Sandman (6 page)

One problem with the wealthier neighborhoods was that people pretty much kept to themselves. Although the general populace of San Clemente was considered more down-to-earth than, say, a neighborhood in Newport Beach, a home overlooking the Pacific still ran in the several-million-dollar bracket. Thomas knew from experience that the residences of these homes valued their privacy.

He was certain the perp did all his maneuvering in the wee hours under the cover of night. Most folks were asleep by then.
Give me an insomniac any day.
The distance from the cliffs to the sand didn’t help much either, but it was possible that someone noticed a strange car or a person who seemed out of place.

He’d made his own murder board by posting the latest photos, along with those of the first victim on the window next to his desk. That way he could note the differences as well as the similarities between the two cases. Thomas rolled his shoulders, rubbed a kink out of his neck, then leaned back in his chair and stared at the photos. The ringing phone broke his concentration.

“Thomas,” he answered distractedly.

“Detective, this is Joe Nguen at the morgue. Dr. Gardner wanted me to let you know she’s about ready to begin the autopsy on your Jane Doe.”

“Thanks, Joe, tell her I’m on my way.” Thomas stood up and stretched. He was just shrugging into his jacket when the phone rang again. He picked it up and heard Kim Johnson on the other end. She was Homicide’s IT specialist. She’d joined the force when she returned from Afghanistan and her stint in the Navy had ended.

“Thanks for getting back to me. I need you to run some searches for me in VICAP. I’m running out the door right now, so you’ll need to jot these down.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Search for women’s bodies buried in sand by the ocean or other large bodies of water, raped, kidnapped and held for an indeterminate amount of time, tortured, removal of body parts, especially the breasts, and lastly his signature of the black thread through the lips and eyelids. Do it in first singularly, then as a group.”

“Got it,” Kim said.

“I know this is going to take some time to do it in steps like this, but I’m certain this guy didn’t just wake up two months ago and decide to start mutilating women. He’s too damn good. Who knows what he’s added to his play list along the way.” Thomas knew that the FBI’s Violent Crime Apprehension Program would give him some answers, even if the answer was no.

“No sweat. Anything else?”

“On second thought, run that search backwards. Let’s see how many other vics out there meet the same MO first, then go back and break it up.”

“Roger that.”

“Thanks, Johnson, gotta run.”

***

When Thomas returned home that evening, he walked into the kitchen, deposited his keys, then immediately poured himself a scotch on the rocks. This time he reached for the Glenfiddich, having forgotten to stop at the liquor store on his way home.

In the living room, he flung his weary body into his favorite chair. He put his feet up on the ottoman, then snatched up the TV remote. He wanted—no, needed to numb his brain.

He thought a good Hitchcock movie would do the trick, so he started channel-surfing on the off chance he could find one. TV guides were for pussies. Then something caught his eye and he backed up. Yup, just as he thought, it was that ditzy reporter from this morning.

“
The mutilated body of an unidentified woman was discovered this morning on Trestles Beach, a popular destination for surfers here in San Clemente. This is the second such victim found in the last two months.

“The first, you’ll recall, was Jennifer Hooper, the young coed whose body was discovered in a shallow grave near the pier in Huntington Beach back in September. So far, the police have no leads, but fear this could be the work of a serial killer.”

“Son of a bitch!” Thomas jumped out of his chair.

“The folks here at KBBT are issuing a warning to all the women in Orange County to be vigilant about their surroundings. Be extremely cautious after dark. Make sure you stay in groups when walking to your car after work. Let’s all pray the police catch The Sandman soon so we can all rest a little easier—.”

His cell phone rang.

“Yeah,” he said, muting the TV, still staring at the screen although the segment was over.

“Hey, you were just on TV. Harris is not going to be too happy with you.” Malone laughed. “Damn, Thomas, you’ve got balls of steel picking up that reporter. That was hilarious!”

“She’s a major pain in the ass. I just caught the tail end of the segment. Harris is going to shit bricks about the serial killer crack.”

