Sandman (2 page)

Stumbling into the bathroom, Thomas leaned against the wall as he relieved himself, then sidestepped to the sink to splash his face with cold water. Bracing himself on the sides, he leaned into his reflection in the mirror. He felt like shit and looked even worse.

He opened the medicine cabinet and after careful deliberation, grabbed the mouthwash to take a swig. He swirled it around in his mouth a few times before spitting it into the sink. He walked back into his room with a much sturdier gait and pulled on the pants that hung over a nearby chair.

All but stumbling down the stairs, he glanced into the living room and noticed the empty bottle of Chivas Regal lying on its side next to his favorite chair. His step quickened as the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee pulled him to the kitchen as if under a spell. He silently thanked the Gods for inventing coffee makers with automated timers.

Minutes later, Thomas was speeding south down Pacific Coast Highway away from Laguna Beach, his black BMW 330i cutting in and out of commuter traffic. Head still pounding, he opened the glove box, found the aspirin, and shook out four. He tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with the steaming hot liquid, feeling the burn down the back of his throat.

Thomas arrived at the top of the trail about the same time as the medical examiner. The sun was well into the sky, but the dark clouds moving in looked threatening.

The coroner was Cheryl Gardner, a fifty-five-year old veteran in the trade. She stood an even six feet tall, five inches shorter than Thomas. Her spiky blonde hair went well with the numerous punk-rock t-shirts she owned. Today she wore a Talking Heads one in bright orange, with “Psycho Killer” emblazoned across the front in lime green. Her crystal blue eyes always twinkled like she knew a secret.

Her age showed on her face. It was obvious that at one time she was a serious sun worshiper. Her gruff demeanor intimidated most rookies, but Thomas knew she was just blowing smoke up their asses. Inside she was mush, if you knew where to look.

“And how are you doing this fine morning, Ms. Gardner?” Thomas walked over to greet her.

A set of keys dropped to the ground. “Son of a bitch!” She slid out of the van to retrieve them. Looking up as if noticing Thomas for the first time she said, in her gravelly smoker’s voice, “Hey, ugly. How they hangin’? When are you going to marry me and take me away from all this shit?”

“Soon, Cheryl, very soon.” Thomas smiled and delivered a peck to her cheek.

“Well, it ain’t soon enough for me.” She pocketed her keys.

Overdramatic as usual, Cheryl’s complaints spewed forth like Old Faithful. But Thomas knew that she’d probably be slicing and dicing cadavers until her last breath. She was married to her work and no one had a happier marriage.

“You been down there yet?” She reached into the van to retrieve her kit.

“Just getting here same as you.” Thomas leaned over and took the bag from her.

“Then I guess we’re both in for a treat.” She headed toward the trail.

“Looks like that storm’s moving in pretty quickly. Won’t have much time before we’re working in water.” He talked to her back as he followed close behind.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure as shit won’t be the last.”

Once they hit the beach, they headed down toward the crew. Trudging through the sand, Cheryl screwed up her face in disgust. “Fuck me, I
hate
getting sand in my shoes. Why couldn’t the killer have been thoughtful enough to leave the vic up there by the road?” She hooked her thumb like a hitchhiker in the direction they had just come.

Thomas just smiled.

When they reached the others, Thomas handed Cheryl her kit. The CSU was unpacking its gear. He greeted the uniformed officer walking toward him.

“Morning, Cooper, you first on the scene?”

“Yes, sir, the body was discovered by that guy over there.” He pointed to a man sitting on a rock about a hundred yards down the beach, hands covering his face. “He came down here to surf early this morning. It was still dark when he arrived.

“Dropped his gear right on top of what he thought was a pile of seaweed, but by the light of day was actually the vic. Boy, did he get the surprise of his life. By the time he came back to retrieve his goods, the sun had been up awhile. Claimed he smelled her first.”

“I bet he did. The temp rose with the sun. The reading on my dashboard said it was already seventy-five. Good old El Niño at its best.”

