Malicious

by Jacob Stone

“He doesn’t stand by the door. He sits inside by a security desk.”

  “Hmm. She certainly made an impression on him. Remembering exactly what she wore. Must be a pretty observant guy. Although I bet if I went over there now and talked to him, he wouldn’t be able to tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Maybe not, but Brandley was the big celebrity in the building. And she was beautiful. It’s not hard to believe he’d pay special attention to her.”

  “That could be it,” Morris agreed, “but I don’t like it when a witness uses a phrase like ‘dressed to kill’ as a way to describe a murder victim. Makes me wonder if he’s playing some sort of mind game.”

  Walsh was about to argue with him, maybe even tell him he was being paranoid, but he knew Walsh almost as well as he knew anyone, with the exception of Natalie, and he could see the spark in her eyes the moment she agreed he had a valid point.

  “Let’s go talk to him,” she said.

  Chapter 13

  They found the vestibule door locked. Morris stuck his nose against the glass and saw that there was no one sitting behind the security desk.

  He asked Walsh, “How long ago did you leave the building?”

  “No more than a minute after you called.”

  Morris checked his watch. “About fifteen minutes then. Was the doorman still in the lobby?”

  She nodded, her face tense. With little conviction, she said, “He could be helping someone with a package. Or taking a break.”

  There wasn’t much chance a doorman would be helping a tenant with a package. Morris had been watching the building’s front entrance from the moment he sat on the park bench, and nobody had entered or left the building since then.

  He asked, “What’s Heather Brandley’s apartment number?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  Morris buzzed forty-eight on the intercom. Malevich answered with a brusque, “Who’s this?”

  “Greg, this is Morris. Annie’s with me. Come down to the lobby right away, and if you see the doorman, hold him. And be careful.”

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Just get down here.”

  Walsh was biting her bottom lip. This was something she did only when she was anxious, and Morris couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her do it. Maybe when he was still on the force and they were working the Vincent Robusto case together.

  “He couldn’t have been the killer,” she said almost as if she were in a daze.

  “Describe him.”

  “Early thirties. Average height, weight. Short red hair. Well-groomed beard and mustache. Square-shaped face. Glasses. Blue eyes.” Her expression weakened. “He was wearing white gloves, like you see in those old movies. I noticed them when he handed me the keys to Brandley’s unit, and thought it was odd, but assumed it was a policy for the doormen working here. Jesus, it couldn’t have been him, could it?”

  Morris shrugged helplessly. Finston thought the killer would be watching for Morris, and what better way than to pose as the doorman? And what better way than to shove their noses in it? For the moment, though, all they could do was wait.

  When Malevich showed up, a puzzled look creased his face as he opened the door for them. He waved a thumb in the direction of the empty security desk.

  “What happened to him?” he asked.

  “The million-dollar question,” Morris said as he breezed past the homicide detective with Parker leading the way.

  It didn’t take them long to find a body. This happened after Parker nearly dragged Morris to a bathroom off the lobby and stood growling in front of the locked door, which had an ‘Out of Order’ sign attached to it. Morris rapped his knuckles against the door and got no answer. After Malevich identified himself and also got no answer, he kicked in the door on his third try. A large man lay crumpled facedown on the tiled floor, a puddle of blood and gore pooling under his head, his color a grayish-white. He was wearing a brown blazer and tan slacks, the type of clothes you’d expect on a doorman. Morris stood outside the room and forced Parker to sit, and clamped his hand over the dog’s snout and ordered him to be quiet. Parker’s growling dampened to a soft rumble. While this was going on, Walsh kneeled by the body and checked for a pulse.

  “The skin’s cold,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s been dead at least a couple of hours.” She pulled latex gloves from her pocket and slipped them on. After a few seconds of feeling around the back of the man’s skull, she announced that she’d found the entry wound. She lifted the man’s head up and grimaced as she reported that a hollow-point bullet must’ve been used, and that most of his face was gone.

  Greg Malevich had called for backup units after he kicked open the door, and he was now back on the phone calling in the homicide. While he was on the phone, he indicated to Morris and Walsh that he was going to secure the back of the building, and he hurried off.

  Morris’s phone alerted him that he had just received a text message. He half expected to see a taunt from the killer, but instead it was Natalie, and it simply read “Gold Medallion”. He stared at it confused for several seconds before realizing that his wife was giving him the name of the tree he had asked her about minutes earlier.

  An excited yapping noise came from behind. Morris turned to see a woman in her late fifties holding a yapping Shih Tzu. The woman was trying to look past Morris to see what all the fuss was about in the bathroom.

  “Ma’am, please stand back,” Morris ordered.

  The woman looked almost as if he had yelled boo at her as she took several steps backward. She seemed oblivious to the noise her dog was making. Parker likewise ignored the small dog, his attention focused on what was going on in the bathroom.

  “Did something happen?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid so. You live here, right?”

  “Yes. For seven years.”

  Morris held an index finger up. “Could you wait here for one moment?”

