Tower shook his head, reading forward.
The suspect removed the victim’s sweat pants and underwear. He then sexually assaulted her vaginally from behind. During the act, he struck her several times on the back of the head, leaving her further stunned. She was not sure if he ejaculated or not. When he was finished, he told her that he knew who she was and that he would kill her if she reported the rape to police.
When the victim realized that the suspect had left the scene, she stood and began walking again. Due to her dazed state, she didn’t think to knock on one of the doors in the neighborhood. It wasn’t until she reached the parking lot five blocks away that she found a pay phone to call 911.
I transported the victim to the hospital. On the way, we drove to the park where the assault occurred. She was able to point out the approximate area where she was attacked. Officer Chisolm searched the area for any evidence. See his report for further.
The victim was unable to describe the suspect, other than to say he “sounded white.”
Tower sighed. This had to be the same guy. The M.O. was too similar and the phrase about “the whammo” was too unique. So he had been right about the guy. Whoever he was, he wasn’t finished.
Tower cursed. Most of the rapes he investigated involved suspects that were somehow known to the victim. Even if the connection was tenuous, there was usually something that linked the two. Dating, working together, even just a one-time social connection. The point was, a rape was usually not a
who
dunit. Usually, his biggest obstacles were proving that sexual intercourse occurred and that it involved forcible compulsion. In other words, most of the time it was a
DidHe
dunit. More directly, it typically ended up being, from an investigative standpoint, a case
CanIProveHe
dunit.
Stranger rapes were much rarer.
That presented a number of problems for him as the investigator. For one, he didn’t even have a suspect.
Sure you do, John. About forty thousand of them.
Plus, if this guy really was a serial, he might get better and better with his technique as he went along, making each successive case even harder to solve. Tower had to figure out how to catch the guy before he attacked another victim.
But how?
He shook his head. He could definitely use someone to bounce some ideas off of.
Tower looked around the unit. A pair of empty desks sat behind him. He had no idea where the detectives that sat in those desks might be and didn’t much care. Prather and Carlisle were thick as thieves. Neither one of them spoke to him much and that suited him just fine. Both specialized in child molestation cases, anyway.
The third empty desk belonged to Ted Billings. Sex Crimes was a demotion from Major Crimes for him. Crawford had busted him back before Tower even came to the unit. The way Billings worked, Tower could see why. As detectives went, Billings made an excellent paper weight. It was pretty obvious to Tower that Billings was R.O.D. – Retired On Duty.
So who did that leave?
No one in his unit.
Tower reached into his desk drawer and removed the Patricia Reno file. Then he scooped up the newest file on Maureen Hite and took both with him as he made his way to the Major Crimes unit. Once there, he found Detective Ray Browning sitting at his desk, reviewing a file of his own.
“Ray?”
Browning, a black man with compact features, looked up from his file. His warm, brown eyes regarded Tower calmly. “John. What’s up?”
Tower motioned toward the file on Browning’s desk. “You deep into that?”
Browning shook his head. “No, just some housekeeping. It’s already gone to the prosecutor. I’m going on vacation after tomorrow, so I wanted to get all the little odds and ends tidied up. Why?”
Tower held out his two files. “I’m looking for suggestions. I want to catch this prick.”
Ray smiled graciously. “You want to run it for me?”
Tower shook his head. He knew Browning preferred to read the reports himself rather than hear a synopsis. He held out the files and Browning accepted them. Tower settled into the empty desk across from him. Browning opened the files and read carefully, stroking his graying goatee as he scanned the pages.
Tower tapped his pen and waited.
Browning glanced up. “You’re not going to sit there and tap the entire time, are you?”
Tower stopped. “Sorry.”
Browning smiled at him. “Get yourself some coffee, John.”
Tower nodded. “Good idea.” He rose and left the bullpen, making his way past Glenda, the Major Crimes secretary. The smell of good coffee wafted toward him. He grabbed a Styrofoam cup and poured some.
“That’s a quarter,” Glenda told him, her tone mock-scolding.
