Another Way to Die

by Philip Cox

  ‘Bus stop?’ Leroy asked. ‘Where to?’

  ‘It’s the stop for the Flyaway bus,’ explained Harris.

  ‘The Flyaway bus? Where does that go?’

  ‘Various locations. There are several routes. To Hollywood, Westwood, Downtown, Long Beach.’

  ‘Westwood?’ said Quinn. ‘UCLA?’

  ‘The stop is on Kinross and Gayley. I think it’s by one of the UCLA parking structures.’

  Leroy’s and Quinn’s eyes met.

  Momentarily a light blue bus arrived. People got off, waiting while the driver retrieved their luggage from the hold. Then the process was reversed for the new passengers. The raincoated figure waited.

  ‘Do we know where that bus is headed?’ Leroy asked.

  Harris froze the screen and zoomed. ‘It’s on the front of the bus: Hollywood.’

  Its passengers boarded, the bus pulled away, leaving the raincoated figure still waiting in line. Five minutes later, another arrived. This bus was headed for Union Station. The same process took place: passengers disgorged, taking their luggage; new luggage loaded, new passengers boarded. The bus left, leaving the raincoated figure now at the front of the line. More had joined the line.

  ‘How often do these buses run?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘Each is every thirty minutes, so the right bus should be arriving soon. Here’s one.’ Once the bus had stopped, Harris once more froze and zoomed. ‘Westwood.’

  Leroy and Quinn both manoeuvred themselves to get a better look at the screen. Harris zoomed back and unfroze and they watched. For the third time, the passengers got out and stood on the sidewalk. The driver got out, opened the luggage hold, and passed the cases to the passengers. The new passengers passed over their luggage and boarded. The raincoated figure just boarded the bus, no luggage.

  Leroy gave Quinn a thumbs-up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  They sat in Leroy’s Taurus, still parked outside the steel and glass airport security building. It was Quinn’s turn to drive.

  ‘Up to UCLA?’ he asked.

  Leroy gazed out of the window, watching as an aircraft climbed into the sky, and headed out towards the ocean. In all probability it would perform a one-eighty and head east. ‘I guess so,’ he said.

  ‘You just guess so?’

  ‘I’m trying to figure out a motive first. I mean, he’s given us advice; and he did the same for Perez and me on the Cordell case. Why…?’ His voice tailed off as another airplane passed them by.’

  ‘When he gave you the advice before,’ Quinn asked, ‘did you and the lieutenant go to him, or did he come to you?’

  Leroy scratched his chin. ‘I think Perez found him. No – he came to us. He called the captain and offered help. Jesus.’

  ‘You said it yourself, Sam: whoever’s doing this is one sick son of a bitch. What could be sicker than committing a series of murders, but at the same time giving the police advice on the case? Possibly wrong and misleading advice. Was he privy to any details of the case? You know, forewarned is forearmed, and like that.’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that. Unless Perez kept him in the loop when I wasn’t around. The thing is, I don’t want to tip him off. Ideally, we could walk into UCLA, say, “Professor Ramos, we think you are the Pentagram Killer. Would you be so good as to open your mouth and give us a DNA sample? Or would you be so good as to save the taxpayer some cash and just confess?” If he is involved, then as soon as he sees that photograph, he’s going to know we suspect him. He’s no fool. And in any case, he must be in his late fifties, maybe sixties. He had a slight build, he’s short. The two Jane Does weren’t small women: how would he have the strength to overpower them? And get their bodies into the cars? And that goes double for Keffer.’

  ‘Would explain the struggle in Keffer’s bathroom.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess it would. Come on, let’s get up there.’

  *****

  Leroy rang the professor while they were on their way to UCLA. His excuse for calling again was to get some clarification on what he had told them earlier. As it happened, the call went to voicemail, as Professor Ramos was giving a lecture until two forty-five. Leroy left a message, saying they would catch him after his lecture.

  ‘That suits me fine,’ he said, after ending the call. ‘No opportunity for any “can we talk over the telephone” conversation.’