“Yeah, I hate this damn humidity. Anyway, he picked up his backpack and found the stiff underneath.”

“I’ll get to him in a minute. Go move the crime scene tape a few hundred more yards. I don’t want anyone near this crime scene.”

“Yes, sir.” Cooper hitched his belt.

“When you’re done with that, get another uniform to stand post with you. The cliffs will keep the rest of the scene private from the gawking eyes of the public.”

 Thomas walked over to another uniformed officer, “Hey, James. I want you up at the top of the trail. Don’t let anyone down. Tell them the beach is closed due to a sewage leak. Get the city on the horn and have them bring down some of those signs to set up. We’re going to be here awhile.”

“Yes, sir.” James turned on his heels.

Thomas moved on to inspect the scene. Matt was busy taking photographs. He stood just out of the way. He watched as Sue brushed sand crabs from an arm, then a leg that had been exposed by the angry sea. She kept waving at the flies in an effort to keep them airborne. Flesh dangled from the appendages making the site pretty gruesome. He felt for the poor guy who found her. Civilians weren’t privy to the kind of carnage he had gotten used to over the years.

It took a while for the corpse to be fully uncovered.

Thomas was shooting the shit with Cheryl when they were summoned to review the grisly site in its entirety. Lying on her back was a woman who appeared to be in her early- to mid-thirties. Rigor had come and gone. It was difficult to tell the color of her hair, because it was wet and matted with sand.

Her eyes and lips had been sewn shut with thick black thread. The breasts had been removed and were nowhere in the near vicinity.
At least there aren’t any maggots. Yet. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s maggots,
Thomas thought
.
Matt was busy snapping photographs again. Thomas took out his cell phone and walked down the beach for some privacy before he dialed Captain Harris.

“Looks like we have a serial on our hands,” he said without identifying himself.

“Fuck that. You know damn well we have to have at least
three
bodies in order to call it a serial killing.”

“There may be only two stiffs we know about, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’s been at it awhile. The eyes and lips are sewn shut and the breasts are missing. I bet money we find she was tortured for some time before killed like the last girl.

“There’s bruising around the neck and ligature marks around the wrists and ankles. We won’t know anything else for certain until she’s cleaned up. The sand is moist and clinging pretty heavily. There’s no sign of blood. This is a dump site. So what would
you
call this, Boss, coincidence?”

“Shit. Look, if I hear one word about a serial killer loose in Orange County, it’ll be your ass. You hear me?”

Then Thomas heard a dial tone.

THREE

Meagan McInnis and Godzilla, her Labrador-Newfoundland mix, were also on a beach in San Clemente, this one further north of Trestles. She began this morning as she did each morning, with a quick jog along the shore below her apartment. Her long sleek legs carried her along the water’s edge toward the pier; once there she’d turn around and head home.

Godzilla streaked ahead, his giant paws kicking up sand in his wake. He weaved his way up the beach visiting people or other dogs, or chasing the squirrels that lived in the rocks. Anything to pass the time while he waited for Meagan. Once she passed him, he’d lose interest in his current activity only to find another more promising one up the beach. They played this game of tag every morning without fail.

Meagan had adopted Godzilla from the pound when he’d been just three months old. She’d named him for the tremendous paws that were way out of proportion with his tiny body and the irony of his disposition. He was anything but a monster, but someone knocking on her door late at night wouldn’t know that when she called his name or heard him bark.

She knew he would mature into an enormous dog one day, but she just didn’t know it would be so soon. Godzilla weighed somewhere around a hundred pounds, stood almost to her waist, yet was still shy of his first birthday. He could bowl her over easily, and often did.

Originally she’d wanted a dog not only for the company, but because it was a good idea for a woman living alone to have a watchdog. He had proven to be a great companion, but unless he licked someone to death, she had to shelve the watchdog idea. Also, he rarely barked. Which was a plus when your neighbors lived as close as hers.