Tower fished a dollar out of his pocket and stuffed it into the jar near the coffee pot. “It’s worth it. The coffee over in Sex Crimes sucks.”
Glenda shrugged. “What can I say? This is Major Crimes. The varsity team.”
Tower smiled. “Don’t be humble or anything.”
“Humility is an affectation that I don’t have time for,” Glenda said, a smile playing on her lips. “It tends to get in the way of accomplishing anything great.”
“And greatness courses through the veins of every member of the Major Crimes unit,” Tower said.
Glenda narrowed her eyes. “Drink your coffee, serf.”
Tower turned his empty palm up. “You got me. I have no response for that.”
Glenda raised her eyebrows in mock haughtiness. “I thought not.”
Tower chuckled and sipped his coffee.
“Tower!” Lieutenant Crawford bellowed from his office.
Tower suppressed a sigh. “Yeah?”
“Don’t ‘yeah’ me,” Crawford barked. “Stop flirting with my secretary and come in here!”
Tower tipped Glenda a wink and made his way into the Lieutenant’s office. He stood in front of Crawford’s desk, ignoring the open chair.
Crawford eyed him for a moment, then lifted a clipboard. “I’ve got a stranger-to-stranger rape on my report list.”
“I know. I’ve already got the file.”
Crawford glanced down at the clipboard. “Maureen Hite?”
Tower nodded.
“Is it a good rape?”
Tower cringed at the question. He knew that a percentage of rape reports that came through were false. Most of the time, alcohol and the wrong partner were involved. It was a reality he’d come to understand as a sex crimes investigator – sometimes women lied about rape. Of course, at the same time, they often didn’t report it at all. He’d investigated a number of false claims, so he knew they happened. Still, Crawford’s word choice bothered him. He wasn’t a screaming liberal about the issue, but—
“Tower? I asked you a question.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it is. It’s a good rape.”
Crawford reached for his cigar box. “Anything like the last one?”
“A lot like it, actually.”
“Did you get called out on it?” Crawford lifted a thick cigar from the box and slipped it between his lips.
Tower had a passing thought about Freud and suppressed a grin.
Crawford’s brow furrowed in a scowl. “Something funny, Tower?”
“No, sir.”
“Then answer my question. Did you get called out?”
“No. My pager battery died on me.”
Crawford fixed him with a dark stare. “Your pager died?” he repeated.
Tower nodded.
“Pretty rookie mistake, Tower.”
Tower didn’t reply.
“You know where we keep the batteries, right?”
“I do.”
“And you can install them?”
Tower clenched his jaw. “Of course I can.”
Crawford removed the unlit cigar and waved out toward the bullpen. “Because I can have one of these guys tutor you on that battery thing, if you need it.”
Tower sighed. “It just went dead. Okay?”
Crawford grunted. He slid the cigar back into the corner of his mouth, gripping it with his teeth. “So your pager died. Did your phone die, too?”
Tower shook his head. “I wasn’t at home last night.”
Crawford raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Do I need to start calling you Giovanni Junior now?”
Tower ignored the jibe. “I don’t know that there’s much I could’ve done last night, anyway,” he told Crawford. “MacLeod did a great interview and a great report. Chisolm and Westboard searched the crime scene and didn’t find anything. They took photos anyway.”
“Those are patrol officers,” Crawford said, “not detectives.”
Tower shrugged. “It was good police work.”
Crawford grunted again. “So where are you at with this case, then? If the police work was so good.”
“I think this guy might be a serial.”
“And?”
“And I’m trying to figure out how to work it. None of the lab work is back or will be anytime soon. The victims didn’t get a look at the guy. I’ve got no witnesses. I’m looking for an angle to play. Maybe Renee in Crime Analysis—”
“You’re looking for a magic bullet.”
“Huh?”
Crawford shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You’re looking for a magic bullet to solve this case. It ain’t gonna happen. You think you’ll go down to Crime Analysis and flirt with Renee like you’re flirting with Glenda in there. Then her computer will spit out some guy’s name. But it doesn’t happen that way.”
Tower shrugged. “Sometimes it does.”