  ‘Interesting choice of words,’ Quinn observed. ‘“Catch you after your lecture.”’

  ‘Hopefully he’s as not as anal as you, Ray, and won’t pick up on that.’

  When they had arrived at the Humanities Building, they noticed the double doors at the end of the hall closed. A free-standing notice read lecture in progress. They sat and waited; it was two thirty.

  At two forty-three, the double doors opened, and students began to file out, singly, in pairs, or in groups. Most were chattering intently. In the background, they could see Professor Ramos packing up his own belongings. He chatted briefly to a student, who clearly had a question, took a sip of water, and stepped down from the podium. He was the last to leave the lecture hall. He seemed surprised to see Leroy and Quinn waiting.

  ‘Detectives,’ he said courteously.‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I had no idea you were coming.’

  ‘No, we haven’t been here long,’ Leroy replied as he and Quinn stood and stepped over to the lecture room door. ‘I did call, but the call went to voicemail.’

  ‘As I was in a lecture,’ Ramos finished the sentence, chuckling. ‘Well, how can I help you today? Are you still seeking your pentagram man? Any progress? I haven’t seen much in the papers.’

  ‘No, we’re not progressing very quickly, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Leroy. ‘I have to say, whoever is committing these murders is remarkably resourceful.’

  Ramos nodded. ‘As I recall, whoever was carrying out these murders and branding that symbol on the victims appeared very skilled. The stars were very artistically done.’ As he mentioned the word symbol, his fingers outlined a five-point shape in the air.

  ‘Yes,’ said Leroy, ‘and it’s about the brandings that we’d like to talk to you again.’

  ‘Sure.’ The professor nodded and put his stack of papers on a nearby chair.

  ‘We’ve had three victims so far,’ Leroy explained. ‘Two women, both around the same age. They were both found with two pentagrams, one this size, on their backs; the other this size at the top of their legs, close to their genitals, if that has any relevance.’ He demonstrated the different sizes of the pentagrams with his hands as he spoke. ‘These four brandings were done expertly, faultless work.’

  Arms folded, Ramos nodded as he listened.

  ‘But the third victim was different. It was a man, and the stars were not artistically drawn, they were hacked.’

  ‘Maybe you have a copycat,’ the professor suggested. ‘Someone not as skilled as the killer of the two women.’

  ‘That’s possible, but it seems likely that the man was killed in between the two women; so that seem unlikely to be a copycat. Not impossible, but unlikely.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ asked Ramos.

  ‘The odd victim out, if you will,’ said Leroy, ‘was a man. However, he was a transgender, we think. Meaning he dressed as a woman, maybe lived his life as a woman. One theory we’re considering is that the killer has stalked the man, thinking he was a woman, but on carrying out the murder, discovered the truth. That is, that the woman was, in fact, a man. Our theory goes on to speculate that the killer was thrown off balance by this discovery, and, whilst being drawn to draw the pentagram on the victim’s body, was so enraged,’ - Leroy demonstrated a stabbing motion - ‘that he just hacked a shape, not taking his usual care and attention to detail. Do you think that’s likely, Professor?’

  The professor picked up his stack of papers. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, Detective Leroy. I explained the possible significance of the pentagram.’

  ‘You mean as s
ome kind of sick calling card?’

  ‘Yes, if you like. A calling card. But the psychological significance of how it was carried out, I’m afraid that’s not my area. Now, if you have no further questions, I really need to get back to prepare my next lecture.’

  ‘No problem, Professor,’ Leroy said amiably. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, and again I appreciate your assistance.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Detective. Detectives. I hope you get your killer very soon.’

  ‘I’m sure we will, sir. He’s obviously a very sick individual, and I think we’re going to go with the theory that he was wrong-footed when he discovered the she was a he. Maybe there’s something Freudian in that; maybe he had the hots for his mother or something, I don’t know. What is it: Oedipus? Electra? I don’t know.’

