Shadows May Fall

by Corcoran, Mell

  “Oh yes mistress!” He probably would have been drooling if she hadn’t drugged him.

  “Alright then!” She planted her feet and balanced her stance. “Here we go!”

  It felt as though her heart stopped with the first swing. Everything in slow motion as her arms flew with the weight of the bat and she watched the black stick collide with the side of his head. She could hear the wet crunch as she followed through and knew that Josh was leaving the party, if not already gone. But she was just getting started. The position that Josh’s head was lolling at the moment of impact caused the first strike to land precisely across the left zygomatic, sphenoid and temporal bones. She probably caught part of the parietal, but that always took more work. Surveying the first blow, and then her new toy, the high-grade polypropylene bat had been a solid investment. She wiped it off on her coveralls and checked it carefully. Not one nick, excellent. With his head permanently tossed back, she took aim for his chin. Well, more for under the chin. The goal was to pop that sucker right off and let it roll behind the couch. With a grin she took her stance, balanced her weight and set up. One deep breath in as she focused then exhale as she let it rip! The sound was fabulous although his head didn’t detach as she hoped. She shook her arms out, rolled her shoulders and gave it another go, and another, and another. Finally with a squishy snap, his head tumbled over the top of the couch. She dropped the bat and raised her arms in the air, her invisible audience cheering, she pumped her fists high and laughed with joy.

  After a few minutes of taking her victory dance, and when her imaginary fans piped down, she perched herself at the bar and finished her wine. One glass would help loosen her up for the rest of the job. This is what sustained her. The adrenaline and singular power of conquering the beast. The fact that dominating them was what they wanted, what they paid volumes of money for and enjoyed. That is what disgusted her, and this is what made her happy. The ultimate form of domination, grinding their piss stupid brains to the nothing that they truly were.

  When she finished her wine, she retrieved the fence post from her duffel bag to complete her work. Bringing the duffel never raised any eyebrow with her clients. After all, she needed her tools of the trade. Getting the drug in them wasn’t hard either due to the fact they were all debauched deviants, up for anything that would enhance the experience. Again, the seduction was all too easy; the destruction was the art. Pounding the skull to bits was the focus as she used the fence post like a battering ram, hammering down over and over until anything that resembled a human head was gone. The exhaustion mixed with the adrenaline was so satisfying and exhilarating. Clean up was a small price to pay for all her efforts.

  Meticulous precautions were taken, so there wasn’t much clean up at all. Arriving in rubber and latex was handy that way. A good pair of coveralls, cheap and disposable boots and gloves, forensics would be a bitch. Regardless, she took great care in washing the counters and the glasses. No need to be rude and leave an unnecessary mess. Once all was in its proper place, she gathered her things, laid out a plastic drop cloth and removed the gloves, rain boots, and coveralls. The latex rubber socks and cat-suit would stay on for a bit longer, but she had a nice pair of gloves to match that would get her out of the house without a hitch. She looked at the clock and saw she only had five minutes to spare, so she made haste bundling up the soiled wearable, grabbed her duffel and took her position next to the sliding glass back door. She checked her watch.

  “Four, three, two...” As she looked out in the yard, all the landscaping lights went off. She slid the door open and made her way out along the east side of the building then along the hedges, pulling a sweater coat out of her duffel as she danced across the front lawn. By the time she hit the sidewalk, she had the floor length duster on and a knit cap. Her gait slowed and she hunched over as she walked, pulling a shopping cart out from between the neighbor’s bushes. The elegant, lithe, homicidal dominatrix had vanished and a bent homeless woman waddled up the street around the corner and down an alley. It was all mapped out precisely, which streets, which alley. They say it’s always darkest before dawn for a reason, and she used that darkness to her advantage. Oh yes, this was the final rush, the last jolt she needed to get her through the three-mile walk to her car. By then she had ditched the shopping cart and changed into a light track suit and running shoes. The perfect ensemble for the gym and a quick steam, then a shower and a well-deserved massage. After that, maybe some pancakes at her favorite breakfast spot, she could use the extra carbs after her night. Once she got home, she would sleep like a baby until the next morning when the hunt would start all over again.