“Bah.” Crawford waved his hand. “You need to get out there and wear out some shoe leather. Canvass the area where the assault occurred. Somebody saw something.”
“This isn’t the 1940s,” Tower said. “It’s the nineties. I agree on the canvass, but –”
“Stop looking for a magic bullet, Tower. Wear out some shoe leather, like I said.”
Tower clenched his jaw and nodded. “Fine.”
“You want help on this?”
“Ray’s looking at the files.”
“Ray’s going on vacation. I mean, you want me to reassign Prather and Carlisle to help you on this?”
Tower shook his head. “They’ve got their own cases. If I need help with anything, I’ll grab somebody in patrol. Or, if it’s in the office, I’ll get Billings to help.”
“Billings?” Crawford snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Tower didn’t reply, mostly because he knew the lieutenant was right.
Crawford gave Tower an appraising look. “How sure are you this is a serial?”
“Pretty sure. The M.O. is identical and he used a key phrase both times.”
“The whammo thing?”
“Yeah.”
Crawford chewed slowly on the cigar. “This is two rapes in two days, right?”
Tower nodded.
“Pretty short turnaround, isn’t it?”
Tower nodded again.
“You figure he’ll hit again soon?”
Tower shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe whatever is driving him has been satisfied for a little while. But who knows?”
“I’m sure the FBI knows,” Crawford said sarcastically.
“The FBI knows everything,” Tower agreed, deadpanning.
Crawford didn’t smile, but Tower spotted laughter in his eyes. “All right, Tower. Do what you can. Get Browning’s input. Check with Renee in Crime Analysis. But get out there and find a witness.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get me copies of both files. I’m going to have to alert the media on this.”
“I understand.”
“I figure you want the whammo thing as a keep back?”
Tower nodded. “Yeah. Just in case the false confessions start rolling in.”
“All right.” Crawford looked down at the paperwork on his desk, signaling a dismissal.
Tower turned and left the office.
0837 hours
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Lieutenant Alan Hart said to the man on the telephone. “From what you’re telling me, the officers behaved quite inappropriately.”
“I pay their wages,” the man on the other end said. “I don’t need them coming to my house and being smart-asses. Or cussing at me. Especially when I’m the victim.”
“I agree,” Hart replied. “Mr. Elway, would you be willing to come down to the police station and sign a formal complaint?”
“Well...”
“You needn’t worry about any repercussions. If an officer were to retaliate in any way against a citizen who files a complaint…”
“It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t have my Beemer back yet. And you guys aren’t even looking for it.”
Hart cleared his throat. “I can come to you with the complaint form, Mr. Elway.”
“Fine. But what about my stolen car?”
“I’ll have an officer dispatched right away.”
“Good.”
“Thanks for calling, Mr. Elway,” Hart said. “It’s citizens like you that make this department a better one.”
“I just want my car back,” Elway said. “But what’s going to happen to those two clowns you guys sent up here?”
“They’ll be dealt with,” Hart assured him.
“I hope so. Guys like that shouldn’t be cops.”
“I agree.”
Elway hung up without a word.
Hart replaced the receiver. He finished scratching out the nature of the complaint on his notepad. He’d transfer it later to an official form, but he liked to get it all down while the call was still fresh.
O’Sullivan and Battaglia. A couple of hot-shot, graveyard jokers. He used to come across the two of them as they were getting off of graveyard shift and he was coming on day shift, back when he was the lieutenant for day shift patrol. He still recalled the arrogant, condescending looks they’d cast toward him as they bit off the words, “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Well, he had them cold now. From Tad Elway’s statement, they’d get charged for Officer Demeanor and Inadequate Response. The demeanor charge was iffy on O’Sullivan, but when Battaglia cursed and was directly rude to Elway, that sealed things. While that charge might only result in a written reprimand, the inadequate response had some teeth. A citizen reported a stolen vehicle and officers failed to take a report. That was serious. There might even be a suspension on the horizon for both officers.
Hart smiled. He wondered how funny those two jokers – no, Elway had called them ‘clowns’ and he liked that better. He wondered how funny those two
clowns
thought a suspension would be.