by Lou Reiter
“Fuck him, the bastard.”
It took Taylor longer than he hoped to conclude this meeting. Finally Shirley Jones realized nothing else was going to materialize, so she reluctantly excused herself. As she walked away, Taylor noticed she was moving her hips more on the way out than she did on the way in. Probably trying to show him what he was missing.
Taylor realized his early suspicions were confirmed by Mrs. Jones. Obviously PT stood for “prick teaser” and BT meant “big tits.” From that, he could easily figure what Officer Reynolds’ other notations referenced.
*****
Taylor opened his computer and searched his contact list. He found the listing for Lt. Robert Jones of the Illinois State Police. He had worked with Robert on a couple other jobs in the state. Robert worked their Public Integrity Unit, the state version of IA. The unit did investigations for small police agencies and also handled political corruption investigations, not that there was such a thing in Illinois! Taylor punched in the cell number and was mildly surprised when Robert answered on the first ring. After the usual “What’s been happening” dialogue, Taylor got down to what he needed.
“Robert, I’m working for the Insurance Pool doing an IA involving an officer in Greenwood Village. Working directly with the chief, as well. Coming to you as you know how things slip out in a small department.” They both laughed at that, knowing that any police department is a cesspool of gossip.
“When an officer enters a license plate into the computer for a DMV check, how is that information retained?”
Officers usually have a computer in their police cars as standard issue. They can enter a vehicle’s license plate number into the computer and it immediately searches the State Department of Motor Vehicles database. The registered owner’s name, address, and any current wants or warrants for the vehicle or registered owner are spit out in seconds. More specific information on the history of traffic citations is also available. In the old days, officers would have to radio in to communications dispatch and the operator would access the DMV through the office computer. The information would then be radioed back to the officer in the field. That system left a track record at the dispatch center. Now with computers located in every car, the documentation trail is missing.
“Well, our system can capture the officer’s ID either from his computer or when he manually enters it. I’m not certain, but I think we have the capability of retrieving most IDs that way. Taylor, to be honest with you, I’m not sure how long we keep those records. How long a time frame are you interested in retrieving?”
“A month’s worth would be adequate, Robert.”
“That’s doable. Why don’t you give me the officer’s name and ID number? I guess he’s working for Greenwood Village? It’ll take me a couple of days to run it through. Can I e-mail the findings to you?”
Taylor didn’t know what he’d get back, but didn’t think it would be too voluminous.
*****
Taylor’s cell phone rang. It was Cynthia Good from the Women’s Advocacy Group.
“I contacted the person who called our hotline last week. Remember, the roommate? She discussed meeting with you along with her roommate, the victim, but told me her roommate is very frightened. She’s worried about her immigration status. I assured her this issue didn’t have anything to do with immigration and not to worry. After several phone calls back and forth, she agreed her roommate would meet with you, but only if she could also be included in the interview,” Cynthia added.
“That would be fine. I really appreciate your help. I know you normally wouldn’t go to this extent with cops.”
“I really feel I have to. This officer might continue to abuse women. Where would you suggest we make our meet?”
Taylor thought about a safe, but open location. “I think you mentioned they live in Rialto?”
“Yes, that’s my understanding.”
“Your place is too far to make them go. I’d like to meet somewhere around Rialto. Maybe you could get one of the victim advocates to attend as well. I know Illinois has advocates placed throughout the state. It would save you a drive.”
“I do know the advocate whose district encompasses Rialto as well as Greenwood Village.”
“Any problem with that? She might have some connection to the Village. I don’t want to alert anyone. I’m not sure exactly what investigative sequence we need to take. It’s too early,” Taylor responded. “I’m staying at the Courtyard here in Rialto. I could arrange for a small conference room if that’s suitable.”
The meeting was set for five in the evening the following day at the Courtyard. Taylor wasn’t sure what to expect. He stopped by the Greenwood Village station and asked the chief’s secretary to print out photographs of uniformed officers. She asked whether the photo display should include supervisors, and Taylor acknowledged all sworn personnel should be included in the photo gallery. Taylor knew he was meeting with a woman who had been abused by a cop, probably Reynolds. Rape victims react differently; but they all carry deep scars.
Taylor was in the lobby finishing his coffee and savoring a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie the reception desk put out to greet new arrivals. The friendly fragrance of cookies filled the lobby. Taylor saw three women enter. One wore a business suit and carried a briefcase over her shoulder. The second woman was tall, very attractive, and sported short hair sliced by several orange stripes accenting one side. She wore jeans and a colorful button down blouse.
The third woman was slight-framed, but strikingly attractive. She had dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore jeans, flats, and a denim shirt. Over the shirt was a leather vest. None of the women wore much in the way of jewelry. Taylor got up and approached the women, extending his hand first to the woman in the suit who he assumed was the victim advocate.
“Taylor Sterling, here. And you are?”
“Ann Montgomery. I’m with the Victim Advocate office.”
“Wonderful! Let’s go into the conference room I reserved. I have refreshments for you there. Once settled, I’ll properly introduce myself and tell you why I requested this meeting.”