  A strange look appeared on the professor’s face. ‘Let us all hope,’ he said, with a degree of anger in his voice, ‘that he doesn’t strike again before you catch up with him. He seems to have outsmarted you so far.’ With that, he swung on his heels and marched to the stairs leading up to his office.

  ‘Well, that was some hissy fit,’ Leroy remarked as they watched Ramos climb the stairs. ‘Give me a second.’ He went into the lecture hall. An attendant had started to clean up after the lecture. ‘No, I’ll take that,’ he said to the attendant, holding out his badge. He took the almost empty glass of water Ramos had kept on his lectern. Holding it carefully by the base, he took it with him.

  Quinn gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘We need a DNA sample’ Leroy said. ‘I saw him drink from this.’

  ‘Is that admissible?’ queried Quinn.

  ‘That’s debatable, as it wasn’t given voluntarily. At any rate, it would eliminate him if there’s no match. And it doesn’t get him suspicious, I hope.’

  ‘He did get pissed when you started talking about Oedipus and Electra,’ remarked Quinn as they returned to the car.

  ‘I know. I was talking out of my ass really; but I wanted to try to get under his skin. You remember what Johnson said about a serial killer’s psyche? Arrogant, narcissistic, thinking they’re superior to law enforcement, to everybody else, really. By suggesting the killer was mentally ill or had those kinds of issues, I was kind of hoping that would strike a raw nerve.’

  ‘Which it did. Am I driving?’

  ‘Yeah, will you? I want to get this up to the lab asap. No delays on getting any DNA on here checked out.’

  *****

  ‘Sam, you got any idea what time it is?’ Russell Hobson asked.

  ‘I know, but we have to get this up to you as soon as we could.’ Leroy was nursing the glass, which was now in a sealed evidence bag.

  ‘You won’t get an answer today, Sam; you know that. We’re looking at at least twenty-four hours, maybe as long as seventy-two.’ Hobson sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll wait for you here and register it for sampling, but even if it goes up the line, nothing will happen until the morning. Almost everybody else has gone home.’

  ‘We’ll bring it up now anyway. Please do what you can.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Leroy hated doing this, going through historical cases. For one thing, there were plenty of live cases on the books, where the guilty party was still out on the streets. Secondly, once an arrest had been carried out, had gone to trial, and the perpetrator was behind bars, he liked to draw a line in the sand, file that case away for good, and move on. The vast majority of his arrests ended in a conviction. He rarely found himself in the position where a case had to be reviewed, as that meant there had been an error somewhere, that somebody had not done their job properly, or that there was some doubt as to the person’s guilt. Leroy had never had any doubt.

  As was the case with Harlan Cordell: Leroy had never had any doubt as to his guilt.

  It seemed that Lieutenant Perez could read Leroy’s mind; as he and Quinn sat at their desks, the two evidence boxes at their sides, he stood in the doorway.

  ‘Remember, Sam: we know Cordell was guilty, one hundred percent. You guy are just looking for some inspiration for what you’re working on.’

  ‘I know that,’ Leroy replied.

  ‘And just holler if you need any input from me. I was there as well, remember.’

  Leroy nodded as Perez left them. He waited until the lieutenant was out of earshot. ‘He wouldn’t have gotten much sleep last night, either. He’s always hated revisiting old investigations, as much as I do. I know this is a bit different, but going back like this always injects a tiny bit of doubt on what we did before.’

  Quinn was flicking through the inventory: he paused and said, ‘But we’re not validating what happened before; we’re just looking for something.’

  ‘Inspiration?’

  ‘Guess so.’

  ‘Let’s just get started. Get this out of the way, get ourselves some new leads to follow up. Then hopefully hear something positive about the Ramos’s DNA.’

  First out of the box came photographs, profiles, and autopsy reports on Cordell’s victims.

  ‘We’ve been here before,’ Quinn said, pointing to the lists Leroy had affixed to the walls.

  ‘Yeah,’ Leroy replied slowly. ‘That was kind of to give us a flavour on what was going on; now we need to look at the details. There might be something, just something in here somewhere.’

