by Frank Zafiro
Stone grunted. “You mean like patrol officers usually do?”
Tower shrugged, unsure if Stone were joking or if the veteran officer had taken offense. “Hey,” he answered with a grin, “if the crime scene is going to get trashed, I want it done professionally.”
Stone put his back to the woman in the car, brought his hand up to the center of his own chest and extended his middle finger.
Tower raised his eyebrows. “Never on a first date.”
Stone laughed.
Together they walked to opposite sides of the trail and began their modified line search. Tower’s eyes scanned the ground and the low bushes for anything that could be construed as evidence. He glanced up periodically to make sure he didn’t miss the forest for the trees. To his left, he heard Stone shuffling along.
Ten minutes into his line search, Tower was sweating profusely despite the overcast weather. He removed his jacket and folded it over the crook of his arm. He felt sorry for Stone, who wore a wool uniform shirt over a bullet-resistant vest.
As minutes dragged by, his patience wore thin. He’d never been a particularly patient man and because of that, the job of detective often frustrated him. He used to hope that the years of experience would increase his patience level, but all it seemed to do was teach him to cope with the impatience that inevitably rose up. It didn’t take away the tickle of frustration from his gut.
Tower forced himself to concentrate as he came into a small opening of brush that fit the victim’s description of where the rape took place. He searched high and low, then low and high but saw nothing. The grass did not even appear disturbed.
“I think this is it,” he told Stone.
“You found something?”
Tower shook his head. “No. But this is the only place that fits what she told the officer at the hospital.”
Stone grunted noncommittally.
Tower marked the area in his mind and moved on.
After forty minutes of searching, he reached the north side of the park, which was bordered by a paved street. He waited there, wiping sweat from his brow until Stone completed his sweep.
“Anything else?” the veteran asked him.
“Nada. I think that spot I mentioned is where it happened, but the scene looks clean.”
“Too bad.” Stone wiped the sweat from his forehead and cheek. “It’s muggy out here. I need something cold to drink.”
“Me, too. Guess I’ll grab something up at Deaconess.”
“That where the victim went?”
Tower nodded.
“This a stranger-stranger or what?”
“Sounds like a stranger. Did radio put out any calls that might be related to this area? Screaming, suspicious persons, anything?”
“Nope, not that I heard.” Stone keyed his mike and asked radio if they had received any such calls.
“Negative,” came the terse reply.
Stone gave him a shrug. “You think the victim’s making it up?”
Tower shrugged. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Won’t be the last,” Stone added.
“Can you throw up some crime scene tape around that area for me?” Tower asked.
Stone nodded. “How big an area you want roped off?”
Tower thought about it, then answered. “Make it about twenty by twenty. Center on the break in the bushes by the trail.”
“Okay. Outer perimeter?”
Tower waved his hand around the park. “Take the whole park. You don’t have to run tape, though. Not unless you get serious foot traffic. Just keep people out of the park.”
“I’ll call another unit,” Stone said.
Tower nodded his thanks and made his way to his car. Once en route to Deaconess Hospital, he plugged his department issued cellular phone into the cigarette lighter and called Forensics.
Diane answered on the second ring. “CSFU, Diane.”
“Diane, it’s John Tower. I need you to process a rape scene.”
“Address?”
Tower told her where the park was and described the crime scene area. “I don’t know if you’ll find any evidence or not, but at least get some good photographs.”
“I will.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital now,” Tower said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything besides the scene processed.”
“I’ll call if we get anything,” Diane said.
“Thanks,” Tower replied and broke the connection.
As he drove, large drops of rain began plopping intermittently onto his windshield. After a few moments, the plops became a steady pour of heavy drops slapping against the glass.
“Goddamnit,” he muttered. Rain wreaked havoc with any outdoor crime scenes. He sincerely doubted that CSFU would get anything out of their search now.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop worrying about the crime scene that he could do nothing about. Instead, he considered the rape itself. Stone had asked if he thought the victim might be lying, but even without meeting her, he doubted it. A daylight, stranger-to-stranger attack was bold. It wasn’t an opportunity rape or a rejection rape. Something like this had to be carefully planned.
That worried him.
Tower pulled into the hospital parking lot. He’d been to Deaconess more times than he could count and almost felt like he should have his own parking spot. He settled for the emergency vehicle slot next to a marked patrol car that he imagined belonged to Gio.
The white-shirted security guard at the emergency room entrance did not know him and started to ask him to step through the metal detector. Tower showed his badge and was waved through. He wondered briefly what the guard would do if a bad guy came to the hospital with a gun and refused to step through the metal detector. After all, the guard himself was not armed.
He recognized Roberta, the grey-haired, pudgy admissions nurse who pretended to be grumpy at everyone. He’d known her since he first came on the job, back when both of them worked nights. Now, years later, they were both working day tours. Circle of life, he figured.
He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back, but instead pointed to number three.
“Is the officer in there?”
