They Never Die Quietly

by D. M. Annechino

  Simon grinned from ear to ear. “Thought you could use a little company.”

  Before Sami could respond, Simon did an about-face and slammed the steel door.

  So much for hiding my emotions.

  On the way to Sami’s house, Al telephoned Captain Davison and told him what he knew thus far.

  “I’ve got every available detective working on this, Al,” Davison said. “Any leads on your end?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Think Sami’s disappearance has something to do with the serial killer?”

  Al thought of this possibility. Her date fit the profile, but he refused to accept it as a valid supposition. What were the chances that Sami’s mysterious suitor was the same man they were after? It seemed unlikely. “I think it’s a bizarre coincidence, boss.”

  “After you check out Sami’s house give me a call. I want to hear from you on the hour—even if you just breathe in my ear. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And one more thing: If you need anything, call me immediately.”

  Al parked in front of Sami’s house and frisked his pockets for cigarettes. There were only two left in the crumpled pack. In the past, when he’d fallen off the no-smoking wagon, one pack had been enough to set him straight. He had a funny feeling that soon he’d be buying a carton. What worried him most was the lingering taste of Scotch so convincingly wearing away his willpower.

  The violent rainstorm dwindled to a light sprinkle. The ominous clouds were losing their grip and odd-shaped patches of blue dotted the sky. The sun started to burn off the stubborn clouds. Soon the sky would be the color of balloon flowers. Al heard on the radio that many streets in Mission Valley were flooded. The engineers who designed the San Diego sewer and drainage system must have believed the song “It Never Rains in Southern California.” From March to November you couldn’t fill a thimble with rain, but during the winter months, particularly January and February, it often poured with a vengeance.

  Parked in Sami’s driveway, Al sat in the car, sucking on a cigarette for almost ten minutes. To waste crucial time made no sense. In fact, minutes often made the difference between life and death. Yet Al lingered, feeling almost paralyzed, terrified by what he might find inside Sami’s house. He could not dismiss the possibility that Sami was indeed inside. Perhaps unconscious. Maybe seriously injured. Or maybe she could be…

  Al plodded toward the front door like a man trudging through mud. In his infinite optimism, he rang the doorbell and pounded the side of his fist against the door. No such luck. After steadying his shaky hands and unlocking the door, Al stepped into the living room and looked around, clinging to the quickly vanishing hope that Sami and Angelina were safe and sound. Cupping both hands around his mouth, he yelled.

  “Sami. Are you here? Angelina.”

  Other than the clock on the far wall ticking away, Al heard nothing. One more time.

  “Sami, it’s Al. Where are you?”

  Al’s eyes were misty, his throat tight.

  The condition of the living room typified classic Sami housekeeping, untidy and cluttered with debris. Al observed two empty pizza boxes on the cocktail table, toys scattered about, empty coffee mugs and glasses, books, newspapers, magazines, and a half-filled Tic Tac container. He hadn’t fallen in love with her because of her domestic flair. He loved just looking at Sami, smelling her hair, feeling her leg pressed against his when they stuffed pizza in their faces while watching a Chargers game. Samantha Rizzo rocked Alberto Diaz’s world.

  He found his way to Angelina’s bedroom and poked his head inside. Immediately, Al caught a whiff of baby powder and chocolate. Oh, how Angelina loved chocolate, particularly Tootsie Rolls. He could almost see that exaggerated grin and her baby teeth covered with the sticky brown candy, her tiny fingers navigating the inside of her mouth to break it free. Without entering, he carefully flipped the light switch with his elbow and looked around. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Then again, he thought, how could a single man have a clue as to what was ordinary to a child? Reason took control and he stepped into the room. Hanging to the floor, a Mickey Mouse comforter covered the unmade bed. Pink pajamas lay on the corner of the mattress, and furry Oscar the Grouch slippers sat on the powder-blue carpeting. Although Angelina had been abducted from Josephine Rizzo’s home, he still proceeded cautiously, not wanting to contaminate anything until the latent fingerprint department dusted for prints. The top dresser drawer was slightly open, the closet door ajar, toys dotted the floor.

  Convinced that Angelina’s bedroom offered no clues, he headed for Sami’s room.

  The bedroom door was closed. Clinging to the last grain of hope, Al gently knocked. Using his sleeve, he carefully twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. He saw an assortment of clothes piled on top of the unmade bed. Several pairs of shoes sat on the floor. He couldn’t help feeling like an intruder, an uninvited guest molesting Sami’s privileged world, desecrating the sovereignty of her private domain. On the other hand, Al felt warm all over. This is the bed where she lay beneath the sheets every night. How many times had the full-length mirror reflected an image of her naked body?

  Al sat on the bed and touched Sami’s pillow. He picked it up and pressed it to his face. Ah. Sami’s scent invaded his senses. He could never quite explain what she smelled like. Getting a whiff of Sami was like walking through a lemon grove. She had a fresh, citrus scent. Must be her shampoo, he guessed. For several minutes Al sat in a trancelike state. Like a photo album of their six-year relationship, crisp images flashed through his mind. Every detail so clear. He closed his eyes for a moment and burned an image of her face into his memory bank.

