Authors: M.Z. Kelly
“Gooseberry might be a thoroughly despicable character,” I said to Leo as we drove to the coroner’s office in Los Angeles, “but I tend to believe his story about how things went down at the cemetery.”
We stopped at a light and Leo glanced at me. “That means there are two options. Somebody was lying in wait for Jerry Duncan and Marvin Hanks and took them out. Or, whoever murdered the girl also killed the rappers.”
I thought about the possibilities, then said, “I think we need some follow-up on Duncan and Hanks. Maybe they had other issues, besides the one with Gooseberry. It could be somebody else was burned in a drug deal and knew they were going to be at the cemetery.”
The light changed, and Leo accelerated. “Maybe.”
I glanced at him. “It sounds like you have your doubts.”
“Not sure. What happened to the girl and the two drug dealers, it seems like they were two completely different events. And the girl…” Leo looked at me. “Even if he’d finished up and was leaving the scene and then saw what was happening between Gooseberry and the others, why get involved? The murdered girl was concealed, away from that action.”
I felt Bernie’s hot breath on my neck and cracked a window. “As always, there’s a lot more questions than answers.”
Darby and Buck met up with us at the coroner’s office as Brie was preparing for the autopsy. I made arrangements for Bernie to wait in a technician’s office while we all gathered in the autopsy suite. While Brie laid out scalpels, saws, swabs, bags, and toxicology supplies, she told us about the autopsies of the two shooting victims.
“One of my colleagues, Dr. Mumford, completed the autopsies of Mr. Duncan and Mr. Hanks about an hour ago. Both victims died of multiple gunshot wounds. It’s noteworthy that the entry wounds were posterior, all 9mm rounds. It would appear they were shot from behind, with the shots having been fired from the approximate direction of where our female victim was located.”
“You mean, somebody shot them from a hundred yards away?” Darby asked.
“No, as I said, the direction was approximate, but the range would likely have been much closer.”
“Meaning that when somebody was finished with the girl, they unloaded on our rappers,” Darby concluded.
Brie leveled her eyes on him, glanced at me, and then looked back at him. “That’s one of the possibilities.”
“Maybe it was just a matter of someone being in the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Buck suggested to his partner. “Our suspect was leaving the girl and came across the others.”
“If that was the case, why not just disappear into the fog and let them shoot it out? He had no skin in the game.”
“Could be Duncan or Hanks saw him and he didn’t want to leave any witnesses.”
Darby was mumbling something about idle speculation as Brie went about her business. Seeing our victim in the bright lights of the autopsy suite only served to make her injuries all the more horrific. Brie took photographs and recorded her observations during the initial examination of the body, noting that the skin had been denuded in all areas, except the victim’s head, arms, and chest. She also made note of the fact that victim’s head, arms, and armpits appeared to have been shaved, prior to death.
Brie then took several photographs of the victim’s face and the associated artwork. I was struck by the precise nature of the painted image: a skull on a skull. I realized whoever had painted the victim must have had some formal art training. Contacting the local art schools and colleges would be more of the legwork required to work the case.
“The victim has a ragged incision in her upper chest,” Brie said into the microphone as she turned her attention to the victim’s injuries. “Preliminary examination in situ revealed that the heart has been removed. I’m now going to make a y-incision and examine the thoracic area.”
We all watched as the victim’s chest was further opened, her ribs were cut using a Stryker saw, and the chest cavity was entirely exposed.
“The interior chest cavity is…” Brie paused and turned away from the microphone. She looked over at me, the pitch in her voice rising. “The killer left us a message.”
Brie reached inside our victim’s chest and removed a small, square piece of paper. It was brown and almost translucent, like a piece of parchment paper.
“What the hell does it say?” Darby asked.
Brie shook her head. “I’m not sure. It’s some kind of strange writing. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
I looked over her shoulder as she placed the paper on a tray. I’d never seen anything like the writing either, and had a thought that it might be Latin or something similar.
“We’ll have to dust it for prints and then find a language expert to take a look,” Brie said, placing the paper into an evidence envelope.
After using the overhead camera to take some close-up photographs of the paper, Brie continued with her examination. She finished up about three hours later and met with us in a small conference room, where she went over her findings.
“Let’s begin with the approximate age. Providing the photograph found at the scene is our victim, based on the general dentition and bone structure, it looks like she was in her early twenties.
“Rigor was present when the body was initially found. Based on that, the liver temp, and stomach contents, I would estimate our victim had been dead for only four to six hours before she was found.”
