly. He went on, Davenport is a regular, and he likes trashy women and an attraction for exotic drugs. He’s a creature of habit, his main girl he’s with when visiting here, is the Blonde Bombshell. All the money that he gives her I guess she could afford the nice car she drives here every night.” I was in luck the so-called Bombshell was entering with the fanfare of a major movie star, she was draped in long beige sequined skirt that advertised long slits that reached up deep into her waist and crouch, leaving nothing to the imagination. She was a tall statuette beauty, resembling the curvilinear stars of the past. She spied me out and by the smirk on her face recognized me as the police.
“Well I know I must be heading towards fame when I have the famous Dr Detective Lucky Lomax greeting me this fine evening .” she said as she gripped her collar which caused her blouse to open further to display her inflated cosmetically enhanced breast. I wasn’t impressed but some guys get off on this type of stuff. I handed her the photograph of Davenport, and said, “Do you know this gentleman, and please answer honestly because he’s been seen in your company by a number of witnesses some who work at your own place of vocation.
“So, if you know I hung out with him what’s with the cloak and dagger shit?” she queried.
She had a beguiling aura about her; no doubt it was a manipulation that was practiced thoroughly on her part. “I don’t know if you are aware of it but Mr. Davenport has been missing for about six months. He is very prominent in the community and a lot of powerful people including his family or worried, especially if there is any foul play that exists,” I said with my best police contrived discourse I could muster. “I see a lot of customers in this place and the only thing they seem to be worried about is how long can the lap dance last.” She announced. If I was still on the police force , I would take her to the precinct and grill her further, this would disarm her and make it easier to get some info out of her but questioning here at her own digs made her feel more confident.
Ch2
I was back at my real job the morgue, the private dick thing was a part time hobby at this time only. But with the rich client that I had procured made it look up to be something quite lucrative. The first day at work was a day of chaos, everyone was whispering about the five prostitutes found in five separate alley ways with their throats cut. It could be a long day. Murders like these made for good print but the public didn’t seem to get in a flux about women of the night. They only seem to get perturbed if a Wal-Mart soccer mom or if an “every day” working woman was slain.
The first murder was curious and brutal, there was something familiar about the killing but I couldn’t pinpoint it. The victim was a mother of two and a prostitute. She had a blunt instrument plunge into her vagina and abrasions to her head and one ear. The other four women had their sexual organs mutilated and this is want sent up the red flag prominently in my mind. I wore two hats, even if the one hat that I was wearing for twenty years as a homicide detective I hadn’t adorned in a while , but no one didn’t inform me that I wasn’t seen in that light. The murders stood out to me as a replication of Jack the Ripper slayings from the way the women were murdered and even the way they were laid out in the alleyways. The unsub took to painstakingly imitating to the last detail how the murders were committed. By following the murder map of the Ripper, I could pinpoint the next type of murder that would be committed, of course it had its limitations, I couldn’t tell who would be the next Vic but I could eliminate the places it would be committed. If he was stalking prostitutes then there were only certain areas that they sold their wares. There was two places that hookers trolled and with that little bit of info we would put a couple of officers there to watch out for the suspect.
I examined the corpse at the morgue, the suspect was precise in his dissecting of the women, and just like his killer ancestor the Ripper, it would be hard to not associate the unsub to the profession of a surgeon. He had to be someone who was acquainted with the profession of a doctor or someone who has some familiarity of the human body and how they work. These same questions were debated over a hundred years ago. There wasn’t uproar about the murders, just curiosity. I guess no one had any hard felt grief over hookers. They were abhorred as much as the creep who was killing them.
Ch 3
Joanne Travis was retired from the FBI BAU for a year to the day. She was involved in a fire fight that left her deaf in one ear. But the rest of her faculties were in tack. She was only twenty five and the whole retirement thing tripped her out. The journey to Europe was boring but as she got involved in some of the murder cases that existed there, she became curious especially at the unsub who were attacking prostitutes and d
issecting their bodies. That was almost five years ago and he was still going strong. But he suddenly stopped in Paris and then abruptly disappeared. She didn’t give it much thought until her mother sent her a care package from back home. She first grabbed the Philly cheese steak packed in dried ice and then noticed the Philadelphia Daily News prominent amongst the rest of the package contents and the story on the front page stood out, “The Ripper strikes again”, and it was astonishing she couldn’t believe it.
Monday 9:00 am
I was at a standstill with this new case that I volunteered to look into; I was the only one who thought we had a serial killer. It was just me and my stubborn mind and ego who thought it was the real deal. I was at the morgue examining and reexamining the cadavers. All of the bodies were type cast from the files of the ripper of two hundred years ago. Unfortunately I could and would look forward to more murders and perhaps the unsub would try to disappear similar to the original murderous perp, the Ripper. I tried to join together my investigation with vice, since the women who were affected were hookers, vice would have information about those involved in the business and the areas that they frequent. “My name is Denise Miles, I have worked vice for over ten years,” she said. Detective Miles was a very pretty woman who didn’t look or fit the part of a Vice Detective; she could probably be mistaken for one of the victims she was looking after. She was a very attractive black woman, long and athletic and very business looking. She could easily pass for a very young woman but her attitude was stringent and business like. I didn’t get any cordialness are any playing around, she was all dot ‘the i’s and cross the t’s’. This attitude was probably the result of many years of discrimination for being a woman and the double whammy of being Black, in some cases this could be a diabolical situation. But it was dependent on the type of person the offender was. She stared at me with her dark attractive eyes and scrutinized me; I suspect she heard about me. She spoke slowly and deliberately as if she was talking to an amateur sleuth. “I’ve heard about you though out the department, you are quite famous,” she said. She spoke further, but this is vice and we look at things a little differently than homicide does. I want to start off saying that the unsub is a very meticulous fellow and highly intelligent, perhaps his IQ is very high. He is a white male, approximately 25 to 30 years old. It is a strong possibility that he has some medical training or is part of the health field.” I smiled at her in amazement, but I think she took my response as patronizing instead of admiration as an equal colleague. “I notice that by the look you’re giving me that you don’t really understand since you’ve never worked with me before. I was just amazed at your assessment of the unsub since you’re not exactly experienced with homicide and how this thing works.” I said with a suggestive grin.