  They spent the next two hours going over again and again the four victims: looking at the victims themselves, then the circumstances of their deaths, where they were found, any differences, however slight, in the manner of how they died. Leroy looked at the notes they had made and slowly shook his head.

  ‘We’ve covered all this before, there’s nothing new here. Same age range, same size, all single, unattached; all living alone.’

  ‘Sexual orientation?’

  ‘Don’t have a clue. Why, is that relevant?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘It could be. They had no partners. What about Cordell?’

  ‘There wasn’t any evidence either way. We couldn’t find anybody who knew him socially. We’ll come to him personally later.’

  ‘I was just thinking, if these women were gay, then they might have frequented the same bar; and if Cordell was also, that might be where he saw them first. Or he could have met them online: if we knew their orientation, then that might help us find which site they used.’

  Leroy sat up and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘We checked through Cordell’s laptop. We found photographs, all filed neatly and in an orderly manner, of those four victims, plus I think it was two others, who we assumed were to be his next. But there was nothing in his search history, no current or deleted emails to suggest he was using a dating site. He wasn’t even visiting porn sites, as is often the case. Wait a minute: he might have done. In his grubby little den, there were pictures he’d either downloaded, or gotten from a magazine. Most likely from a magazine.’

  ‘You managed to hack into it?’

  ‘Yeah, they managed to get into it. It might be different now: everything now is so much more secure, and he didn’t leave a list of passwords for us.’

  ‘Could he have had another device, a cell phone maybe, that you never found?’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘He had a cell: it’s in here.’ He dove into one of the boxes and took out the phone. ‘See: it’s not a smartphone. So, we took the view that he only used the laptop; plus the fact that he stored all the pictures on there.’

  ‘So nothing to indicate he met them online?’’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘We never found out how he met them. How they swung is a very tenuous angle, and it would be problematic trying to get a hold of their nexts of kin to check that.’

  ‘Ramos is slight; what was Cordell?’

  ‘He wasn’t particularly tall. Not muscular. A bit paunchy.’ Then Leroy paused and shook his head. ‘No, we can’t approach it that way. We can’t look at the suspects, then fit the circumstances to them. We have to work it the other way: look at the victims, the details of the crimes, and see
how that all stands with the suspects’ profiles.’

  Quinn flicked through the details of Cordell’s victims. ‘Look - they were all around the same height: five six; five three; five four and a half; five six again. None of them weighed under one fifty pounds. None of them are exactly Brigitte Nielsen.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Brigitte Nielsen. You know, the chick out of the Rocky movies.’

  Leroy grimaced. ‘I think that says more about you than Cordell. In any case, we established that he must have used some kind of sedative, so the women’s size would be irrelevant.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. Even if he did use something to sedate them, he would have had to have applied the sedative; and that would be easier with a smaller woman. Plus, there would have been the logistics of moving the sedated woman to a vehicle, then to where he killed them, then back to another vehicle. Difficult if the woman is bigger than you are.’

  Leroy nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess so. You might have a point.’

  Quinn said, ‘We’ve looked at the victims. What else is in the boxes?’

  Leroy produced several sealed, transparent, plastic bags. He read out the contents as he laid the bags on the desk.

  ‘Expensive digital camera with telephoto lens. Box of condoms, opened and partly used. Lubricant, again opened and used. Two rolls of black duct tape. One hunting knife. One reel grey electrical wire.’

  Quinn looked over the items, whilst keeping them sealed. ‘Exactly the same as now.’

  ‘Yup, even down to the brands. Look.’ Leroy stood and stretched. ‘I need caffeine.’ He staggered out of the room, returning shortly with two paper cups. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Where did Cordell live?’ Quinn asked, as he took a sip of coffee.

  Leroy sat down. ‘Van Ness.’ He opened another manilla file. ‘Yes, West Third. And I got him just off Gage. Let’s have a look at Cordell himself.’

  Quinn pushed himself away from the desk and folded his arms while he listened.