“That means right after he took her, our boy got his paintbrush out and worked fast,” Darby said, stating the obvious.
Brie ignored him and continued. “There were no signs of sexual assault. Chemical analysis of the tissues and underlying muscular structures indicates sodium hydroxide was used to denude the flesh. That act was done in a precise manner, to remove the skin from her body in specific areas, while preserving others.”
“Is that chemical easy to obtain?” Leo asked.
Brie nodded. “It’s commonly used in commercial and industrial oven cleaners and drain openers. It’s also used to digest tissues of animal carcasses, roadkill, and, in some cases, deceased humans. Due to its low cost and availability, it’s even been used to dispose of corpses by criminals. I remember reading somewhere that one of the Mexican drug cartels used it to dispose of several hundred bodies.”
I thought about our Day of the Dead display being a holiday celebrated in Mexico and Latin American countries and wondered if there was any connection.
“How would our suspect apply the lye, but leave the skin intact in some areas?” Leo asked.
“It would have to be a very methodical process, probably involving washing the body and making sure that the sodium hydroxide was applied sparingly.”
“Seems like a lot of work to go through to skin someone,” Darby said.
Brie raised her brows but didn’t respond.
The room was quiet before I asked Brie to summarize her thoughts about what happened to the girl. She took a moment before answering. It was obvious that she was exhausted.
“I think everything that happened, probably including the way she was taken, was done in a controlled and precise manner. Her body was washed and shaved prior to the application of the sodium hydroxide. The drawing on her face must have taken a couple of hours of methodical work to complete. When that was done…” Brie’s chocolate eyes found each of us. “…her heart was removed and the paper was inserted.”
“I get everything you just said,” Darby told her, “except the cause of death. What was the specific cause of death?”
Brie’s beautiful face seemed to take on the pain of the world as she answered. “Everything I’ve described happened pre-mortem. The cause of death was the final act. Our perpetrator cut open his victim’s chest and ripped out her beating heart.”
It was late in the day by the time we wrapped up at the coroner’s office. Brie’s finding that our victim’s heart had been torn from her chest by her assailant while she was still alive, only added to the brutality of the horrible crime. Despite her findings, we were still drawing blanks regarding a motive or suspect. All I did know was that, with the images of our victim all over the Internet, the pressure to break something loose was only going to grow.
Brie invited Bernie and me to her house for dinner, telling me that she would take me home later. I was exhausted, but agreed to the proposal when she said it would give me a chance to bond with her daughter. Lily and I played dolls in her room while Brie and her boyfriend, Phyl, prepared dinner.
I found the little girl had an active imagination, as she told me about Princess Anna from the movie
Frozen.
“Anna goes on a journey to find her sister, Elsa, who has magical powers to turn things into snow and ice.”
“She sounds like a pretty amazing princess,” I said. “Would you like to be Elsa?”
She smiled. “Yes. I would use my powers to freeze everything.”
“Why would you do that, sweetheart?”
“Because then my mommy would live forever. The cancer couldn’t get her.”
I took a breath, feeling the heaviness in my eyes. I brushed the little girl’s hair off her forehead, saying, “I think your mommy is very lucky to have a daughter like you.”
I had a lovely evening with Brie and her larger-than-life boyfriend, Phyl—mamma wanted a girl and named him Phyllis, a name that Brie had shortened. As Brie drove me home later that evening, we did our best to put work issues out of our minds and I mentioned what Lily had said to me.
My friend glanced at me and exhaled. “I’m afraid Lily is at that age where she believes in the power of magic to cure all the evils in the world.” A half-smile found her lips. “I’ve tried to gently explain to her there’s no magic that will cure me.”
My gaze drifted to the blur of traffic lights in the stop-and-go traffic. While I had my share of problems, I couldn’t imagine being in Brie’s shoes, facing a fight for her life and raising a little girl. I made a vow to appreciate what I had and try not to get wrapped up in my day-to-day problems.
“Have you had a chance to talk to the lieutenant about the photograph you found?” Brie asked, changing the subject as my thoughts surfaced.
While my friend knew all about my family situation, as the saying goes, it’s complicated, so I’d better take a moment and give you some additional background.
Most of my life had been lived as a lie, the truth about my biological parents having been kept from me by my adoptive mother. Over the past couple of years, I’d finally pieced my personal history together. My birth mother was a one-time actress named Judie Crawford. She and John Sexton—the man who raised me, who I now refer to as my love-dad—had been involved at one time. After they’d broken up, Judie got pregnant by another man and gave birth to me, but his identity was still unknown to me.