  After the hockey game was over, Lou had excused herself and climbed into bed with the puppies before the Late Show ever started. She had woken up at two to find the pups had abandoned her, just like Max. They all had snuck out behind her back. She tried to focus on her case but somewhere between her imagining what she would say to Max when he got back, and trying to figure out how the two dead men were connected, she must have fallen asleep, hard.

  “Tallulah!” Shevaun yelled while bouncing on the bed. “Tallulah Louelle! You are late! Dillon is downstairs waiting so get your ass up, young lady!”

  “Okay!” Lou answered her mother and got straight out of bed and headed out of her room.

  “No, baby.” Shevaun ran and stepped in front of her sleep-walking daughter. “We gotta wake you up some more. Actual clothing would be nice too.”

  “Aw yeah, Momma!” Lou went along with her mother’s ushering. “Clothes are nice. You have really nice clothes.”

  “Marta!” Shevaun yelled for the housekeeper.

  “I’m coming!” Marta answered as she charged into the closet with them, holding a bowl of ice water with a hand towel soaking in it. “Alright, back up Missus..” Marta instructed, and Shevaun took three steps way back and nodded. “You know I love you, Miss Lou.” Marta said before she draped the ice-cold cloth around Lou’s neck then backed up fast.

  “What!” Lou screamed and flailed then ripped the freezing cloth away from her skin. “Holy crap! What’s going on?!”

  “Tallulah you overslept.” Shevaun continued with the all too familiar routine. “Put these on.” Her mother stuffed underwear, jeans and a t-shirt in her hands. “Then we will wash your face and brush your teeth but you gotta hurry now!”

  Lou’s sleep inertia was back in full force. Fortunately, her instincts had her doing what her mother said. Shevaun had to repeat what was going on a few more times, but Lou had only managed to crack her head on the wall while reaching for shoes, so all in all, it was a minor spell. By the time she finished brushing her teeth, she was coherent enough to know she needed to wash her face and grab some mascara and lip gloss for the road.

  “I packed what you need here.” Abby materialized behind her and handed her a small zipper bag.

  “Where have you been?” Lou glared at her. Knowing full well that she knew what had transpired the day before and had known about Max’s feelings and never told her.

  “Look, I love you, Lou. I do. But you need to understand and know that he is my Dominor, and I will never betray him. He is our Dominor. If the ship is sinking, he gets the lifeboat, we stay.”

  “Well, that sucks but thanks for your honesty.” Lou grumbled as she dragged a brush through her hair.

  “That’s not to say that I won’t make sure you get picked up first by the rescue ship!” Abby helped her smooth out her hair. “But this whole thing is quite tricky for me to navigate. I couldn’t tell you without betraying him, just as I couldn’t tell him without betraying you!”

  “You didn’t know anything to tell him!” Lou tried to act insulted, but it was hard to do while she stuffed the deodorant under her shirt and scrawled it into her armpits.

  “Oh shut the hell up.” Abby grinned. “You two may have each other fooled but give it up with the rest of us. We all know!”

  Lou huffed at her and
stormed out of the bathroom. “I’m not dealing with this now. I have murders to solve.” She fastened her holster to her belt then fished her gun out of her drawer.

  “Right. Plural murders.” Shevaun reiterated as she handed her daughter her commuter mug. “As in another one. Dillon is getting in the truck so move.”

  Lou gave her mother and Abby a kiss before she flew downstairs. She was conscious enough to make it without incident, and she didn’t want to waste time asking her mother what she meant when she could find out the details from Dillon on the way there. As soon as she got in the SUV he handed her a file.

  “Marcus Medina.” Dillon explained. “BHPD emailed us both a copy of the file this morning. You probably have a dozen voicemails from them. Your phone is plugged in here, by the way. You left it downstairs last night. I grabbed it while I was waiting for your mom to get you up.”