After everybody was comfortable and nibbling cookies, Taylor started by introducing himself, sharing his background, and his connection to the Greenwood Village police department. He also explained how the Women’s Advocacy Group had become involved.
“So you’re not conducting a criminal investigation, Mr. Sterling?” Ann asked.
“I’m not. I’m not certain whether there will be one. As you know, it depends on this administrative investigation I’m conducting. I’ll be talking with the DA when I have a significant development.”
“Ms. Gomez is here reluctantly. She is very concerned about her personal wellbeing, specifically regarding her immigration status,” Ann interjected. “Ms. Gomez indicated she will listen and then decide how far she can go to assist you.”
“Ms. Gomez, I presume?” Taylor said turning to the smaller of the women.
“Yes, and this is my roommate, Rachel.”
“Ah, Rachel, and you’re the person who made the contact with the rape hotline?”
Rachel nodded.
“I will do everything possible to help all of you during what has to be a very stressful and frightening ordeal. No one can really know what the rape victim is enduring. I want to assure you that my ultimate goal is to stop the cop and bring him to justice. That may not be total satisfaction for you, Ms. Gomez, as I can only imagine the scars your encounter has created. You can be assured that this matter will be confidential. You’ll only be asked to do what you feel comfortable doing, and nothing more.”
Ms. Gomez was having difficulty raising her eyes from her lap as the conversation continued. Occasionally she gave a quick glance at Rachel who tried to telegraph encouragement to her roommate. When Taylor asked if he could tape the conversation, Ms. Gomez became visibly upset and shook her head violently. Taylor told her that was absolutely fine; everything would be said wit
hout a taped record.
“Ms. Gomez, is that what I should call you? What’s most comfortable for you?” Taylor inquired gently.
“Anita, please. Call me Anita.”
“Anita, thank you. Thank you for being so brave to come and meet with me. You are the key to this investigation. Only you can provide me with the direction to go,” Taylor told the frightened woman. “Why don’t you tell me what happened when you encountered the police officer?”
Anita glanced at the other women and then began to recite the specifics of her ordeal, speaking to her hands wringing in her lap. She was graphic and methodical in her recitation. She shuddered when she recounted the more intimate specifics. Tears tumbled over her cheeks as she relived the rape. She told her story without raising her head once. She was hurt, humiliated, and scarred. Everyone in the room was moved by her detailed, explicit recollection which seemed to destroy her very soul. Taylor knew it was time to take a break to allow an opportunity for the tension to subside. When they reconvened a few minutes later, Taylor began asking the necessary investigatory questions.
“If I put photographs of police officers in front of you, do you think you could identify the officer who assaulted you?”
Anita shrugged her shoulders. Taylor removed the stack of 40 photographs from his briefcase and placed them in front of her. This was the newest method of using photographs for identification. In the past, investigators used what was known as a “six pack.” Six photographs were placed in a single sheet framed with defined borders. That approach had been discarded as it was easily manipulated and could be affected to direct the victim to the photo the investigator wanted identified.
Anita methodically looked at each photo. Several photographs she put in a separate stack. After she finished the entire presentation, she returned to the segregated stack. She slowly went through the short stack and then took one out, setting it firmly in front of her.
“He’s the one! He’s the one who raped me! He’s the bastard! I’ll never forget him! He’s the one!” Anita exclaimed, jabbing her finger at the photographed face.
Taylor didn’t know the name of the officer. The only people he knew at the Greenwood Village Police Department were Chief Watkins, his secretary, and Captain Reeves. Taylor put a pen in front of Anita and asked her to write her name on the back of the photograph she had chosen.
“Anita, I need to ask you some specific follow-up questions. Is that okay?” Anita nodded.
“You said the officer had you follow him to a dark location. Would you be able to find that location again?” She nodded again.
“Did he use a condom?” Affirmative. “What happened to the condom?”
Anita looked puzzled and then blurted, “I remember! He threw it over a chain fence into some bushes. Just like he threw me away. Bastard!”
“You said you wiped your mouth with your blouse afterwards.” Taylor stated. Anita nodded affirmatively. “What happened to the blouse?”
Rachel shot from her chair and produced a brown paper bag, saying, “It’s in here! Anita couldn’t bear to look at the blouse and was going to throw it out. I’ve watched enough CSI to know it might be helpful as evidence. I convinced her to keep it, just in case.”
“Did he say anything maybe you’ve forgotten to tell me?” Taylor asked.
Anita sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. After a few minutes she leaned forward and put her head in her hands. She finally looked up and admitted, “He kept saying that I should not say anything or he would call immigration. He kept referring to me by my name and telling me I was a pretty Latin girl, had pretty Latin titties, and Latin this and Latin that.”
“Anita, there are a few other things that are very important in my investigation. I would like to take a photograph of you, your face only. I would like to get a DNA sample from you. It’s only putting a Q-tip swab in your mouth. Lastly, I’d like you to take me to the location where the rape occurred.”
Taylor could see Anita was quickly growing worried and apprehensive.
