Wounds (26 page)

The clock in the Crown Vic read 4:27. The sun had yet to show for work. She moved slowly down Corona Oriente Road west of Crown Point Park. The park had a long stretch of sandy beach bordering Fiesta Bay, a popular boating place. The park was a popular destination for those who preferred the quiet waters of the bay over the crashing waves of Pacific Beach and La Jolla Shores. The trees and grass reminded Carmen of the park in Coronado, where she had interviewed Ellis Poe.

The ocean park was well known to Carmen. She spent many hours here with her family. Old-style streetlights cast a glow along the side of the road bordered by houses built just after World War II and larger, newer executive homes. A fifty-year-old, 1,200-square-foot house could share a block with a much newer 5,000-square-footer. Her interest, however, lay elsewhere: the middle of three parking lots. She pulled to a stop on the apron leading to the large, empty expanse of asphalt. It was an easy spot to find. Four patrol cars were parked nearby, as were two other Crown Vics.

Carmen exited her car and joined two men standing by the yellow barricade stretching around the entire lot. The responding officers must have run through a half-dozen rolls of the tape.

She glanced at Bud and Hector. “You got here quick.”

“I was just wasting the night by sleeping.” Bud looked as weary as Carmen felt. A field of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. He hadn't bothered to shave. During the half-moment they spent as a couple years ago she learned that he was old-fashioned about shaving. Still used a double-edge safety razor. No cheap throwaway for him.

Hector looked a little more refreshed. His chin was clear of stubble. Probably an electric-shaver man. Much easier to shave quickly.

“Me, too.” Carmen fought a yawn. “Why sleep when we could be standing by the ocean on a breezy morning before sunrise?” A Hyundai pulled up, an older sedan. Joe Heywood exited. Since he wasn't a detective, he hadn't been issued a car, so had used his own vehicle to make his way here from home. They waited for him to walk to their location. When he arrived, Carmen took the lead.

“Okay, who was here first?”

“That'd be me.” Hector raised a hand. “But Bud arrived right after me.”

“Have you looked at the body?” Carmen scanned the parking lot.

“Yes. It definitely fits. Bizarre. This time—”

Carmen cut him off. “Don't destroy our first impressions.” She took a deep breath. She had a feeling that she'd rather read about this case than see it. “Lead on, Hector. Let's see what the new trend in crazy is.”

Tactical flashlights appeared and scanned the ground as Hector led the group over the lawn to a copse of three trees. The ground was firm, no doubt hard-packed by thousands of park visitors. Carmen saw no shoe impressions or anything else that might be associated with the murder. She didn't expect to. The subject of their search was a meticulous man, which made him all the more dangerous.

“And there he is.” Hector motioned to a tree.

A nude male stood with his back to a tree. No, not stood. He was dead. He hung on the tree, his naked form tied to the trunk with long strips of cloth. Carmen trained her light on the corpse, starting at his head. Like some of the other victims, the man had been pummeled. His right eye was swollen closed, the lid of his left eye hung at half-mast. A piece of cloth was wrapped around the man's throat. His hands were bound by the same material, and another strip was tied around his abdomen and the tree trunk and pulled tight with such force the belly fat puffed around it.

“Lovely.” Carmen shook her head. “What is that? Purple silk?”

“You asking a bunch of guys if it's silk?” Bud moved closer and shone his small light on the material around the man's throat. “It's shiny. Maybe silk, maybe something similar.” He shone his light in the half-open eye. “Petechial hemorrhage consistent with strangulation.” He stepped back.

Carmen continued to move her light from head to feet. Severe bruising, especially around the ribs. The light continued down. No trauma to below the waist. The man had voided his bladder and bowels. “Well, this is different.” She let the light linger on the waste.

“Killed here.” Bud looked at Carmen. “That
is
a change.”

The victim's feet and hands were bound with the same purple material. This time Carmen moved the body and with gloved hands lifted the man's bound wrists. “No rigor. Fresh kill.” She directed the beam of her flashlight at the man's left rib cage, which had been covered by his arms. “Deep bruising.” She gently lowered the arms. “He was beaten before he was tied to the tree.” She wanted to untie his hand to see if the ligature marks matched the other victims, but the cloth was too wide. She would have to wait for the ME to tell her.

“So the guy was beaten elsewhere, tied, and strangled here?” Hector shook his head. “Why?”

“Part of the game. Part of the message.” A heavy wave of weariness washed over Carmen. She felt fifty feet below the surface and sinking fast. For the first time in her career she wanted to spin on her heels and walk away.

She didn't. “Okay, no clothes means no wallet, so for the moment we have a John Doe. Let's spread out and survey the area. The wallet may be nearby.” She looked at Heywood. “Joe, I want you to get a few of your uniform buddies to check out the area around the park. Keep an eye out for blood spatter.” She directed the flashlight back to the man's face—there were streaks of coagulated blood from his nose and mouth. “Also, see if there are any security cameras around. Doesn't look like we have any in the park, but maybe one of the bigger houses has a camera trained on the street. Rich people have more to be paranoid about.”

“Got it.” He turned and walked back the way they entered.

