Perfect Trust argi-3

by M. R. Sellars

  “Well, we aren’t doing anything with our families until tomorrow,” I conceded. “I’ll have to check with Felicity, but I’m sure she’d love to come over. If you’re certain we wouldn’t be intruding.”

  “I wouldn’t’ve invited ya’ if you’d be intruding, now would I?”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to her about it, but you can probably go ahead and just count us in.”

  “Good deal. I’ll let Al know. So now that we’ve got that outta the way, let’s get back ta’ the original question. What gives, Row? I know damn well ya’ didn’t blow off a chance ta’ follow Felicity around today…” He paused and gave his head a quick shake before adding, “‘Specially today… Just ta’ come down here an’ explain the meanin’ of Christmas to me. So what’re you doin’ here?”

  “Would you believe I just stopped in to say ‘Happy Holidays’?”

  “I just told ya’ a minute ago that I saw Firehair on TV, so I think I pretty much just said no ta’ that.”

  “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

  The telephone on his desk pierced the ensuing lull with a sickly trill. My friend motioned for me to wait a second then leaned forward and snatched up the receiver. “Homicide, Storm.” Even as he spoke he kept his eyes on me expectantly. “Yeah…uh-huh…sure, I’m here. Okay. See ya’ in a few.”

  He dropped the handset back into its base and leaned back once again, making the heavy-duty springs in his chair groan in protest.

  “Do you need to leave?” I asked.

  “Nope. ‘Nother copper is droppin’ by for somethin’. Charlee McLaughlin, you might remember ‘er,” he said.

  “Sure,” I nodded. “I remember Charlee.”

  Detective McLaughlin had been assigned to the Major Case Squad earlier this year when Eldon Porter had engaged in his one-man revival of the Inquisition. I had gotten to know her when she had volunteered to work a secondary job guarding Felicity and me after it became obvious that I was one of Porter’s targets.

  “So you gonna tell me what’s up?” he pressed.

  “I would if I knew, Ben.”

  “And that’s s’posed ta’ mean?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I didn’t actually set out to come here. It’s just where I ended up.”

  “Where’d ya’ start out for?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Jeez, Row.” He shook his head. “What’re ya’ up to now?”

  “I wish I knew,” I answered him. “Something just doesn’t feel right about everything that’s been going on.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not exactly news, white man.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” I shook my head vigorously. “Ever since Friday night…”

  “Whoa.” Ben held up a hand to stop me. “If this is about the phone call, I already told ya’ I’m not goin’ there.”

  “It’s not about that,” I stammered my objection. “Not really… Well, maybe…a little…but not entirely… I’ve just got a weird feeling. It’s been way too quiet for the past couple of days.”

  “What? Like no disturbances in the Twilight Zone?” He followed up his comment with an abbreviated whistle of the old TV show’s opening theme.

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah, so?” He shrugged. “In my book, quiet’s good.”

  “But it’s been too quiet.”

  “Ya’ sure you’re not just lettin’ your imagination run away on ya’?”

  “I don’t think so. Not this time.”

  “So ya’ got somethin’ ta’ work with?” he asked with more than just a hint of sincerity in his query this time. “One of those hinky visions? Some more fucked up poetry? Anything?”

  “No. Not at the moment. Like I said, it’s been quiet. What I’m talking about now is just a feeling.”

  “That doesn’t really help me, Row.”

  “I know, Ben. It doesn’t exactly help me either.”

  “Hey, Chief,” a voice came from behind me.

  “Yo, Chuck,” Ben returned, looking past me. “How’s Sex Crimes treatin’ ya? Gettin’ any?”

  “More than you, would be my guess,” Detective Charlee McLaughlin joked as she came into view. “And I’m being treated about as well as a sex crime can treat anyone I suppose.” With that she turned her attention to me. “Hey, Rowan. I didn’t know you were here. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good, Charlee,” I acknowledged. “You?”

  “Can’t complain.” She shot me a quick grin. “Speaking of sex crimes, I saw Felicity on the news a little while ago.” She punctuated her comment with a whistle. “I’m surprised you aren’t out there playing bodyguard. I think the reporter was sweet on her.”

