RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky

by Frank Zafiro

  Renee waved his words away. “Look, John. You’re a detective. You follow the clues, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “But in this case, you don’t have any witnesses. Not even the victims are truly witnesses to anything other than some bare facts.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Forensics hasn’t come through at all.”

  “No. I think he was wearing a condom.”

  Renee nodded. “And probably gloves and a hat.”

  “Probably.”

  “So the conventional clues are a dead-end.”

  “So far, yeah.”

  “Then it’s time to get unconventional.”

  “Unconventional? How?”

  Renee pointed at the paper in Tower’s hands. “You ask yourself those questions. You try to answer them.”

  “With the puny evidence we have?”

  Renee shrugged. “With the evidence. And with your own mind.”

  Tower rolled his eyes. “You want me to profile him. Like those FBI guys.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That’s exactly what it sounds like,” Tower said. “And that shit is just theory and voodoo.”

  Renee stared at him with a flat expression, saying nothing.

  After a minute, Tower began to squirm. “What?”

  She shook her head slightly at him. “John, I don’t appreciate the attitude. I’m trying to help you here.”

  “I realize that. But—”

  “There is no but,” Renee cut him off. “And on top of that, I’m not asking you to dance with bloody chickens or something. I’m asking you to perform a little bit of a Victimology exercise, that’s all. Major Crimes does it all the time in homicide cases.”

  Tower snorted. “Sure, in homicide it makes sense. Most people are killed by someone who knows them. But they can’t tell the detective who killed them. So if you get to know the victim, you have a better shot at figuring out who the killer is.”

  “This is no different,” Renee insisted.

  “A rape victim is different than a homicide victim. She’s still alive. If she knows her attacker, she can name him. This is a stranger rape. It is very different.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re just looking at the suspect instead of the victim.”

  “An unknown suspect,” Tower corrected.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Tower said, frustrated. “That is the point. With a known homicide victim, you can try to fill in gaps about her.” He tapped the notepad Renee had written on. “But I don’t know who this guy is, so there’s no way I can answer these questions.”

  “You have to use your imagination,” Renee said, her face tightening into a scowl.

  “Two things, Renee.” Tower held up one finger. “One, I can’t present my imagination as evidence in court.”

  “I know that,” Renee answered quietly. “I’m not suggesting –”

  “And two,” Tower raised his voice to override hers. “Just run the list of suspects that match the basic M.O. and let me know who is still a viable suspect. I’ll run down each lead.”

  “I’m not against the shoe leather approach,” Renee said, “but if you want to get an edge on this guy –”

  “Sounds like you and Crawford both like the same method,” Tower interrupted. He drank the last of his coffee and crumpled the small cup. “Just get me the names, Renee.”

  Renee’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.”

  Tower tossed the crumpled Styrofoam into the trash. Then he set the yellow paper on her desk next to her. “And if I want any voodoo, I’ll call the F.B.I.”

  Renee didn’t answer.

  Tower left the room without a word.

  1900 hours

  “Do you have any objection to this interview being taped, Officer Chisolm?”

  Chisolm shook his head coldly.

  “Can you verbalize that response, please?” Lieutenant Hart asked.

  Chisolm waited a full fifteen seconds before enunciating clearly, “No, sir, Lieutenant. I have no objection to this interview being recorded on audio tape.”

  Hart pursed his lips in irritation at Chisolm’s mock politeness. The reaction warmed the veteran officer’s heart. Then Hart continued, “And would you like to have Union representation present?”

  “Do I need my Union rep?”

  “That’s your decision, Officer. I can’t advise you either way.”

  “Am I accused of something or am I a witness?”

  Hart smiled coolly. “You are the accused.”

  Chisolm nodded his understanding. “And who is the investigator?”

  “I am,” Hart replied.

  Chisolm allowed a slow, confident smile to spread across his face. “I don’t think I’ll need any Union representation here tonight,” he said.

  Hart didn’t seem to know whether to scowl at the inference Chisolm was making or revel in the even playing field. Both reactions flashed on his face before he appeared to settle for assuming a neutral expression. “That’s fine,” he said officiously. “Then we’ll get right to business.”

  “Let’s,” Chisolm said stiffly, folding his hands in front of him.

  Hart was staring down at his notes and didn’t notice. “What is your current assignment, Officer?”

  “Patrol.”

  “Were you working last night?”

  “I was.”

  “Did you respond to assist Officer MacLeod on a call?”

  “Probably more than one,” Chisolm replied evenly.

  “This would have been at 2325 hours.”

  “That’s a very precise time.”

  Hart looked up. “It is, Officer. Do you recall responding to assist Officer MacLeod at that time?”

  “No,” said Chisolm. “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

  “It was at Northgate.”

  Chisolm raised his eyebrows in recognition. “Ah. Then yes.”

  “You remember now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you respond Code-3?”