“No. He’s in our break room.” Her tone of voice suggested that in her opinion, Gio was trespassing there. Tower was surprised that Giovanni’s legendary charm hadn’t softened her up.
“Thanks, Bertie,” Tower said, smiling again. “Did you lose some weight?”
She gave him a flat gaze. “Hardly,” she answered. He noticed the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she caught herself.
Almost got ya, Tower thought to himself.
Officer Giovanni was sipping coffee from a small Styrofoam cup and staring down at his report when Tower entered. He greeted the detective.
“Anything at the scene?” Gio asked.
Tower shook his head. “Can you give me a thumbnail sketch of her account? I’ll read your report later.”
Gio nodded. He took another sip of his coffee and set down his pen. “It’s pretty straightforward. Basically, she was jogging southbound through Clemons Park when a male attacked her. He blindsided her and knocked her down. Then he put a towel or something over her face and pulled her a little ways off the trail. He raped her vaginally, turned her onto her stomach, removed the towel and left.”
“Any suspect description?”
“She never saw his face.”
Tower cursed. Gio sipped his coffee.
“Did he say anything to her?” Tower asked.
“Uh, yeah. I wrote it down. Called her a bitch and threatened her. I’ve got the exact quote in my notes.”
“Did he ejaculate?”
“She thinks so.”
“Did the doctor find any semen or anything?”
Gio shook his head. “No. She told him that the last sexual encounter with her husband had been two weeks ago. Doc said there was trauma and small tears but no fluids.”
“She a Fo
rty-eight?” Tower asked, using the code for a mentally unstable person.
“No, not at all. Nice lady. Just shaken up.”
“Understandable. Anything else?”
“She did say that once he had her pinned, there was a few seconds where he paused and she heard some paper ripping.”
“Paper?”
Gio nodded. “I’m thinking maybe he gloved up.”
“A rapist that uses a condom?” Tower asked, skeptical.
Gio shrugged. “Safety first.”
Tower scratched his head. “Or he didn’t want to leave any evidence.”
“Could be,” Gio agreed. “Maybe he didn’t want to pull an O.J.”
Tower considered. With DNA technology making leaps and bounds, identifying someone from their semen was a distinct probability. Thanks to the O.J. Simpson trial, pretty much everyone was aware of that. The use of a condom was the obvious preventative. It also indicated greater preparation and planning.
Tower cursed under his breath. Then he said, “She’s in number three, right?”
Gio nodded.
“You can take off,” Tower told him, “if you’re done.”
“Nah. I promised to take her home afterwards. Her husband couldn’t be reached.”
Tower thought about offering to drive the woman home so Gio could leave, but supposed that the officer had established a good rapport with her. It was best not to shuffle the victim around from person to person. “Does she have an advocate with her?”
“No, she wanted a friend instead. Her name’s Sally. She’s been helpful.”
“Good. You want to introduce us, then?”
“Happy to.” Gio rose and led him toward room number three.
On the way, Tower asked, “Clemons Park is the name of that little park there, huh?”
“Yeah. I had to look it up myself,” Gio said. He stopped at the door and knocked softly. Someone said “come in,” so he opened the door and entered.
Patricia Reno sat on the bed, crying softly. Another woman stood at her bedside, consoling her.
“Patricia?” Gio asked. “Are you ready to talk to the detective? Because if you want to wait-”
Patricia Reno nodded, wiping at her eyes. “No, I’m ready. I’m sorry. I was fine until Sally got here.”
“No need to be sorry,” Gio said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He pointed at Tower. “This is Detective John Tower. He might have a few questions for you. John, this is Patricia Reno. The other woman is her friend, Sally.”
Tower nodded at Sally and stepped up next to Patricia. “Mrs. Reno, I really don’t have too many questions for you right now. I’ll read the officer’s report and be in contact with you after that. Probably in a couple of days. But I have been to the scene already.”
He described the small opening and she nodded emphatically. “Yes, that’s it. That is exactly where it happened.”
Tower nodded. “I searched the area. Unfortunately, there was no physical evidence there that I could see. Our forensics unit will photograph it and search it again.” Tower leaned forward slightly. “Ma’am, would you recognize the man’s voice if you heard it again?”
Patricia’s eyes widened. She nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. I’ll never forget that voice.”
“Good.” Tower knew they would never get a conviction off a voice identification, but every little bit helped. “That’s really all for now, Ma’am. I wanted to meet you and let you know who I am. This way, when I call you in a day or two, you can put a face with a name.”
“Thank you.”
He handed her his business card. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Patricia clutched the card, looked down at it for a moment, thinking. Then she shook her head. “No, I think that the officer…that Gio already answered them.”
“All right. And he gave you a card with some resources available to you? Counselors and such?”
She dipped her chin again.
“Okay. Is Sally driving you home?”
Sally nodded. Patricia looked up at Gio. “Sorry,” she said in an apologetic tone.
“Don’t be sorry,” Gio told her kindly. “I can see you’re in good hands.”