  “I’m sure she can handle herself,” I chuckled then asked, “How’s your daughter doing?” I was almost grateful for the sudden distraction the chitchat provided.

  “Great. She’s planning to transfer up to UM Columbia after the spring semester.”

  “Terrific. Still planning to major in journalism?”

  “Yep. That’s the plan.”

  “Good deal.”

  “So what brings you down here?” she asked and then continued with a good-natured chuckle. “Storm dragging you into something else he can’t figure out?”

  “Hey now,” Ben interjected with a grin, “I’m not the one that transferred outta Homicide to go slummin’ in Vice.”

  “I just got tired of seein’ your ugly face every morning, Storm,” she told him.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “so what brings ya’ up here?”

  “Chasing a hunch, actually.” She turned serious. “You got a minute?”

  “Do you two need me to leave?” I asked.

  Ben gave Detective McLaughlin a questioning look, and she shook her head.

  “No, I trust you. Just don’t repeat anything you hear, okay?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then grab some real estate,” Ben said as he motioned to another of the 70’s era plastic chairs that was positioned next to a desk behind her. “Whatcha’ got?”

  “Rumor is,” she began as she slid the seat over and parked her small frame in it, “you’ve got a dead blonde with a stun gun welt on her neck.”

  My friend nodded acknowledgement. “Yeah. Sure do. Looks like a robbery-assault gone south. What about it?”

  “Well, I assume you’ve been watching the news and have heard about the serial rapist?”

  “Yeah. Kinda hard ta’ miss. You workin’ that one?”

  “Yeah, I’m up to my ass in it. Anyway, we’ve been playing some of the facts close to the vest.” She looked him square in the face. “And like I said, this is just a hunch… But the deal is, as of this past Thursday morning I’ve got eight very confused, very blonde rape victims. All of ‘em with stun gun welts and testing positive for Roofies.”

  Detective Benjamin Storm’s chair canted forward with a slow rumble, sliding smoothly along with the groan of the springs beneath until all motion finally halted. The inevitable stop was announced with a dull thunk, followed immediately by the proverbial pregnant pause. He shot me a quick glance then leveled his gaze on McLaughlin.

  “Dammit, don’t make me wait till tomorrow ta’ open the present, Chuck,” he said. “Tell me ya’ got this asshole in lockup.”

  “Actually,” she said, “I was kinda hoping for a stocking stuffer from you.”

  “Shit,” Ben muttered. “You got anything at all?”

  “Well, we’ve been lucky and gotten to some of these right away. Seems he doesn’t bother with condoms, and he’s a secretor, so we’ve got a blood type and the whole DNA pedigree. But I don’t have a warm body to hang the dog tags on because he’s not in the database.”

  “That’s more’n we’ve got. You chasin’ any good leads?”

  “Haven’t got much. He’s apparently got a kink about necks though.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Shithead sucks hickeys on these women the size of Rhode I
sland. Guys down in Sex Crimes are calling him Count Suckula. ”

  “Fuckin’ lovely.”

  “Yeah, tell that to the victims.”

  “You got anything else? Any of ‘em able to give ya’ a description?”

  “Nope,” she sat back and shook her head, shifting in the uncomfortable seat. “Not really. Like I said, Roofies. Outta the eight, five of them went to the hospital within the first forty-eight hours, and they all tested positive. We’re guessing it would be the same on the other three, but they didn’t come forward right away. Lab says they can probably pick up trace amounts in hair if we have to go that route.

  “All of ‘em pretty much remember getting zapped. Apparently he’s got this stun gun jacked up pretty good, and it’s kinda hard to forget getting hit with one of those anyway. But as far as anything after that, they’re pretty sketchy until they wake up.”

  “How’s he grab ‘em? B and E?”

  “Only on one.” She shook her head. “So far he’s taken three of them from parking lots at shopping malls, two when they were leaving their places of employment, one that was jogging, and another who was leaving a doctor’s appointment. Now here’s the spooky part. He’s keeping them for a while.”