  “We don’t tend to call it Code-3 anymore, Lieutenant.”

  “What?”

  “Lights and siren?” Chisolm answered. “We don’t usually call it Code-3 anymore. We’re moving to plain language on the radio. We just say ‘responding code’ now.”

  “Well—”

  “That’s probably changed since they moved you out of patrol,” Chisolm added.

  “What?” Hart’s jaw clenched. He glared at Chisolm.

  The veteran officer kept his face impassive, despite the howling laughter he felt inside. “I’m just letting you know. I think it’s a recent change.”

  “Fine,” Hart said, biting off the word. “Thank you. Now—”

  “Since you were moved out of patrol, I mean,” Chisolm said.

  Hart stopped and stared daggers at Chisolm. Chisolm maintained a calm exterior.

  You got nothing, Hart, he thought. And you never will.

  Hart cleared his throat. “Did you have on your lights and siren, Officer?”

  “No, Lieutenant, I did not.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t need to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Traffic was light to non-existent. I was able to respond safely without activating my emergency equipment.”

  “So you sped.”

  Chisolm shrugged. “I don’t know. I responded quickly and effectively, though.”

  “What if I told you that a citizen saw you driving recklessly?”

  “I wasn’t driving recklessly.”

  Hart ignored him. “What if this citizen paced you at almost fifty miles an hour?”

  “What if worms had .45s?”

  “Huh?” Hart cocked his head at Chisolm.

  “I said, what if worms had .45s?” Chisolm allowed himself a slight grin.

  Hart shook his head slowly in confusion.

  “Well,” Chisolm said, “if worms had .45s, then birds wouldn’t fuck with them.”

  Th
e blood left Hart’s face. Chisolm had seen this before. It usually presaged an outburst. He waited patiently for the storm to hit.

  But the lieutenant seemed to bite back whatever had been rising up inside of him. Instead, he said in clipped tones, “That’s very unprofessional, Officer. And it doesn’t answer my question.”

  Chisolm considered. “Well, if what the citizen said is true, then I’d say he was driving recklessly to keep up with me.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty important, since he had no reason whatsoever to be speeding. If I was speeding, it was to assist an officer. What’s his excuse?”

  Hart shook his head. “No. He’s the citizen. We serve the citizenry. You don’t get to question him. He was monitoring your poor behavior.”

  Chisolm snorted. “Did you bother to look up the call that MacLeod was on?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “It was a rape,” Chisolm said, ignoring him. “And the second one that was stranger-to-stranger this week.”

  “So?”

  “So?” Chisolm’s eyes flew open. “So I figured that I was best serving the public to get to the call quickly.”

  “Without using your lights,” Hart stated.

  “There was no need.”

  “And speeding.”

  Chisolm shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I don’t say so,” Hart said. “A citizen is saying so. Someone who pays our wages, Officer Chisolm.”

  Chisolm nodded slowly. “I see. And who is this stand-up citizen?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “I think it’s important.”

  “What you think isn’t—”

  “I have a right to know who my accuser is,” Chisolm insisted. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s policy.”

  Hart paused, then shrugged. “Fine. But understand that any retaliation on your part will be actionable.”

  Chisolm held up his hands, palms up.

  “Just so we’re clear, then,” Hart said. He turned a page in his notes. “The complainant’s name is Marty Heath.”

  Chisolm sat still for a moment, then his jaw dropped. “Marty Heath?”

  Hart nodded.

  “The same Marty Heath that lives in the apartments off of Euclid?”

  Hart glanced down at this notes. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  Chisolm shook his head in disgust. “He’s a child molester. I served registration papers on him about six months ago.”

  Hart stared back at Chisolm, disbelieving.

  “He raped a little girl in his basement after he kidnapped her,” Chisolm said.

  “Raped?” Hart asked, his voice faltering.

  “Yeah,” Chisolm snarled. “He snatched her and raped her. Then he went to prison. Now he lives just a few feet beyond the legal distance he is required to be away from an elementary school.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t check his record?”

  Hart held up the snapshots of Chisolm’s vehicle. “He had pictures. He said—”

  “He’s a scumbag rapist piece of shit,” Chisolm said.

  “Officer, that’s not—”

  “We’re done here,” Chisolm said, standing up. “If you want to rip me for supposedly speeding based on the word of this lowlife, go for it.”

  Hart swallowed, unable to reply.

  Chisolm turned and stalked from the room.

  What an asshole, he thought. That thought was quickly followed by, Seems like old times.

  Chisolm smiled slightly as he left the Internal Affairs office.

  2043 hours

  “You want a beer, hon?”

  Tower looked up from his hands. Stephanie stood at the glass slider door with a pair of Kokanee bottles in her hand.

  “Sure,” he said.

  She stepped outside onto the small patio and slid the door closed. When she settled into the chair next to him, she proffered one of the beers. He took it wordlessly.