During this time, Judie’s mentally unstable former boyfriend and future husband, Ryan Cooper, had come back into her life. She was so concerned that Cooper might harm both her and me if he ever learned that she’d given birth while they were estranged that she’d made the life-altering decision to give me to my love-dad to raise. I was subsequently adopted by him and the woman I’d thought was my bio-mom after they married.
Four years after I was born, my love-dad was gunned down in a local park right in front of me. I’d recently learned that Ryan Cooper was responsible for that act. Cooper had eventually married my birth mother, who he also eventually murdered after battering her. After learning of my existence and stalking me, Cooper was eventually shot and killed by my half-sister, Lindsay.
I’d originally believed that Cooper’s killing spree had been motivated out of jealousy because my love-dad had been involved with Judie at one time. But I’d recently learned that Cooper might have also been involved in a larger conspiracy to murder one of the most famous stars in Hollywood, an actress named Jean Winslow.
While Winslow’s death had officially been ruled a suicide, a few weeks back I’d learned that Donald Regis, the former head of the studios where she’d been under contract, and a man named Kellen Malone, might have been involved in her death. Malone was involved in a secret organization called The Revelation, and had been linked to Winslow before her death.
I’d recently met with Winslow’s niece, Laura Trenton, who had shown me some old photographs belonging to her aunt. I’d found my love-dad in one of those photos, along with Ryan Cooper and Kellen Malone. I was still in a state of shock over also finding my lieutenant, Ozzie Powell, in that same photograph. As you know, both Oz and my partner Leo knew my father back when they were all rookie cops. I hadn’t talked to Oz about what I’d learned because I was still trying to process everything.
After explaining things to Brie, I said, “To tell you the truth, I’m now wondering if Oz wasn’t somehow involved in what happened to my love-dad.”
“I think you’re eventually going to have to confront him. Since he was with your dad and Jean Winslow shortly before they died, he must know something that he’s not telling you.”
I sighed. “You’re right. I just want to be mentally prepared before I talk to him.”
Brie did her best to offer me some emotional support before turning off the freeway in Hollywood. She then asked, “How are things with you and Noah?”
“They’re good. We’re doing a fundraiser for rescue dogs at his house this weekend. He’s hoping to find homes for a couple of puppies if you’re interested.”
Brie glanced at me. “Let me think about it. Lily needs a companion, but I’ll have to see if I can talk Phyl into it.”
Maybe it was the mention of her boyfriend that caused my thoughts to drift to Buck. I told Brie about him transferring to the sheriff’s department, adding, “It’s a little strange working with someone you’ve been involved with at one time.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
I took a breath. “You know, I’m not really sure. While I’m in love with Noah, I have to admit there’s still some sparks there.” I looked at her. “He invited me to come by his place for a drink tomorrow night.”
Brie turned into the Starlight Mobile Home Park. “Are you going to go?”
I nodded. “I think we need to put some closure on our past relationship and clear the air.”
Brie’s eyes held on me for a moment and she smiled. “Closure.”
“That’s all it is—honest.”
She pulled to the curb. “If you say so.”
I did my best to convince Brie that I had no ulterior motives in seeing Buck before we said our goodbyes. I then walked Bernie around the grounds of the Starlight, at the same time getting a couple of death stares from the elderly residents who were probably still worked up after the morning’s inquisition.
I was headed home when I saw Natalie and Mo talking to someone in front of their trailer. As I got closer, I realized they were with a man who was extremely obese. His rotund body and short arms and legs made me think about Humpty Dumpty in a dark suit. When I was a few feet away from them, I could tell the discussion was animated because my friends were using expletives they usually reserved for mortal enemies.
“I don’t care what your flippin’ notice says, get your fat ass off our property, or…” Natalie looked up and saw me and Bernie, “…or my friend’s dog will rip off your tiny tallywacker.”
“That means dick, dickhead” Mo said to the rotund man, “Just in case you want a legal definition of what you can’t find.”
The balding fat man laughed. “Your ad hominem attacks aside, you’ve been served with legal notice to vacate these premises within seventy-two hours.”
“What’s going on here?” I demanded.
Natalie said, “This here is Mean Gene…”
My friend’s comments were cut off by her adversary. “The suing machine.” Bernie growled as the lawyer took a bow and held out some paperwork. “I’m assuming you’re Kate Sexton. I’ve seen you on TV working some of your cases.” He stuck the wad of papers in my hand. “Consider yourself served.”