  “Whaddaya mean keepin’ ‘em?”

  “I mean all of them are pretty much missing anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours out of their lives.”

  “So he’s gotta be takin’ ‘em somewhere,” Ben mused.

  “That’s how we’re looking at it.”

  “Is there any connection there?” Ben pressed. “Where are they wakin’ up? Is he dumpin’ ‘em in the same general area?”

  “Check this out,” she said. “The asshole is taking these women home.”

  “Ya’ mean like their home, home?”

  “Yeah, as in takes them back to their respective domiciles and leaves ‘em. Locks the door and everything. Even leaves their keys in the mailbox.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah way. It’s like he doesn’t want ‘em to get hurt or anything.”

  “Except by him.”

  “Well, yes and no. I’m not trying to diminish the crime here by any means, but we’re not talking a typical rape scenario. There’s no real physical abuse to speak of, other than the stun gun and the hickeys. Other than that, it just appears to be sex. Statistically, as the assault goes, very non-violent. I’ve seen worse date rapes. We’re guessing that’s why he uses the Roofies on them.”

  “Bizzarro,” Ben replied.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said,” Charlee acknowledged with a knowing tilt of her head.

  “Any patterns we can do somethin’ with?”

  “We’ve run it all. Common acquaintances, ex-husbands and boyfriends, the whole nine yards. What we’ve got is that they’re all blonde, around five-four, five-five, good looking. Ages range from twenty-two to forty-one.”

  “Just City, or County too?”

  “That’s another squirrelly thing.” She frowned. “Not only is he pulling from City and County, but one victim is in Saint Charles, another is across the Mississippi in Godfrey. If that’s not bad enough for ya’, I just got a call from the sheriff’s department out in Jefferson County. They’re faxing us a report, but from what was said when we talked, it looks like they might be hosting victim nine as we speak.”

  “The motherfucker’s all over the map.”

  “Yeah, and these are just the ones we know about,” she said. “You know as well as I do the stats on unreported rapes. Especially where Rohypnol is in the picture.”

  “Yeah,” Ben nodded and frowned. “So Paige Lawson might’ve been an attempted rape gone bad instead of a robbery-assault.”

  “From what I heard it sounds like she fits the profile,” Charlee agreed. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I just got the facts on Lawson an hour or so ago.”

  “Yeah. Not surprised. You’ve had a lot on your plate.”

  I was listening intently to the entire exchange, keeping my mouth shut, and taking in the information. The jumble of puzzle pieces I’d been laboring over earlier was suddenly starting to make sense; for the first time in a very long while I had a feeling that a significant number of them actually belonged to the same picture.

  “It might be a good idea for us ta’ compare notes,” Ben told her.

  “Yeah, although I’m thinking I’ll be helping you more than you’ll be helping me.”

  “Yeah, maybe so, but ya’ owe me one.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I lost twenty bucks on ya’ when you showed up here in a skirt.”

  “You were in on that bet? Serves you right,” she laughed. “Oh yeah, before I forget, there were actually a couple of other things all the victims mentioned, although I don’t think it will help your cause any since it didn’t go very far.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Several of ‘em mentioned having quite a bit of makeup smeared on their faces. Kinda like it had been wiped off, but not very well. And they all remembered bright, flashing lights- I mean like blindingly bright.”

  There’s a funny thing about approaching storms and squall lines. Sometimes you can look out across the vast, empty plain of life and see them coming countless miles before they ever reach you. Then there are other times when there is so much clutter in the way that they are already battering you with gale forces while you are still trying to figure out if the sun just went behind a cloud or if you should seek immediate shelter.

  This particular tempest was on top of me before I even had a chance to look up.

  The calm was definitely over.

  CHAPTER 18

  Dead I am! Dead I am!

  D-E-A-D! Dead I am!

  The painfully familiar chant echoed in the back of my skull as a repressed memory from the night at the morgue revealed itself in halting disharmony. A ghastly feeling of disorientation began spreading outward from my brain in a frantic race to meet the abject panic that was vomiting upward from the pit of my stomach. They arrived simultaneously in the middle of my chest and proceeded to join forces in an attempt to bring my heart to a complete stop.