Sweat permeated Meagan’s body. Her tank top clung to her skin. She stopped, removed her sweatshirt, wiped her face, and tied the sleeves around her waist before continuing on. Her naturally red curls were clipped high on her head. Fallen wisps glued themselves to her face and neck.
Ladies don’t sweat, they glisten,
Meagan’s grandmother always said. Well, right now she was glistening up a storm. And it felt good.

As she ran along the shoreline, her thoughts were on her birthday. Tomorrow she would turn thirty-five. How did she get to be so old without a husband or family to show for it? Unfortunately, her luck with men sucked. She still felt the burn from her last relationship debacle. She had been seeing Brad Landis for five months, but had known him professionally for over a year.

Being a hairdresser in the Ocean Ranch area of Dana Point, Meagan’s salon catered to a very affluent clientele. Brad had been one of her clients. He was forty-five, the vice president of sales for a Fortune 500 company, and he traveled a lot for dealings with clients. He had given her a card with all his possible phone numbers, or so she’d thought.

He’d confessed his love for Meagan on the first date and that had freaked her out. She’d never trusted a man who fell so hard so fast, but she’d been having too much fun to heed the uncomfortable feeling that needled her. Then, just when Megan thought she might have fallen for him, it happened.

Brad met with the president of the company at their main office in downtown Los Angeles. The meeting should have ended around noon. He promised to call Meagan the minute his meeting had finished so they could make dinner plans. The afternoon soon turned to evening.

There had been no call.

The rain came down in sheets that day. The drive from L.A. to Dana Point was around two hours on a good day. With Friday traffic, slick roads, and dense visibility, the drive was difficult at best.

Frantically, she left several messages at all of Brad’s numbers, but her calls were not returned. She contacted the highway patrol and all the hospitals. She scarcely ate or slept the entire weekend. She wouldn’t allow herself to leave the house. Even with her cell phone, she feared that she might somehow miss him.

By Sunday afternoon, consumed with exhaustion, Meagan figured that Brad was dead. Still she kept up her vigil. After a third straight sleepless night, she gave in and called his cell phone one last time Monday morning. He answered.

“Oh, thank God. Where are you? Are you okay?” Meagan choked back a sob.

“Fine. Playing golf with a client.” His manner was distant, detached. Nothing like the man she had come to know.

“What!” She wiped the tears from her face.

“Look, I’m going to have to call you back. I can’t talk right now.” The line went dead.

Meagan stared at the phone. Brad actually called her back a couple of hours later, but by then she was already over it.

And him.

He said that he had moved back in with his estranged wife, but they slept in separate rooms. His wife was having a hard time accepting the divorce, he said. She was fifteen years his senior and he worried about her health, as well as her mental state. But that didn’t mean that he and Meagan had to stop seeing one another, he rushed to add.

Meagan was silent while she processed this bit of information. He hadn’t acknowledged who she was on the phone in front of his “client.” She’d never seen his apartment; he’d told her that he lived with a roommate who was a slob and that he preferred her place because of the privacy. There’d been a lot of weekends he’d spent “out of town” on business. Brad never answered Meagan’s calls directly; instead he’d called her back after she’d left a voicemail.

The bastard had been married all along!

Calmly she replied, “Thank you for clearing that up.” She hung up before she fell apart.

Furious. Disgusted. Shattered. Meagan had been all of the above. In the end, she realized she was angrier with herself than with him. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she put the pieces together sooner?

That’s when she decided she was through with men. Godzilla would be the only male in her life from then on.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Brad wouldn’t give up. He wasn’t the type of man who was used to hearing the word no. He sent cards, flowers and gifts, and she returned them all. Many times she’d come home to an answering machine full of messages from him.

At first, he pleaded with her. He would move out of the house. Buy a home on the beach for Meagan. They could get married. So on and so forth. The bullshit never let up.

One evening, while Meagan locked up the salon, she spotted him sitting in his car watching her. It was then that she realized that the salon was like a fish bowl once it became dark outside. She wondered how many evenings he had done that. It had given her an eerie feeling.

Then Meagan spotted Brad’s car parked on her street. His bright red Corvette didn’t exactly blend in with her neighborhood.