“Let me step out of the room and you can talk this over with Ann and Rachel. Okay?” She nodded and Taylor left the room. After ten minutes, Ann opened the door and asked him to join them again.
“Anita says she will assist you with what you requested. But she is adamant that she is not going to testify for you or anybody else. She is very concerned about her immigration status. Are you in a position to get her a grant of immunity?” Ann asked hopefully.
Taylor knew the immigration issue was currently a political football. Most Americans didn’t care what happened to anyone who was in the country illegally. ICE, as the immigration agency was known, could be abusive. The whole immigration system was a mess and a bureaucratic quagmire. Taylor had zero pull with ICE.
“I don’t know. I will respect Anita’s choice not to testify. I will look into some form of immunity, but don’t hold your breath waiting for the Feds. I’m just being honest with you.”
Taylor snapped a photograph and took a swab from Anita. He suggested they all ride together in his rental vehicle to the site of the attack. Anita said it would be easier for her to remember if the trip started at Perkins Pancake House on the highway. When they arrived at the restaurant parking lot, Anita asked Taylor to turn around and head in the direction she had been traveling that night. When they reached the next major intersection, Anita exclaimed he had gone too far. Retracing the direction, she soon pointed to a large warehouse.
“In here! We drove down this side and then just around the back corner of the building. Here, here!”
Taylor stopped and the four exited the car to investigate. It was obvious the building had been vacant for some time. Weeds grew through the concrete in front of the loading docks. Taylor recalled seeing a real estate sign in front of the building. Taylor searched the top of the building and saw several surveillance cameras. He would check them, but was fairly certain they had been disassembled some time ago. He walked to the chained link fence and studied the bushes. Among piles of debris and mounds of beer cans he saw what he had hoped to find. In the bushes several used condoms hung like Christmas tree ornaments. Condom wrappers littered the ground, and all were Trojans.
Taylor retrieved his digital camera and several small evidence tags from the investigative kit he carried in the trunk. He took the small numbered placards and positioned them next to each piece of evidence. He snapped several overall views of the area and then photographed each item of evidence and placed them in separate evidence bags. He knew this was a significant find.
When they arrived back at the Courtyard, Taylor offered to buy dinner for everybody, but he suspected they would decline. He knew Anita wanted to get away from the horror she relived that afternoon—the rape still burned inside her as if it had just happened moments before.
*****
Taylor called the police station to make sure Chief Watkins and Captain Reeves were in. When he arrived, both were in the chief’s office. Taylor withdrew the photograph that Anita had identified.
“Who’s this?” Taylor asked as he placed the photograph on the chief’s desk.
“That’s Officer Marcus Reynolds,” both said in unison.
“Well, I think that identifies who our targeted officer is. I just met with one of the victims referred to us by the Women’s Group.” He turned the photo over and showed them Anita’s signature.
“She didn’t even hesitate when she picked him out. I gave her all 40 sworn officer photos, including yours, Chief.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!”
“On top of that, the victim took me to the location where the rape occurred. It’s behind a deserted warehouse close to the highway. Found a half dozen used condoms in the bushes. If they’re all his, we got a lot of victims out there.”
The chief exploded, “He uses the same location? Just throws his cum away? Is he stupid?”
“It’s pretty common. Predator cop rapists often follow a similar routine. I got the condoms, a couple wrapp
ers, the victim’s blouse, and her DNA swab. Can we keep them in the locker in your office until I can get them over to the regional lab?”
“Sure, but why the blouse?”
“Seems after he forced her to suck his cock after penetrating her anus, she used it to wipe her lips trying to get the shit out of her mouth. There should be DNA on it.”
“Motherfucking pervert. We got to fire his ass right now!”
“Chief, I’d rather hold off for a week on that. I know the DNA analysis will take weeks, but there are a couple of other things I’d like to do to build an even stronger case. Things that might be important to corroborate the victim’s statement.”
“What else are you looking to do?”
“Well, Mike probably told you about the ticket review. Seems Reynolds targets women, but only tickets them if they aren’t Latin. Mike, did you tell the chief about the notations on the back of the tickets?”
Mike nodded.
“I never heard of such a thing, Taylor,” the chief admitted. “What’d you figure they mean?”
“Pretty common, boss,” Taylor continued as he described the suspected meanings of the penciled notations.
“I guess that’s the kind of thing I picked up working for a large department and being involved with the darker side of law enforcement for the past 20 years.”
“Oh, Taylor, this came for you this morning. A state trooper brought it in.”
Chief Watkins handed Taylor a large envelope.
“What’s in it?”
“I contacted a friend of mine in the State Police Internal Affairs Unit and had him review DMV computer searches that Reynolds called over the last month. After we found the ticket issue, I figured it would be best to target directly at him. With this new information, I think we can narrow down the record search even further.”
“Why is that?”
“From what Ms. Good said, the review of tickets, and my interview with a victim, I think this guy focuses on Latin women. I’m guessing most of them have immigration issues. He probably uses that as a big stick to get them to comply with his sexual demands.”