  One by one, Al searched her dresser drawers, carefully examining everything with precision. He could not afford to take anything for granted. Somewhere in this room, Al felt certain, a clue waited to be discovered. The contents of the drawers yielded only a momentary departure from reality. In the third drawer he discovered Sami’s lingerie. He imagined what she might look like in the black lace bra and matching panties. Granted, Sami didn’t have a model’s figure, at least not by today’s standards. Sami’s figure was more like an hourglass. But Al liked a woman with curves. And by God, Sami had plenty of them!

  Give it up, Al. Time to be a cop, not a heartsick fool.

  Now the closet. Piece by piece, he rummaged through pockets: blazers, slacks, jeans, jackets—hunting for something. Anything. Again, a dead end. He sat on the bed and stared at the floor, angry, annoyed, helpless. Glancing at the nightstand, Al spotted what looked like a greeting card. Without touching it, he examined it carefully. He noticed Sami’s name neatly printed on the face of the envelope. Below her name he saw the address of the precinct. A Pacific Beach postmark was imprinted next to the stamp. He used the corner of the sheet to lift the envelope. No return address, front or back. Touching just the edges of the card, Al strategically slid the card out of the envelope and read the inside greeting.

  May the memories you cherish fill your heart with peace today and give you the strength and courage to sustain you on your way.

  Warm regards,

  Simon.

  Simon?

  Josephine Rizzo thought that the name of Sami’s Thursday evening date began with an S. Could be a coincidence, but what else did he have? Josephine also remembered that he worked as a physical therapist. With a Pacific Beach postmark, Al guessed that Simon either lived or worked in the area. If he lived in PB, how could Al possibly find him without knowing his last name? Bayshore was the only hospital in the area, but several stand-alone facilities offered physical and occupational therapy.

  For another thirty minutes Al ransacked Sami’s bedroom, but to no avail. Having no other lead, he went with his gut and decided to pay the hospital a visit.

  “Are we going to live here, Mommy?” Angelina sat in front of the television watching cartoons, munching saltine crackers. Sami paced the floor like a caged animal.

  “Only for a few days,
honey.”

  Since delivering Angelina early this morning, Simon had all but vanished. The sound of footsteps above was the only sign of his presence. Sami had no idea what activities occupied him; maybe constructing a crucifix? Can’t just walk into your local lumberyard and buy one ready-made.

  Although being in the same room with Simon would cause Sami unbearable anxiety, particularly with Angelina present, she hoped that he would spend time antagonizing them. Isn’t that what crazed killers lived for, to taunt and tease their victims, like a cat toying with a mouse? Didn’t they derive just as much pleasure from psychological cruelty as physical torture?

  To survive, Sami had to get into his head, find out what made him tick. He had to have a weakness. All nutcases did. How could she find his hot button if he remained upstairs?

  After the shock of Angelina’s kidnapping wore off, Sami felt immediate concern for her mother’s welfare. Simon didn’t merely knock on her mother’s front door in the early morning hours and snatch Angelina without a struggle. Sami had to rely on what Angelina had told her—“We didn’t wake Grandma ’cause she was sleeping”—and pray it was true.

  While the television continued to hypnotize Angelina, Sami examined every square inch of the “living quarters.” The forethought Simon employed to design this prison with such exacting detail further proved that he was a calculating sociopath. Only a man mentally deranged could have constructed an area so fastidiously. He thought of everything; the self-contained environment could support life indefinitely. Or for as long as he deemed it necessary. Replenishing the food inventory was Simon’s only task. Sami didn’t expect she’d be here long enough for the supply of bath towels, linens, and toilet paper to run out. No, by Sunday evening, she guessed, either she’d be dead or rescued.

  Her mother, Sami felt certain, would be in a state of utter panic. That Sami could not contact her mother just to let her know that Angelina and she were fine caused her great distress. Sami had never felt so helpless. By now, Josephine Rizzo had contacted the police, hopefully Al. Her partner had strong cop instincts, and she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have sniffing her trail than Al. If she hadn’t been so headstrong and coordinated backup, Angelina and she would not be in such a predicament. But now was not the time to second-guess her poor decision. Sami needed to focus all her energies in a more productive direction.

  Sami heard the dead bolt unlock. She hurried to the bed and sat, facing the door.

  Deep breaths, girl.

  Hopefully, Angelina would continue watching television and not be distracted by their conversation—if he would even speak to her. The few times they’d spoken, Simon portrayed the image of a well-bred man. Now that the masquerade was over, she didn’t know what to expect.

  The door swung open and Simon stepped inside. He wore jeans, a white sweatshirt, and a Padres baseball cap. As much as she despised him, she could not deny that he was handsome. Remembering her serial-killer training, she knew that many infamous murderers—particularly those most diabolical—were charming and seductive. Simon certainly fit the M.O.

  After securing the door, he stood with his arms folded, gawking at her like a zoo patron observing the behavior of a caged animal. “Just wanted to check on you ladies.”

  “Is my mother okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  All she could do was hope. “How can I be sure?”

  “You’ll have to trust me.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “Need anything?”