  “Crap.” Lou hated it when she was sloppy. Not plugging her phone in the second she got home was a rookie move.

  “Don’t sweat it.” He reassured her. “There isn’t much more that we didn’t know already. Pervert scumbag drug dealer got his block knocked off and bashed in. Same M. O. as Griffen.”

  “So someone is hunting pervert scumbags.” Lou flipped through the file.

  “Yep and we are about to meet pervert scumbag number three.” He glanced over at her.

  “It hasn’t been a week yet.” Lou wondered what prompted the up in the timetable.

  “Maybe bashing Griffen’s head in wasn’t as tough as Medina?” Dillon shrugged.

  Caroline texted Lou just as they were exiting the freeway onto Slauson informing her that she would be on scene within forty-five minutes. They were just on the fringe of Inglewood, another nice, throwback era neighborhood where everyone kept their yards neat, but the architecture was far more faithful to the original. The iconic building of the old Wich Stand that had been turned into a Simply Wholesome back in the eighties just happened to be their landmark for a right turn. Another right and they could see the street cordoned off by deputies four ways. The house on the southeast corner was where they were headed.

  It was a beautiful old two-story Spanish place with the white stucco, lots of wrought iron and arches. After parking the SUV, they were instructed to head down the Orchid Street side and walk around through the carport. Lou noted that street lights were few and far between with lots of mature trees to provide good cover. When they got to the back yard, it was gated but there were no security cameras or lighting. What illumination there appeared to be was strictly ornamental and meant to highlight the architecture. A deputy standing guard informed them that they should cover their shoes immediately because forensics was already working on things. There was a narrow path outlined for them leading to the open sliding glass door. On closer inspection, the door wasn’t open, the forensics team removed it entirely.

  “Please tell me someone got pictures before they screwed with our scene?” Lou was pissed.

  “It couldn’t be helped, Detective.” One of the specialists approached. “I was on the other case in palos Verdes, and I recognized the similarities the second I landed here. We didn’t get squat on that scene so I didn’t want to take any chance of there being something on that door that we could lose.” The lovely Jamaican woman turned and gestured to the opening. “It’s a tight squeeze, and there’s no way to guarantee we don’t ding something going in and out. The front door is bolted shut, and we haven’t determined if the victim always had it that way, or if that’s a new thing. We have a couple guys canvassing now to see if they know anything about the victim and if they have a clue on the front door.”

  “Do the bolts look new or like the rest of the hardware?” Lou asked and was irritated she couldn’t see a name badge since the woman was wearing a clean suit.

  “That’s why it’s on me.” She responded. “It looks like part of the door’s hardware, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I took over thirty pictures of the glass door for you first, and we have it sealed up in the back of the truck. You’ll see it as we found it back at the lab.”

  “Understood.” Lou conceded it was a smart call. “Anything else we should be aware of?”

  “There is a hell mess of blood.” The woman sighed. “It’s all over the place. My whole team has taken photos, made sketches and right now I’m having it scanned so if you can hold off for just a few more minutes, that would be extremely helpful.”

  “We can talk to the first on scene. Care to direct us?” Lou really wanted to know who this woman was so she could have her on all her scenes.

  “Head back the way you came but hang a right before you go through the gates. They should be with the cleaning lady who’s suckin’ oxygen on the stoop.” She grinned. “I’d be doin’ the same thing if I walked in thinking I had to clean this mess!”

  Lou and Dillon both grinned with her. “Let us know when it’s okay for us to enter?” Dillon requested. “I’m sorry, I’m new around here. What is your name?”

  “Sara Williams, Senior Criminalist.” She started to offer a hand but thought better of it with her gloves and all. “Good to meet you.”

  “Good to meet you as well, Sara.” Dillon smiled and tossed Lou a knowing glance. “You know where to find us when it’s all clear.”

  “You bet.” Sara, Senior Criminalist gave a nod then headed back to the scene.

  “Thanks, partner.” Lou appreciated Dillon’s extreme perceptiveness.