“It’s not exactly a stretch. Anyone with half a brain can connect the dots.”

“Hold on, Malone, I’m getting another call.” Thomas hit the send button on his phone.

“Dammit, Thomas—”
Speak of the devil.

“Hold on, sir.” He put the captain on hold and went back to his waiting buddy.

Malone chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

Thomas needed more than luck after the day he’d had. He switched the line over to the captain, not at all ready to hear what he had to say.

“Sorry, sir, I had Malone on the other line.”

“I just got off the phone with the chief. What the fuck were you thinking, picking that reporter up like that? We’ll be lucky if we’re not sued for sexual harassment or some other such bullshit like that. If Gloria Steinem hears about it, we’re screwed!”

“She wouldn’t take ‘no comment’ for an answer, just kept buzzing around me like a fly at a picnic. I snapped, I’m sorry, but I’d like to see what you would do if you had someone constantly shoving a microphone up your nose.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“No, and you weren’t there. I didn’t catch the beginning of the segment, but I’d bet they didn’t show how I politely declined answering her stupid questions several times before I got fed up.”

“You’re right, I didn’t see one iota of polite and I’m sure it was expertly edited, but that’s not the point. This is exactly what I was talking about this morning. I can’t afford to have you out there losing your temper. Especially when every clown and his uncle has a video app on their cell phone nowadays.”

“You’re right, sir, I’m sorry.”

“Look, Thomas, I can’t keep covering your ass. The mayor called the chief, then the chief called me, so now I’m telling you. One more outburst like that, and I’m going to have to suspend you. I already had to do quite a tap dance to keep you from getting put on permanent leave for that little stunt you pulled.”

“Shit.” Thomas ran his hand down his face. “I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t really thinking about the big picture.”

“Exactly. That’s been happening a lot lately. Now, do me and yourself a favor, and get your shit together. Call the number on that card, or find another shrink, I don’t give a shit, but do something
now
before you fuck up so bad that only God can save you.”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas turned off his phone, downed the rest of his scotch, and poured himself another.

NINE

Meagan didn’t get home until after ten that evening. She dragged herself through the door and into the paws of an overly excited Godzilla. The love fest didn’t last long; he needed to go out. She filled his bowl with dinner while she waited for him to come back in. She was just topping off his water when he returned wagging his tail. She locked the door and headed to her bedroom.

A moment later, stripped down to panties and bra, she plopped on the edge of the bed. Damn, but it felt good to sit. Godzilla bounded up next to her and bowled her over, licking her face. She grabbed his head with both hands and held him at bay, “I love you too, handsome.”

She began rubbing her feet and sighed. She wished she had someone to do this for her. Perhaps a scantily clad man with chiseled features who would greet her at the door with a glass of wine, then give her a full body massage with a happy ending. One could only dream. No, the way her luck was running, she’d end up with a guy greeting her at the door holding an axe and wearing a hockey mask.
Then again, if that was all he was wearing…
She chuckled.

Meagan threw on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, then headed into the living room. The flashing red light on the answering machine blinked at her, and she hit the play button and listened as she headed back to the kitchen. There was a glass of wine in there with her name on it.

The first three calls were hang-ups. She took a satisfying sip of Merlot and was on her way to a relaxing evening when Katy’s voice echoed through the room. “Meagan, call me the
minute
you get in, no matter how late.”

Wow, it must be important if she’s willing to risk waking the boys.

Katy O’Brien had been Meagan’s best friend since high school. Now that Katy had a family, they didn’t see each other as often as she would have liked, but they did keep in contact almost daily by phone.

The phone rang only once before Katy answered in a dramatic whisper, “Just a sec, I’ve got to go in the other room.”

It was only a moment before Katy was back on the line speaking more audibly. “Sorry, Sean’s asleep. You know it would normally take a cannon to wake him, but tonight I don’t want to take any chances. It took three sedatives to get him calmed down enough to close his eyes.”

“What happened?” Meagan perked up her ears.

