by Frank Zafiro
He’d ducked into a hooch inside the village to avoid a roving guard. There, he’d interrupted an NVA soldier raping a young woman.
Mai. You know her name is Mai.
“Mai,” he whispered.
He’d killed the NVA soldier without a second thought. Then, in what he now remembered as a moment of incredible arrogance, he kept her calm by pointing to the subdued flag on his shoulder. He remembered how her fear seemed to diminish when he’d smiled at her, then slipped out of the hooch and back into the night.
After he’d finished the mission, they returned to that village with regular army units two days later. All of the colonel’s troops were gone. As Chisolm swept through the village, he swung into the hooch to check on the young girl. Like a sick version of déjà vu, he found her struggling with an American soldier.
Chisolm took a long, deep drink from the Kokanee bottle. He lowered his eyes, returning his gaze to his shadowy reflection in the dead television screen. He recalled the brief struggle with the American troop, then the face-off that occurred when the soldier’s platoon mates showed up. All three of them left after Chisolm stared down the barrel of his M-16 at them.
What was worse, though, was the young girl’s –
Mai, goddamnit! Her name is Mai!
—accusing eyes when she slapped at his chest and shoulders, chattering in Vietnamese, demanding to know why he hadn’t killed the American just like he’d killed the NVA.
There were nights like these that Chisolm wondered if maybe he should have.
Six months later, he came across her in a Saigon bar, all tarted up and swaying to the music. When she spotted him at a table, waiting for Bobby Ramirez to finish having his fun upstairs, she’d been all over him. Rubbing, cooing, asking him if he wanted a good time. All the while, though, her eyes radiated the same dead, accusing hatred they’d held back in that hooch in her tiny village in the middle of the jungle.
You let me down, those eyes said.
Chisolm left the bar and waited across the street. He sipped whiskey until Ramirez staggered out of the bar, looking for him. Then they walked away and never looked back.
But now I spend all my time looking back, Chisolm thought. Just seeing all of the ghosts of those I’ve failed.
He drained the beer, but made no move to get another. Instead, he stared into his own eyes in the reflection of the black TV screen. He didn’t like what he saw, but he knew what he’d see if he looked away.
NINE
Friday, April 19th
Day Shift
1456 hours
Tower stood near the corner of the small conference room, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. He’d watched people slowly trickle into the meeting, guessing at their identities as soon as they came through the door.
The prosecutor was easy to pick out. Patrick Hinote had the confident stride of a veteran attorney and a firm handshake. Of course, the nice suit and the briefcase provided a couple of slam-dunk clues. Tower didn’t award himself any points for figuring that one out.
Next to arrive were a pair of women. The first was a slender woman with a shock of coppery hair drawn back in a ponytail. She looked about thirty to Tower. Accompanying her was a younger, heavy-set woman wearing a pair of round, thin-framed glasses. Her black hair was cut in a tight bob.
Advocates, Tower guessed.
Patrick Hinote introduced them. “Detective Tower, this is Julie Avery and Kami Preston.”
Tower held out his hand. The dark haired woman reached out first. “Kami Preston,” she said, her tone terse and business-like. Tower shook her hand. Her grip was firm but not overbearing.
Patrick put his briefcase on the conference table. “Kami is assistant counsel on this case.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tower said.
Great. Rookie lawyer.
He moved on to Julie Avery. She gave him a pleasant smile as she took his hand. He expected her grip to be much softer, but she surprised him with an even firmer grip than Kami’s.
“I’m on the Prosecutor’s Crisis Team,” she told him.
“Oh?” Tower nodded. He’d been right about at least one of them, then. She was a rape advocate. “That’s great.”
Julie’s smile broadened. “You don’t sound too convinced, detective.”
She’s direct, Tower thought. He cleared his throat nervously. “No? Sorry, I’m just a little distracted by this case.”
The truth was he’d worked around advocates before on other cases. For the most part, they were helpful, both to the victim and for his investigation. He’d heard horror stories about situations where an advocate interfered with an investigation or tried to play junior attorney, but he’d personally never seen it. Most of the time, they offered an ear and a resource to the victim, which made that victim a better witness in the criminal case.
Still, they weren’t going to have any victims at this meeting, or as part of the task force. So why did the prosecutor bring along an advocate?
Tower sipped his coffee and retreated toward the corner of the room. The foursome stood around awkwardly for several minutes until Lieutenant Crawford and Captain Reott arrived. Renee entered the room only a few moments later. Introductions were made all around and the meeting began.
“Let me get straight to the point,” Captain Reott said. “The police department is forming a small task force to deal with this so-called ‘Rainy Day Rapist.’ We want to get the Prosecutor’s Office on board right early on to make sure that when we get the guy, he’s stays got.”
“I appreciate that, Captain,” Patrick said. “We’ll help in any way we can.”
Reott nodded his understanding. “I’m sure you will. Right now, what we’re thinking is this. If Tower needs any search warrants or arrest warrants, you’ll assist him so that there’s no chance of it getting shot down later on by some judge. Also, if there are any more assaults, I’d like you to respond to the scene to offer any advice or assistance.”