  “Not a problem.” He grinned. “I think we both were annoyed at not being able to see a name tag.” They followed Sara’s directions and quickly found Anita Perez sobbing next to two Deputies. Lou and Dillon’s arrival only seemed to make the woman cry more.

  They only got a few minutes with the woman, but they learned enough to get a fix on the victim, Josh Rawlings, age forty-two at the time of his demise. No family that the woman knew of. Never had any guests that she ever saw. In fact, he was rarely ever home the two days a week that she came to clean. He was the manager of a private gentlemen’s club just about eight miles away and was an extremely private man, at least to Mrs. Perez. Rawlings had given her strict rules on times she was allowed to come and that the room over the carport was strictly off limits. Naturally, that was the first place Dillon and Lou wanted to go. As they looked for a way to get there Sara, Senior Criminalist waved them over to the removed glass door.

  “Might want to refresh the booties.” She suggested, and pointed to another box on the back step. “If you don’t mind.” It was a smart idea. Both Lou and Dillon had forgotten they had them on when they trekked through the back yard and driveway. “I just got word that the Coroner is parking the van.”

  “Good.” Lou was extra grateful Caroline was assigned the case.

  It took a bit of acrobatics for Lou and Dillon actually to get into the house without disturbing any blood evidence. The majority of Josh Rawlings body sat on the red leather couch with his back facing the sliding glass door. There was a shallow console table against the back of the sofa with numerous drawers, a few object d’art and a stack of unopened mail. All of which were blood soaked. Even without an expert opinion Lou could see the trajectory of the initial blows. Rawlings arms were draped along the back of the couch and on the armrest, as if he were relaxing comfortably and never raised a finger to stop his attacker. There was a thick smear of blood on the top edge of the table, and then a few more on the ground which indicated to Lou, that is the path that Mr. Rawlings head rolled when it was finally detached from his body. She followed the dashed line to a pile of flesh and bone that had seeped into the track of the removed sliding glass door.

  “Understand now why I needed that door secured?” Sara, Senior Criminalist asked.

  “Completely.” Dillon replied as he headed around to the front of the couch, standing where Lou suspected their attacker had stood.

  “Right there.” She agreed with his positioning. “That’s where she stoo
d.”

  “So you do think we are dealing with a femme fatal?” Dillon and she were on the same page.

  “That would jibe with the cast-off.” Sara carefully walked around to join him. “May I?”

  “By all means.” Dillon stepped back and let her have the spot. “How tall are you?” Lou asked her.

  “Five seven, in these shoes.” Sara informed them.

  “Must be nice.” Lou constantly wished she was just one or two inches taller. Three would have been heaven. Sara just smiled and stood as she thought the attacker would have stood, arms back as if she were swinging a baseball bat. She paused a moment and checked her positioning.

  “Wait!” Caroline shouted as she walked in from the front of the house, surprising them all. “What?” She asked when she noticed them all staring at her.

  “How did you get in?” Sara the Senior Criminalist asked.

  “The Deputies let me pass. Was I not supposed to come in that way?” Caroline looked worried.

  “I’ll check it.” Dillon volunteered.

  “The door was bolted down from the inside when we got here.” Sara explained. “We didn’t know if the assailant bolted it or if it was part of the door.”

  “Oh, well I don’t know.” Caroline said as she pulled something out of her case then handed it to Sara. “Dillon will find out. Use this laser to swing with so we can see how off the cast off is to your height.”

  Sara took the laser and repositioned herself to where they estimated the attacker stood. With the laser on, she took a slow motion swing at the victim, and they watched the path of the red light in relation to the streaks and spatters of blood. With one more swing for good measure, Sara looked at Caroline.

  “She’s shorter than I am, right?” Sara asked.

  “Or it’s a really short dude.” Caroline looked at the blood trails and surveyed the distance from the wall, the ceiling, and the couch. “Not very scientific but I would guess whoever did this was no taller than five feet six inches.”