“He went surfing this morning and found a woman’s body at Trestles.”

“Oh, no, not another person hit by the train.” Meagan sat on her couch and drew her legs up beside her.

“Not this time. Have you seen the news about that serial killer?”

Stupid question. Katy knew Meagan didn’t watch the news, that she found it too depressing. She relied on Katy, the news junkie, to keep her abreast of all current events. Because of her delicate heart, Katy usually stuck close to home and kept abreast with the outside world via television.

“No way, we have another serial killer?” Meagan thought back to when Richard Ramirez, The Night Stalker, terrorized the southland. He picked homes at random along Interstate 5. He’d killed in Mission Viejo, a town roughly twenty miles north of San Clemente. At the time, everyone feared that he’d hit their town next.

“Yup, they’re calling him The Sandman because he buries their bodies in shallow graves on the beach. Remember the girl two months ago up in Huntington Beach?”

“Oh, God, and Sean found this girl? Was she mutilated like the last one?” Meagan took a deep swallow of her wine.

“What he saw of her was in pretty bad shape. He only saw an arm and a leg.”

“She was chopped up!” Meagan downed the rest of her wine and got up to retrieve the bottle.

“No, no, no. The high tide uncovered part of her and that’s all he could see protruding from the sand. He actually threw his backpack and sweater on top of her. It was still dark when he got to the beach.”

“Ew, gross.” Meagan sat back on the couch and got comfortable, the bottle of wine at the ready.

“Yeah. The cops confiscated them as evidence, but he says he doesn’t want them back. They can burn them for all he cares.”

“I don’t blame him. Poor, Sean, how’s he doing? He must be devastated.”

“You have no idea. The minute he walked through the door, he just grabbed me and held on tight without saying a word. It scared me to death. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. I’d had a pretty rough morning myself because he was so late and forgot his cell phone, again. I was scared shitless that something had happened to him, and I had no way to find out what.

“Since he had the car, I phoned Sue down the street to take the boys to school. He finally called around mid-morning, but only to let me know he was fine and would be awhile more. He arrived home in the early afternoon. He was so shook up it took him awhile to get the story out. I’ve got to tell you, Meagan, I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.”

“My God, Katy, how horrible. Poor Sean.”

“I know. To make matters worse, I had to drive him up to Santa Ana so he could give them a formal statement. By the time we got home, he was wiped out, but couldn’t sleep. He said that ghastly image kept flashing through his brain like a horror movie he couldn’t shut off.”

“You know, maybe under the circumstances, we should postpone my birthday celebration tomorrow night,” Meagan suggested.

“No, we can’t!” Katy’s outburst took Meagan by surprise. “I’ll just see if his brother William can come over so he doesn’t have to be alone.”

“What’s so important that we can’t postpone?”

Katy’s tone turned jovial. “No way, girlfriend, it’s a surprise.”

“Well, give Sean my best.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight after that story.”

“I know, huh? I’ve just been lying in bed with the TV turned low watching over Sean. Every so often I catch him in the midst of a nightmare and rub his back. After a while he calms down. Call me tomorrow when you get a chance.”

“You got it. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Meagan turned to Godzilla who lay on her feet by her side. “Good thing I have
you,
boy.” She ruffled the top of his head. “You won’t let that big bad psycho killer get me, will ya?”

Godzilla panted his response, his tongue lulling to the side.

She checked the locks on the windows and doors before retiring to her bedroom and searching for the weapon Sean made for her when she’d first started living alone. It was a mallet with a three-inch circumference, about four feet long, made of wood and wrapped with black electrician’s tape. Sean told her that the tape was to keep the mallet from breaking when it hit the target.

Meagan cringed at the time, and thought he was being silly if not a bit overprotective. Now she silently thanked Sean for his brilliance. She found the weapon under the bed and slipped it under the covers.

Meagan threw off her clothes and slid between the flannel sheets, loving the way they felt against her naked body. Picking up her book, she began to read until she could fall asleep.