Carmen continued. “Dispatch has notified the ME's office and the crime-scene techs. They should be here soon.” She studied the scene once more. “Let's assume he parked in the lot. Pulling a body from a car while parked on the street seems too stupid for this guy. Let's move from the tree to the lot.”

Hector rubbed the back of his neck. “This is gonna be a long day.”

“Could be worse,” Bud said. “One of us has a press conference this afternoon.”

Carmen swore. “I wonder who I have to shoot to get a cup of coffee.”

On the street, a van with a retractable microwave tower mounted to the roof pulled to the curb. Carmen saw Joe Heywood head them off. It was to be expected. Captain Simmons's short press conference the other day had become chum for the sharks. Some detectives liked the limelight.

Carmen wasn't one of them.

Carmen had gone to bed a little early the night before, but being jarred awake had left her feeling like she just came out of major surgery. The long hours of the last two weeks had worked her like a heavyweight worked a body bag. Every few minutes she wondered what it would be like to take a long nap and then take a leisurely drive up the coast. Instead she stood with Captain Simmons and Chief England. They were in the media room of the central station. Before them were several rows of seats, each filled with a reporter. At the back, several video cameras were set up on tripods. In the seats were representatives from every major radio station and newspaper—mainline and independent. To Carmen, they looked like a school of piranha eyeing a cow that had wandered into their river. The dinner bell was about to ring.

Chief Mark England stepped to the lectern, the top of which sported a dozen microphones. “Thank you for coming in on a Saturday. I appreciate your dedication.” England wore his dress uniform, stood straight, head up, and displayed an expression of determination. “Normally we would wait until the work week, but we feel the public needs to hear from us sooner. Thank you for making that possible.”

Some of the reporters nodded as if the praise were meant just for them. Several held digital recorders forward, as if the extra foot or two their outstretched arms provided would make the recording that much clearer. Maybe it did. What did Carmen know about reporting? She shifted in her seat, a padded folding chair that seemed unusually hard and uncomfortable.

“A few days ago, the head of our homicide department—Captain Darrel Simmons—informed you of several murder cases the department has been investigating. These crimes are unusual and appear to be the work of one man. Since then there have been more cases. As it stands now five bodies have been found. All male. We want the good citizens of San Diego to know that we are on the job. A special team of detectives has been formed and is being led by Detective Carmen Rainmondi, who reports to Captain Simmons and to me. I've asked that Detective Rainmondi bring us up to date. I must inform you that there are many details she cannot reveal. This is, after all, an ongoing investigation.”

England nodded at Carmen, who stood, glad to be out of the chair. Unfortunately, standing at the podium was even less comfortable. She cleared her throat. “On Thursday, March 28, the body of a single, white male was discovered in Balboa Park near the botanical center. He was a student at the San Diego Theological Seminary. The next day, Friday, March 29, a second body was discovered in the College area north of Interstate 8. During the week that followed, we found a third victim in Lake Murray. That victim and the first knew each other and were friends. They had been seen together that evening.”

She took a moment to breathe, then continued. “Two other victims have been found this week, one at an abandoned military barracks facility near Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. Today another victim was found at Crown Point Park. As in the three previous cases, the men were severely beaten before they died.”

“Can you give us those locations again?” The woman who asked the question looked as if she should be in high school.

“At the end of the conference you will receive a fact sheet with all the details we can release at this time.”

A man who looked close to retirement age and projected the same short-timers attitude asked, “That's five bodies in two weeks? Isn't that a lot?”

“It is for San Diego. Most cities this size have that as an average.”

The man persisted. “You think they're all related?”

“Yes.” Carmen spoke with an ease she didn't feel. “We have several reasons to believe that there is one culprit.”

“Such as?”

“I'm sorry, I can't answer that. This is an ongoing investigation, and we must be careful to build our case in a manner that doesn't help the perpetrator. I can tell you the deaths were violent and, in all but one case, occurred someplace other than where the bodies were found.”

A female reporter waved her hand. Most were content to simply raise theirs. Carmen called on the woman.

“You mean the killer is transporting the bodies from one place to another?”

Wasn't that obvious from what she just said? “Yes.”

“How?”

“That's a detail I can't discuss at this time.”

“Can't or won't?” The woman looked like she had just been left at the altar.

“The result is the same, ma'am.”

Carmen took questions for ten minutes before moving along to the appeal Chief England asked her to make. “We are calling for the help of the citizens of San Diego and are asking for two things.” She looked at the video cameras. “We ask everyone to remain calm but to be on the alert for unusual behavior by a stranger or neighbor. We believe the perpetrator to be a large man. We also ask that if you were in Balboa Park late on the night of March 28 and saw anything unusual, then please contact SDPD. Also if you live in the College Avenue area north of SDSU, or if you live around Lake Murray, Crown Point, or any of the other places we mentioned and have a video security system that might have recorded activity outside your house, then please review recordings for the last two weeks and let us know if your system captured something that might be useful to us.” She doubted anyone had a system that kept two weeks' worth of video, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Carmen thanked the reporters and stepped aside for Chief England to continue. He talked for another ten minutes. Carmen couldn't remember any of it.