“We can do that,” Patrick said. “I’d like to get copies of all the incident reports to review.”
“I’ll ship them to you,” Tower said.
“Thanks. In the meantime, could you give us a brief synopsis of where things are at?”
Tower glanced at Crawford, took a deep breath and sighed. “The truth is, we’re nowhere.”
“Detective, I realize you may have a difficult case, but—”
“I’m not exaggerating,” Tower interrupted. “We have very little in the way of witness testimony and no physical evidence that points to a particular suspect. Even if the guy came in and confessed, I don’t know if we could convict him off the evidence we’ve been able to collect.”
“Do you have any DNA?”
Tower shook his head.
Kami Preston scrawled furiously on the yellow legal pad in front of her.
“Any injuries the attacker may have sustained in the commission of the offense?” Patrick asked.
“His last victim, a schoolteacher, blasted him with a small canister of pepper spray,” Tower explained. “But within a few hours, all evidence of that was probably gone. One trip through the washing machine cleans the clothes. A few hours and lots of water takes care of the spray effects on the bad guy’s eyes and face. So if he lives alone, and he probably does—”
“Why do you say that?” Julie asked him.
Tower glanced at her. “He’s a rapist.”
“That means he lives alone?”
“I just think it would be hard to—”
“I wonder, detective, if you are falling into the trap of stereotyping your suspect.”
Kami Preston paused in her feverish writing and looked up. Tower felt her eyes and those of everyone else in the room boring into him.
“Excuse me?” He asked, stalling for time. “Stereotyping?”
“Yes,” Julie answered immediately. “It’s a common mistake. There are a lot of myths surrounding rape. It wouldn’t be good to…”
Jesus, she’s a pit bull, To
wer thought. And she’s all over my ass.
“…immediately assume that a certain myth or stereotype holds true. In fact, it may even hamper your ability to discover…”
Tower held up his hand, interrupting her. “The thing about stereotypes, Ms. Avery, is that while they might make some people of a particular political persuasion uncomfortable, they became stereotypes for a reason.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And what, pray tell, is that reason?”
“Because they are usually true.”
“That’s a rather ignorant view of the world, don’t you think?”
“No,” Tower said. “It’s a rather realistic one.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Captain Reott said. “Let’s remember we’re on the same team here.”
“Just a friendly discussion, Captain,” Tower said icily.
Reott shot Tower a warning glare before continuing. “I think what Detective Tower was getting at was that if the suspect lives alone, there won’t be any witnesses to him coming home covered in pepper spray. Isn’t that right, Detective?”
Kami Preston renewed her frantic note taking.
Tower shrugged. “Sure, that’s part of it.”
“What’s the rest, then?” Julie asked.
Tower glanced at Renee, then back at the advocate. “Well, it’s just a theory, but I think it’s clear that this guy is pretty angry at women. Probably too angry to be in any sort of relationship right now.”
“Whose theory is this?” Patrick asked. “Has the FBI profiled this guy or something?”
That’s just what we need, Tower thought. The Feebs.
“No,” he told the prosecutor. “But—”
“I have,” Renee said.
All eyes turned to Renee, including Tower’s. He regarded the analyst with mild surprise.
“Go on,” Patrick said.
Renee cleared her throat. “I’ve reviewed all of the witness statements, as well as Detective Tower’s investigation of the crime scene. The medical evidence, too. Based on all of that, I think we have someone with obvious anger issues toward women. I believe he is acting out his anger at one or possibly two women by attacking another, unrelated woman. It’s called psychological transference.”
The assembled group digested her words. Tower allowed himself a little smile. Despite the fact that he’d been a jerk to Renee, the analyst was sticking up for him. He glanced over at Julie. The copper-haired woman was nodding her head slightly in agreement.
“Indulge me for a moment,” Patrick said, “but why wouldn’t he just strike out at the person he’s angry at?”
“Could be any number of reasons,” Renee answered. “She could be unavailable, located far away. If it is a mother or grandmother he’s angry at, she could even be dead. But more likely, he is too intimidated by that person to strike directly. If it is a maternal figure, she’d have had control over him for most of his adult life. That grip may still be too strong, even now. So instead, he lashes out at other women. In doing so, he symbolically lashes out at her.”
“You think it’s a mother figure?” Julie asked her.
Renee turned to the advocate. “I believe that is the most likely candidate, yes. Even though it is a bit of a stereotype.”
Julie’s eyes widened slightly at the comment. Then she pressed her lips together and gave Renee a small nod. Touché, she seemed to say.
Tower watched on, amazed.
“Of course,” Renee continued, “as we see that the violence in his surrogate assaults is escalating, that gives me concern that he may be girding himself for a strike at the true object of his anger.”
Patrick nodded. “Meaning he’s working up the guts to go after Mommy Dearest.”
“Possibly,” Renee said. “Either way, there’s no denying that his violence is escalating.”
“It would appear so,” the lawyer agreed. He turned back to Tower. “Do you agree with her assessment, detective?”
“Yes,” Tower answered immediately.
“So what I’m hearing is that we have no substantive witnesses for a rapist that is leaving virtually no physical evidence of any prosecutorial value and who is becoming progressively more violent. In fact, what I’m actually hearing is that this may become a homicide case before it is over.” Patrick sighed. “Wonderful. So what are we going to do?”