We all heard a yapping sound, turned, and saw there was a little dog in a car across the street.
“That’s Gene’s Chiweenie,” Mo explained
“Told you he had a little weenie,” Natalie offered.
Mean Gene scowled and regarded me. “Natasha might be small, but I would venture to say she could make dog food out of your mutt.”
Bernie growled. I wasn’t sure if he was sizing up the attorney or Natasha.
“Surely, there’s some way we can work this out,” I said. “We just moved in here and…”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve violated the terms of your lease by failing to maintain the high ethical standards set forth in the Starlight resident’s code. Since your names are all on the same lease, the eviction proceedings have been filed against all three of you.”
Mean Gene was headed for his car when Natalie called out, “We won’t stand for this. You’re gonna be hearin’ from our lawyer.”
Her threats seemed to have little impact on our slimy adversary. He laughed and asked, “Who might your lawyer be?”
“We’re represented by the legal defense team of Hermes Krump,” Mo said.
Mean Gene belly laughed. “Your lawyer sounds like a sexually transmitted disease. See you in court.”
After Mean Gene was gone, my friends insisted that I come by their trailer.
“I’ve only got a couple of minutes,” I said, wadding up my legal notice. “It’s been a long day.”
My friends’ home was a little larger than mine; a vintage coach in pristine condition that probably looked about the same as it had when it rolled off the assembly line—in 1953. I took a seat in their living room while Bernie got lots of love from Natalie. I noticed the news was on their TV.
“That crazy Reaper case you’re workin’s been all over the telly,” Natalie said. “They keep playing that tape of the girl’s body, but blur out the details at the last minute.”
“What’d he do to her?” Mo asked. My friend had a wig addiction. Tonight she was wearing something that reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Martha Washington. “According to Carmine Feckle, it was some kinda Day of the Dead murder.”
“Who?”
Mo cranked her head toward the TV. “He’s that crime guru. He just flew in from New York.
I released a breath, now remembering the reporter. Carmine Feckle was a little blowhard who managed to insert himself into every sensational murder case that came along, stirring up the public and the local politicians wherever he went. The little reporter was about forty, with brown hair, dark eyes, and the furtive expression of a small animal that bit you and then scurried off into the darkness.
Mo turned up the volume as Feckle talked about the crime, dragging out each syllable in every word he spoke for dramatic emphasis.
“Sources tell me this man they’re calling the Reaper is evil in its purest form. A corrosive substance, possibly acid, was poured on the girl’s body before she was dressed and posed.” He leaned in closer to the camera, his dark rodent eyes growing wider. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most inhumane and brutal attack I’ve ever encountered.”
I sighed. “Turn it off. I’ve heard enough.”
Mo killed the sound. “What about it, Kate? Is what he sayin’ true?”
I saw no reason to deny it, now that it was being broadcast to a nationwide TV audience. “I’m afraid so.”
“Why do you suppose the Reaper dressed her up and painted her?” Mo asked.
“Cause he’s some kinda psycho freak,” Natalie answered for me. “It’s like something from a Halloween slasher movie.”
“Except Halloween is about four months away,” I said. I looked at Mo. “We don’t know his motives. We’re just beginning to work the case.”
“I’ll put the lobe on the globe.”
“Huh?”
Mo rolled her eyes, like I was a clueless ninny. “I’ll put my ear to the ground, see what people on the streets are sayin’ ‘bout the killin’.”
Since Mo was a former pimp, she had lots of contacts and sometimes got worthwhile information from her sources. “I appreciate that.” I stood up. “I’m beat. See you both tomorrow.”
They both came over to me as I walked to the front door. “Don’t suppose you got us a mouthpiece today?” Mo asked, waving their eviction notice in my face.
“Sorry, no. I had the day from hell.”
My hefty friend looked at Natalie. “I guess that means we really do gotta go with Krump. You better give him a call, see if he can meet with us tomorrow night.”
Natalie agreed, adding, “I think our attorney needs a catchy slogan like Mean Gene’s.” Her hazel eyes widened. “Something just popped into me head. What about, ‘Don’t take a dump, call Krump’.”
“Brilliant,” I said. “Maybe he can advertise on the side of porta-potties.”
I was almost out the door when I remembered something. “I’m not sure I can make it tomorrow night. I’m supposed to have a drink with Buck.”
“You two gonna saddle up again?” Natalie asked.
“I thought you and Noah was serious,” Mo said.
“It’s just a drink for old time’s sake, nothing more.”