“Well, you’ve been so nice and you’ve been waiting here so long just to give me a ride…”
Gio smiled. “Patricia, I have to write this report and it doesn’t matter where I am when I do it. You haven’t put me out at all. Sally can take you home and help you settle in, if that’s what you want. It’s no problem.”
“Thank you,” she said again, looking at each of them.
“I’ll be in touch,” Tower said as they left the small room.
Gio pulled the door shut carefully.
“Nice woman,” Tower observed as the two men turned and walked down the hall.
Gio nodded. When they reached the break room, he gathered up his belongings. “It’s too bad nothing will ever happen on this.”
Tower fought off a sigh. Gio was probably right. Without something more, this investigation was most likely a dead end.
“Maybe something will turn up,” Tower said, not really believing it. “Forensics might get lucky.”
“Maybe,” Gio said, half sighing. “And maybe I’ll cure cancer on my way back to the station.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Tower said.
As they walked out into the rain together, one thought kept bothering Tower. It was a thought he hated to acknowledge, even though his impatient gut told him it was the truth.
This isn’t done. He isn’t finished.
1633 hours
She comes to him.
She wants him.
He is so strong. Such a man.
“I want you deep inside me with your hugeness,” she coos at him, crossing her arms under her breasts and pushing them up at him. “Only you can satisfy me, baby. No one else ever has.”
He is so strong. Such a man.
She is dancing now, though there is no music. Swaying lightly, her small black panties shifting on her hips as she moves from side to side. “Do you want me?” she asks him seductively.
“I want you,” he breathes.
“Not as bad as I want you, you big, glorious man,” she answers and drops down onto him, her lips searching for his, her tongue alive with warm action. Her hands find his erect member and stroke it gently in counterpoint to her hard, deep kisses. He can feel her breasts press firmly against his chest. He squeezes her buttock, hard. She moans in pleasure.
He is such a man.
“Rip them off,” she gushes hotly in his ear, biting the lobe.
He tears the panties from her. She cries out, part pain, part pleasure. She guides him into her hot wetness. “Deep inside me with your beautiful self,” she whispers, her hands running all over his back.
He thrusts deep. Each thrust is met with a yelp of pleasure from the buxom blonde.
Over her shoulder, he can see his father’s face, with an approving leer.
“Fuck her hard, son. And if she doesn’t want it, lay the whammo on her!”
“Fuck me hard!” she squeals.
He is truly a man.
He reaches for the white towel.
He knows that she is unaware…
“Unnnnnnhhh, Unnnnnnh,” he grunted, arching his hips into the air, his hand moving feverishly up and down. Semen spurted, arching in the air onto his stomach and chest. He let a small moan escape his lips. A few more strokes, then he stopped, collapsing back onto the mattress.
He lay on the bed, bare except for a sheet and a thin blanket. His girlfriend had taken the comforter when she moved out. He pushed thoughts of her away. Instead, he tried to enjoy the afterglow, which always gave him the sense of honey dripping from a broken jar. The constant patter of rainfall outside added to the experience.
After a few moments, though, his thoughts turned to more practical matters.
He had been a fool to attempt two rapes so close to his home. He needed to move farther away for the next
one. Police weren’t brilliant, but they weren’t all stupid, either. Every true crime book he’d read told him that. If rapes kept happening in the same park or the same neighborhood, the police would get a clue. Especially when the victims could tell them that the rapist left on foot.
He needed to stay more random, vary his methods. Don’t want to make it too easy for the cops.
Slowly, he roused himself and walked into the bathroom, where he wiped himself off. His thoughts strayed to his ex-girlfriend. He tried to tell himself that he was glad she was gone, but he knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t love her, nor had he hated her. For a while, she’d been a good woman, but some time after she’d moved in, things started to go south. She became demanding. She wanted this, she wanted that. Most importantly, she started to make him feel like he was small and insignificant.
Just like all the others, he thought.
Just like my mother.
They’re all sisters, he figured. Some hid it better than others, but they were all sisters in the end.
Another thing that bothered him was inconsistency. It was simply another form of hypocrisy, really. If a person can’t be counted on to behave a certain way for a reasonable percentage of the time, what was that? An integrity issue? An insanity issue?
An old, hard face flashed before his mind’s eye.
No! He threw the tissue into the toilet and clenched his fist. She was dead and that was fine with him. The only regret he had was that he hadn’t shown her who was stronger in the end. Simply outliving the bitch wasn’t good enough. He’d have preferred more.
Much more.
He flushed the toilet.
Truth was, he realized, that bitches ruin everything.
He smiled slightly.
“Yes, they do,” he whispered. Then, more powerfully, he repeated, “Bitches ruin everything.”
That sentiment calmed him. He unclenched his fists and turned on the shower. As he stepped under the hot water, his thoughts strayed to his next victim. He had come up with a good idea. An excellent variation on his plan. It just had a few things that needed working on, that was all. As the soap cleansed him, his mind buffed out those rough edges.
THREE