“That is what this task force is going to address,” Captain Reott said. He pointed at Tower. “Detective Tower remains lead investigator, with you and your staff to assist him. Lieutenant Crawford will head up the task force. Lieutenant?”
Crawford began speaking without preamble. “The task force will consist of two parts.” He held up one finger. “The first part will be a pair of my Major Crimes detectives who will be available for any investigative follow-up that Tower needs done.”
“Such as?”
“Canvassing for witnesses, monitoring and screening the tip line, things like that. Shoe leather and grunt work. They get anything hot, they’ll bring it to me and Tower.”
Patrick nodded and motioned for Crawford to continue.
The lieutenant held up a second finger. “The second part will be a decoy detail. We’ll run a decoy officer around the city in a variety of locations that Renee here believes would be likely targets for the rapist. The decoy will be dressed as a jogger. There’ll be a two-officer cover team assigned to her at all times. Our hope is that the scumbag decides to go after our decoy. If he does, we take him down.”
Patrick considered the plan. He traced a stick figure on the top of the notepaper, the only writing he’d done during the meeting so far. Next to him, Kami Preston’s pen skipped across the yellow page in front of her.
“Let’s say you catch the offender,” he said. “From what you’ve already told me, you have no evidence to link him to these other attacks, correct?”
“That’s right,” Crawford said. “But if we bag him on an attempted rape, we might be able to get a search warrant for his car and his house. There may be evidence from the other rapes in one of those two places.”
“That’s a fishing expedition, Lieutenant,” Patrick said. “You know that no judge will sign a search warrant for that. The warrant has to be to look for evidence related to that specific arrest.”
“I’m not asking you to put in the search warrant that you’re looking for evidence of the other rapes. But if you can get into the guy’s house, and while searching for evidence of the most recent assault, the detective comes across evidence of the other assaults, well that’s just lucky.”
“That’s pretextual.”
“It’s good police work,” Crawford said.
“Maybe so,” Patrick replied, “but it would be attacked in court and likely suppressed as evidence. Avoiding that sort of thing is, I believe, why my office was brought on board at this early juncture, correct?”
Crawford ignored his question. “Even if you don’t get enough for a search warrant, we’ll have the guy on an attempted rape. That’s a solid charge.”
“I agree,” Patrick said. “But how will we know it is the right guy?”
“The rapes stop,” Crawford told him. “Or maybe he confesses.”
“Both would be nice,” said Patrick.
“The most important thing is to stop this guy, one way or another,” Captain Reott said. “Before another woman gets hurt.”
“I agree,” Julie said quietly.
“Me, too,” Tower added.
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then Patrick asked in a soft voice, “What do you think the odds are of this tactic drawing out the rapist?”
“Not very good,” Crawford admitted. “But a hell of a lot better than doing nothing at all.”
Graveyard Shift
2108 hours
Lieutenant Robert Saylor put aside the “hot board” full of briefing memos after he read the final one aloud to the assembled graveyard patrol officers. Just in case he wasn’t finished, though
, Officer Katie MacLeod kept her pocket notebook in front of her.
“Last item,” the lieutenant said. “As most of you already know, the Rainy Day Rapist struck again yesterday. That makes his third victim. This one was a fifty-six year old school teacher.”
Angry muttering erupted and rumbled through the roll call room.
Saylor raised his hand for quiet. “In response to this, a task force is being formed to focus on this case until he’s caught. Investigations is heading it up, with Detective Tower still in the lead. However, Patrol will assist. I’ve been asked for four volunteers. One will be a female decoy, three will rotate as part of a two-officer cover team.”
Katie swallowed. A small surge of adrenaline pulsed through her limbs.
If they need a female, there aren’t many to choose from. They’ll probably ask me to –
Officer James Kahn raised his hand. “El-Tee, I nominate Hiero for the job of female decoy,” he said.
The assembled group burst out in raucous laughter. Katie reluctantly allowed herself a small smile. Humorous moments from James Kahn were infrequent at best. Of course, it figured that he’d choose something like this to joke about. In addition to being the platoon grump, Kahn was also a dyed-in-the-wool skirt-chaser. Katie didn’t know what women saw in him, other than the badge, maybe. He reminded her of an older, less handsome and much crasser version of Giovanni.
Hiero, who sometimes rode partners with Kahn, waited for the laughter to subside. Then he shook his head. “Sir, if you assign me, the first thing I’m doing is filing a sexual harassment suit against Jimmy here. It’s hard enough fending off his clumsy advances all night. If I have to wear a skirt –”
Another round of laughter exploded around the room. This time, Katie didn’t join in. It always amazed her how quickly gallows humor swept in to displace the anger and concern.
“All right,” Saylor said, raising both hands up for quiet. “Joking aside, this is a serious assignment. Sergeants, meet me after roll call so we can get the task force personnel figured out.”
Saylor turned and strode from the room.
“A little touchy, isn’t he?” Kahn muttered, returning to grouch mode. Katie figured he’d spend the rest of the shift that way, maybe the rest of the week.