  The two sat in silence for several minutes. Tower sipped his beer and listened as Stephanie sipped hers. After a while, he became aware of her shivering, despite wearing his bulky sweater.

  “You can go inside,” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “It’s the beer, that’s all.”

  “Steph, you’re cold. Go inside.”

  “I want to sit with you.”

  Tower glanced over. “It’s okay. You can go inside.”

  Stephanie responded by pulling the large sweater close to her and drawing her knees to her chest. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Stephanie sighed. “You’re such a guy, John.”

  “Should I say thank you?”

  “If you had a hole in your chest, you’d deny it was bleeding.”

  “Only if it wasn’t.”

  “It is,” Stephanie said. “Now what’s the matter?”

  Tower shrugged. “Just work.”

  “I figured that. What specifically?”

  It was Tower’s turn to sigh. “I caught a couple of rapes.”

  “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s the big deal—wait! Do you mean that one on the news? The Rainy Rapist or whatever?”

  Tower nodded glumly. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh, John,” Stephanie said. “That’s scary. Some strange guy out there raping women? It makes every woman worry.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  “Are you going to catch him soon?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Are you close?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus!” Tower stood suddenly and drained the beer. He fixed Stephanie with a tight, cold smile. “Well, I’m fucking trying, all right?”

  He strode to the sliding door and flung it open. Once inside, he didn’t know where to go, so he stalked into the kitchen and then stomped down the hall to the bedroom. The stalking and the stomping didn’t make him feel any better, so he slammed the door.

  The slamming felt good. He took a few deep breaths.

  What the hell?

  The thought floated through his mind as he stood next to the bed. His pulse pounded in his neck. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his feet. Why was he so stressed? He’d had tough cases before. Hell, the Dugger case last year had been a huge burden. Missing child? That brought some serious pressure. So why was this getting to him?

  He knew the answer, of course. This one was all his. No partner. And the guy was still out there, planning his next attack. That is, if he planned. Either way, he was a ticking time bomb. And all he could do at this point was sit and wait for that bomb to go off.

  Tower took another deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth.

  Relax.

  Nothing more you can do tonight.

  He took another breath.

  I want to catch this son of a bitch.

  Another breath.

  Stephanie didn’t deserve that outburst, he realized. For that matter, neither did Renee earlier in the day. Both of them were trying to help him. He shouldn’t have treated them so poorly.

  He drifted into the facts of the case again. He ran through the facts that he did know, the precious few things he could say he knew for sure. What did they reveal? Nothing of value. So what were his options? He could wear out shoe leather, a la Crawford. Or he could hope that Renee got lucky with her computer searches. But if one of those approaches didn’t yield some results quickly, he knew his next step was going to be to simply wait for this guy to strike again.

  Great police work, John.

  He drove his fist into his palm. He hated this feeling of impotence that coursed through him. There had to be something he could do.

  Renee’s words came back to him. She wanted him to use his imagination. That meant t
rying to climb inside the mind of this sick fuck. He didn’t relish the prospect of doing that. Still, maybe she had a point.

  The sound of the door opening caused him to look up. Stephanie stood in the doorway. Her eyes were wet with tears, but her mouth formed a tight, angry line.

  “John, I know you’re under stress, but –”

  He stood and stepped toward her.

  “—there’s no reason for you to take it out on me.”

  He reached out to her and pulled her into his arms. “You’re right, Steph. I’m sorry.”

  “I was only trying to help,” she said, her voice dissolving into a squeak. He felt her shoulders hitch.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Stephanie cried into his chest.

  They stood in the bedroom, finding each other in the silence.

  SEVEN

  Wednesday, April 17th

  GRAVEYARD SHIFT

  2119 hours

  “If I knew anything more about it,” Sergeant Shen told Sully and Battaglia, “I’d tell you. All I know is that Lieutenant Hart wants to see you both at 0600 hours tomorrow morning. He didn’t say what it was about.”

  “Both of us?” Sully asked.

  Shen nodded. “Both.”

  “Do we need Union representation?”

  Shen shrugged. “Your call. You’re entitled if you want it.”

  Sully glanced over at Battaglia. “Who’s the Graveyard Union rep?”

  Battaglia shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  Sully looked back at Shen. “Did he say if we were a witness or an accused?”

  Shen shook his head. “I told you everything I know. Zero six hundred tomorrow. That’s it. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No,” Sully said.

  “No,” Battaglia said.

  Shen looked from one officer to the other. “Then you’re dismissed.”

  Sully and Battaglia turned in unison and left the office.

  “It’s that fucking gnome,” Battaglia whispered as they headed down the hallway outside the sergeant’s office.

  Sully shushed him.

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Shhhh.”

  Battaglia reluctantly stopped talking.

  When they reached the basement, Sully finally spoke. “I told you that guy would complain.”

  Battaglia opened up the trunk and tossed in his patrol bag. “So?”