  “How about a pair of handcuffs and a Louisville Slugger?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Then an explanation would be a good start.”

  Simon smiled. “Come on, detective. Do I really have to fill in the blanks?”

  “You owe me at least that, Simon.”

  He ambled toward her. “May I sit next to you?”

  That a monster could be so polite bewildered her. His demeanor hadn’t changed a bit. Not yet. She moved over and patted the mattress with her hand. He sat a foot to her left.

  “You can cut to the chase, Simon. I don’t need to hear the nitty-gritty details of your troubled childhood and love-deprived life. Just tell me why?”

  “Because the world is overrun with sinners.”

  “How does killing people change that?”

  He glared at her. “I free them from everlasting damnation.”

  “Shouldn’t that be their choice?”

  “There is no choice. God has selected me to do His work.”

  She found the opening. “God has asked you to crucify women?”

  “He talks to me.”

  “And he tells you to crucify?”

  “I save their souls. Death is a consequence.”

  “How do you choose who should be saved?” She checked Angelina to be sure she was still occupied.

  “All people are sinners.” He glared at her. “Especially women.”

  “Are you a sinner, Simon?”

  His eyes twitched nervously. “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t you save yourself?”

  “I am saved!”

  “Why me, Simon?”

  He hesitated. “With you there are two benefits.”

  “Should I feel honored?”

  “You will. I promise.”

  Don’t lose control. Keep the pressure on.

  “Why am I so special?”

  “You’re not only a sinner, you’re trying to foil God’s plan.”

  “And you think by kill—” She had to choose her words carefully. “—by saving me, other detectives won’t come after you?”

  This question seemed to stump him. “I don’t have time for this senseless banter.”

  “Simon, if you are truly doing God’s work, wouldn’t He want you to be honest with someone about to be saved?”

  “You’re trying to confuse me.”

  “No, Simon. I’m just trying to understand.”

  The tension slowly vanished from his face. His shoulders curled forward and he looked more relaxed.

  Sally Whitman, the FBI profiler had been right, Sami thought. Simon was indeed a religious fanatic. But how could Sami use this information to save her hide? Maybe by massaging his religious sensitivity?

  “Why did you take my clothes off?”

  “I didn’t touch you if that’s what you’re insinuating.” His cheeks flushed pink.

  “What else would I think?”

  “I had to be sure you weren’t concealing a weapon or some means of communication.”

  Amazing how easily he volunteered information, she thought. “You couldn’t just frisk me?”

  “I had to be sure.”

  “And how about the other women, Simon?”

  His eyes locked on an object in the distance. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re familiar with the sixth commandment aren’t you?”

  “I’m well acquainted with all of God’s laws.”

  Her hands were shaking now, so she stuffed her palms under her thighs. She didn’t know how far to push him, but had no idea if she’d get another chance.

  “Did you rape them, or was it consensual sex?”

  “Don’t push me, sinner.”

  She had indeed found a raw nerve but didn’t dare continue. “Tell me about your family, Simon.”

  His head snapped toward her. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, detective?”

  “I’d just like to hear about your family.”

  “Searching for a deep dark secret?” His voice was riled again.

  Sami felt certain she’d hit another nerve. “Are your parents still alive?”

  He sprang off the bed. “I don’t have time for this chitchat.”

  Sami wanted to press on but didn’t think he would let her. “When will you return?”

  “Soon enough.”

  Just before he closed the door, Sami asked, “Would you be kind enough to bring me my purse. I left it on—”

  “If you’re look
ing for your cell phone, pager, or weapon, I’m afraid they’ve had an unfortunate accident.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Still want your purse?”

  “Please.”

  After he left, Sami sat on the bed and pondered their conversation. She had to learn more about his family and provoke his obvious sensitivity to having raped these women. Somewhere there existed a link between his insanity, violent sex, and a parent or sibling. She could only hope that the next time she saw him wouldn’t be the last.

  Sami eased off the bed and went into the “playroom.” Angelina’s eyes were glued to the television. Sami stood between her daughter and the TV and held out her arms.

  “Would you give Mommy a big hug?”

  When Simon closed the door behind him, he could barely contain himself. Grinning like a mad professor, suppressing a loud guffaw, he shook his head and eased out a huff of air.

  She must think I’m an idiot.

  Detective Rizzo’s question-and-answer game both amused and disappointed Simon. He’d play her little game; let her think that she could get into his head. He’d thought the detective was clever. Evidently, he’d given her too much credit. He couldn’t wait to return for round two.

  NINETEEN

  Just after one p.m., Detective Alberto Diaz, weary, cranky, unshaven, and slightly hung over, walked through the automatic doors of Bayshore Hospital sipping the last mouthful of 7-Eleven coffee. He passed the information desk and headed straight for the administrative offices. The main door was locked, but Al found a teller-like window with a circular hole in the glass, which allowed people to speak to a receptionist. A young, Hispanic-looking brunette with full lips, bronze skin, and eyes as dark and shiny as obsidian glass greeted him with a smile. Her teeth were pure white.

  “Good morning, sir.” Her cheery voice was marked with a thick accent. “How may I help you?”

  “It’s urgent that I speak with your human resources director.”