  He turned back toward Walsh. She had taken the dead man’s wallet from his pocket, and was looking through it. Morris asked her if there was a driver’s license. Her face had a white-hot intensity to it as she nodded. Morris knew she was seething with fury over having the killer in her grasp and letting him go. When she approached the woman holding the Shih Tzu, the woman looked startled and even the dog stopped its yapping.

  “Do you know him?” Walsh demanded as she showed the driver’s license of the man lying dead in the bathroom, her voice lashing out like a whip.

  The woman now looked fearful, her eyes darting first to Morris and then back to Walsh. “Y-Yes,” she stammered out. “T-That’s Javier. One of our doormen.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “Any of them in their thirties with red hair, a short-cropped beard, and mustache?”

  “No.” Her eyes widened, and now there was only dread in her face. “Are you a police officer?”

  “Yes. Detective Walsh. LAPD robbery-homicide division. When was the last time you were in the lobby?”

  “I just came down minutes ago so I could take Rascal outside.”

  “Before then.”

  “That would be a little before eleven o’clock. Why, what has happened? Is Javier in trouble?”

  Walsh ignored the question. “Was Javier Lopez working as the doorman when you came down then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around the building lately?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The woman was beginning to look unsteady on her feet, and Morris signaled to Walsh to cut her loose.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” Morris asked.

  The woman looked grateful for the interruption. “I think I just need some fresh air,” she said.

  “Why don’t you take Rascal outside,” he said.
>
  The woman looked like she could’ve kissed Morris, and she turned and fled toward the lobby. Walsh watched with disgust. She was still seething over the way the killer had fooled her.

  “You and your soft spot for dog owners,” she said as if she were spitting out vulgarities.

  “Is that what she was holding?” Morris asked with a straight face.

  The high-pitched wail of sirens could be heard descending on the building.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” Morris said.

  “A lot of good it will do,” Walsh complained. “That sonofabitch psycho is long gone.”

  “Maybe not. He could be hiding somewhere in the building. We’re going to have to call the management company and get keys.”

  She muttered something under her breath that Morris couldn’t quite make out, but she didn’t argue with him. Of course, he agreed with her. The odds were the killer had left while Walsh was outside hiding so she could shadow Morris, but they were still going to have to search the building.

  “Why don’t you keep watch over the crime scene. I better get to the door so I can let the reinforcements in,” Morris offered.

  “Let me show you something first.”

  Walsh took a plastic evidence bag out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Morris.

  “I found this stuck in the victim’s wallet.”

  Inside the evidence bag was another business card, similar to what was left on Heather Brandley’s body.

  Written on it was: To Morris Brick: I can only imagine how frustrating this must be—R. G. Berg, Serial Killer Extraordinaire.

  Chapter 14

  The killer sat in front of the lighted makeup mirror admiring the job he had done earlier that morning. It had taken him more than two hours of painstaking work, as well as many hours of practicing over the last six months, but the transformation he had achieved was quite remarkable. While the disguise he had put together for Heather Brandley was adequate enough to do the job, this was at a whole different level. He proved this by seeing that Lopez had no clue who he was. The man had blubbered like a baby when the killer marched him into the bathroom, and even when he promised to let Lopez live if the doorman could only tell him his name (which was an inane lie—Lopez’s brains were going to be blown out no matter what he had said) Lopez in his panic still couldn’t give him an answer. The killer couldn’t be too unkind to him; after all, the face now staring back at him in the mirror would’ve fooled his own mother.

  But enough of patting himself on the back. It was time to get to work.

  The killer popped out the cosmetic contact lenses, changing his eye color back from blue to brown. Next, he removed the hairpiece. After that he poured solvent into a bowl, picked the right brush to use, and removed the red-colored eyebrows that he had glued on. With those taken care of, he lifted the edge of the latex foam prosthetic that he had attached to the bottom half of his face just enough so that he could work the brush in and dab the tiny bit of exposed adhesive with solvent. This was a slow, methodical process as he worked his way down the jawline, across the neck, and then up the other side of the jaw. After twenty minutes, he was able to peel away the prosthetic, and he went from having chubby chipmunk cheeks to a lean, angular-shaped face. He also lost the beard and mustache that had been glued onto the prosthetic.

  He continued the same process with the latex foam prosthetic nose he’d been wearing, and less than eight minutes later he was able to peel it from his face, revealing a smaller, straighter nose. With the prosthetics removed, he got up from the table and headed to the washroom, and there he soaked a towel in hot water, which he used to loosen the dried epoxy sticking to his face. With that done he scrubbed his face clean, and then applied moisturizer to his skin. He studied himself in the mirror over the sink until he was satisfied that he couldn’t see a single sign that anything had been glued to his face.

  Just like dominos falling. His mouth curved upward into an amused grin.