  I heard myself gasp loudly as I sucked in a breath. Then with no precursor, the memory became an explosion of light that burst directly in front of me. The sight stealing flash was accompanied by a muted pop and then followed by an electronic whine. Everything before me was immediately washed out, leaving me temporarily blinded. As the flare faded, after-images blurrily joined with a grey-toned reality that began repainting itself, only to be bleached out once again by a second bright strobe.

  I started and out of reflex raised my hand as I blinked and turned my head away from the source of the overbearing luminance. It didn’t help. A third and fourth flash followed quickly on the heels of the first two, and it was still as if I was staring directly into them, wide-eyed and oblivious.

  “Hey, Row,” Ben’s concerned voice met my ears. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Debbie Schaeffer,” I muttered, or at least that is what my brain told my vocal cords to do. What came out was an unintelligible burst of syllables as I tried to force the words past a catch in my throat.

  With the anticipated fifth flash not yet forthcoming, I slowly lowered my hand and directed my squinting gaze toward my friend.

  “What was that?” he questioned again.

  “Debbie Schaeffer,” I offered again, this time my voice winning out.

  I could still see brightly colored spots dancing against a backdrop of rapidly fading after-images, and it was making me a bit queasy. I blinked hard, trying to will them away. Fortunately, the blur was lessening at a quick pace, and this page of reality was starting to come back into focus.

  “What about her?”

  “That’s the connection between her and Paige Lawson,” I explained, suddenly as sure of myself as I’d been in months. “This rapist.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “The lights.”

  “This one of th
ose Twilight Zone things or are ya’ just guessin’, Row?” He was interested but not yet convinced.

  “At the morgue the other night,” I continued. “When I made the connection with Debbie Schaeffer I kept seeing flashing lights.”

  “You didn’t mention anything about flashin’ lights then.”

  “I didn’t remember them until now.”

  “Row…”

  “I’m not just plucking this out of the air, Ben,” I snapped. “You know as well as I do how this works sometimes. Besides, if I’m channeling the memories of someone who was drugged with Rohypnol, then maybe I’m experiencing the effects of the drug as well.”

  “Okay, okay,” he held up a hand to stave me off. “Calm down. I wasn’t tryin’ ta’ say you were makin’ it up. I just wanna be sure we’re not chasin’ down a blind alley.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized.

  “S’alright,” he said. “Now, do ya’ remember anything else besides the flashin’ lights?”

  “Yes,” I nodded vigorously, “a popping noise and a high-pitched whine.”

  “Popping and whining?” Charlee speculated aloud. “Wonder what that could be?”

  “I know exactly what it is,” I answered as I realized I’d heard the sound many times before. Living with a professional photographer, it was hard to avoid. “It’s a photo strobe. He’s taking pictures of them.”

  “There’s a thought.” She nodded as understanding overtook her. “It would certainly explain the bright lights, and it’s not unheard of for a rapist to take an item from the victim. A keepsake that gives him a way to relive the act. That could also explain why he keeps them for a while.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “And the smeared makeup too. He may be dressing them up in some way to tie in with his personal fantasy.”

  “Well,” she volunteered, “I suppose pictures would be as good as anything else, but I don’t think they’re doing it for him anymore. The frequency of the attacks has been increasing.”

  “Whoa, hold on.” Ben was shaking his head. “Back the truck up for a minute you two. I gotta minor problem with this theory.”

  “What’s that?” Charlee asked.

  “Debbie Schaeffer,” he stated. “I’m willin’ ta’ accept Paige Lawson bein’ an intended rape victim. If we apply a little creativity to the coroner’s report, then we can assume that what we have is this asshole jammin’ ‘er with the stun gun. Zap!” He acted out the motion of pulling the trigger. “Then she falls and cracks ‘er head on the corner of the table. Sicko sees the blood, freaks and runs. That works. I’ve got enough on the physical side ta’ back it up, so in my mind, it’ll fit.