  Even though he didn’t get a chance to meet Morris Brick in the flesh as he had expected, he was still quite pleased with how the events of the day were turning out, although he wouldn’t have been able to say that earlier. The truth was, he was furious when those two cops had entered the building’s lobby without Brick in tow. That had stunned him. How could Brick not understand the warning the killer had left him? It should’ve been obvious. Was the guy that thick (as a brick!) that he was going to force the killer to make his wife one of the victims before he’d play along? While that lady cop had questioned him, the killer was too numb at first to feel much of anything, but after she had left to go to Heather Brandley’s condo, he simmered in rage and imagined all the things he was going to do to Brick’s wife to teach the guy a lesson.

  The killer was still smoldering in evil thoughts when that same tough lady cop stepped out of the elevator, stormed through the lobby and left the building, but curiously, she veered away from the walkway and disappeared from sight. Well, that left him no choice but to investigate, and he snuck up to the vestibule door and spotted her hiding behind shrubbery with a pair of field glasses. He wondered about that until he saw Brick sitting in the park across the street. The killer then realized what was happening. They were convinced he’d be there watching for Brick to make sure that Brick had taken the killer’s challenge. All the killer could do then was whisper to himself, wow. The dominos were falling exactly as he had planned. Exactly! The first domino being Heather Brandley, the second having Morris Brick come to Brandley’s condo complex to investigate.

  But then the killer remembered something he had said to the lady cop in his irritability. This was when he had described Heather Brandley leaving the building yesterday looking as if she were dressed to kill. The lady cop might not have picked up on the killer’s snarkiness, but Brick just might if it was repeated to him. He also realized that if he waited around for Brick to come into the building, there was a chance one of the building’s residents could come by and ask about the doorman who was supposed to be on duty. The killer accepted that it was best to leave. And so he carried out the delivery box that he had brought and left through the back door, which led to the parking lot. He had Brandley’s car keys with him, and by clicking on the remote so that her car would beep, he found her Audi and drove off in it.

  The killer dumped the Audi three blocks from the alley where he had left his car. In the box were the clothes he had worn to masquerade as a deliveryman, and before leaving the Audi he took off the glasses, blazer, and tie, and put on the shirt with the delivery company logo emblazoned on the front and matching cap to once again appear as a deliveryman. If he were honest about it, he felt exposed and had moments of nervousness as he walked those three blocks to his car, especially when two police cars with sirens blasting drove past him, but they didn’t seem to pay any attention to him. Once he was back in his car, it was clear sailing.

  * * * *

  The killer left the washroom and walked to the kitchen area. He chose the Capriccio flavor, and after the coffee finished brewing he brought it to the modeling area where he had miniaturized replicas of the carnage he had planned. Most of it was dark, but two of the models had been lit up—one that showed the Star Wax museum with the back and top removed so that a six-inch version of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing could be seen, and another that showed a detailed three-foot-high replica of Heather Brandley’s condo building.

  The killer felt a sense of pride as he looked over the area. Soon more lights would be turned on. He checked his watch. Fifty-eight minutes and forty-one seconds before the next domino would be falling and he’d be turning on another light.

  The killer suppressed a yawn. It was time to get going.

  He had brought the clothing he needed for this next part of his plan and, as he dressed, he reflected on how busy he’d been over the last forty hours and how much more still needed to be done before he’d be able to get any slee
p. Besides the yawn fighting to come loose, he was still feeling wide awake. Energetic even. Like he could do backflips. He was sure at some point exhaustion would hit him like a truck, but that wasn’t going to happen now, not with all the adrenaline pumping hard through his veins. All those months of planning, and he was finally seeing his vision unfolding as he had imagined it would. Of course, it was still very early, and there were so many more deaths to follow, but so far everything was working out perfectly.

  The killer drank the rest of his coffee, chose an LA Dodgers baseball cap to wear over his shaved head, grabbed a laptop computer and a pair of headphones, and was about to head out when he remembered that he hadn’t glued on any fake eyebrows. Well, that would’ve been a mistake, maybe even a fatal one! He decided to glue on the blond ones. He also decided to wear the matching bushy mustache and the shaggy dirty blond hairpiece. That would save him time later. It only took him a minute to add the fake hair to his face and head, and then he was off to watch the next domino fall.

  Chapter 15

  Morris showed Gloria Finston video from the lobby surveillance camera, pausing it the moment the killer dressed as a deliveryman entered the building. The time of day was displayed in the bottom-right corner of the video, and it showed that this happened at eleven eighteen a.m.

  Morris said, “He either thought it would take us longer than it did to discover Heather Brandley’s body, or he somehow knew it would take several hours after that before we’d come here to search her condo.”

  LAPD had provided the laptop computer, and Morris and the FBI profiler were sitting behind the lobby security desk with Parker lying quietly by Morris’s feet. Finston looked away from the computer screen to search the wall behind them.

  “I don’t see the surveillance camera,” she said.

  Morris pointed out the small hole in the back wall that was somewhat camouflaged by a framed painting.

  “It’s well hidden,” Finston observed. “He might not have known he was being recorded?”