5 Blondes
By
Brian Montgomery
Copyright 2005
Brian Montgomery
Published by Brian Montgomery at Smashwords
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Chapter One
#3.5 – Shelly Magnus
I
Shelly Magnus rolled her window down and turned the radio up until it was unpleasantly loud. She forced herself to sing along with the warbling voice of whoever it was who was attempting to sing this remake of “Fools Rush In.” She wasn’t even sure whether the singer was a man or a woman, the voice was that bad. She sang along regardless because she knew that if she didn’t, she would surely fall asleep at the wheel. The fog was beginning to roll in, a bit early tonight.
It was one of those rare days for Shelly. She had been up most of the night before, mesmerized by a Humphrey Bogart movie that she’d never seen before. The movie had started fifteen minutes before she latched onto it, so she didn’t even know the name of it. The plot grabbed her immediately and she was done for. She knew that she had to be at work for a full day, if not a day and a half, the following day and that she had to get her morning jog in even earlier than usual. The movie was too good to turn off though. She set her alarm for 5:30 AM, just six hours away. Not good news, especially since she had no idea how much of the movie remained.
Shelly was comfortable with the fact that she would be frantic all day, trying to squeeze in her exercise and work and hope to still be beautiful by the end of the day. In her own way, she relished these times. The long stressful shoot, people scurrying about hoping to get their work done before they lost the sunlight, the attention. Perhaps she would have given that extra bit of attention herself had she known that this would be her last day on the job.
II
“Hello Cap, what now?” Mick Dire said into the phone without even the faintest trace of sleep in his voice.
“How’d you know it was me, Mick?” Captain Dickinson said.
“It’s almost four in the morning, who else would call me at this time?” Mick said.
“You don’t sound like you’ve been sleeping though. Are you doing that up all night thing again, Mick?” Captain Dickinson asked.
“Cap, what’s up? Where’s the body?” Mick asked.
Mick swung his legs out from under his sweat soaked sheet and planted his bare feet onto the cold hardwood floor in his dark bedroom. He cradled the phone between his right shoulder and his ear and reached for his neatly folded jeans that lay across the wicker chair beside his bed.
“This is number three, which makes it official, Mick. We both knew it would come to this, just not so quickly. This back to back stuff is not the norm,” Dickinson said.
“Young blonde between twenty-five and thirty, pretty, California cute, raped, tied to a chair, used condoms, two sets of footprints, random brown pubic and head hairs, throat slashed, other body parts slashed,” Mick said, matter of factly.
“Brunette this time, Ace. I’m sure we’ll find the hairs and fingerprints when the full investigation is done,” Dickinson said.
“Where is she? McGrew and the team en route or already there?” Mick asked as he slid efficiently into his pants.
“2717 Tracy Avenue. Nice place for a single young lady. The McGrew Crew are on their way, you ought to get there at about the same time,” Dickinson said.
“You coming too?” Mick asked.
“Nope. Seen one, seen ‘em all. This one’s bloody, Mick,” Dickinson said.
“I would expect so, Cap. Catch you at the office later,” Mick said.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
Detective Dire lingered on the edge of his unkempt bed, staring off into the darkness. He thought about how most cops at this moment would have a good long smoke. He’d never adopted the habit, so he just sat in the darkness with his thoughts.
III
Mick sat in his car, looking out at the yellow police tape barrier around the home that now housed a mutilated corpse. The streetlights were still on and fog slowly rolled down Tracy Avenue. He remembered how early the fog had rolled in last night. He wondered if anyone else had noticed how early it had come. The sun was an hour from rising and the moon lit the fog and made a luminous ominous scene. Appropriate for the occasion.
The forensic team, headed by Greg McGrew and better known as the McGrew Crew, pulled up to the house and parked behind Mick. The three forensic experts stepped out of the van and began pulling on their rubber gloves and hairnets. They all had digital cameras around their necks and carried black bags like doctors. Two of the men carried fluorescent tube black lights for illuminating body fluids. McGrew himself approached Mick’s vintage ‘67 Camaro and rapped on the window.
“Hey Dire, ready for the mess?” McGrew asked.
Mick slowly opened the door and stepped out into the fog. He locked his car and took a pair of gloves from McGrew.
“I’m never ready for this crap. How do you get ready for this?” Mick said.
“I’m always ready,” McGrew replied.
“That’s because you enjoy this shit,” Mick said.
“Well, you asked me how do I get ready for this,” McGrew said.
“It was rhetorical. I meant how do humans get ready for this. That excludes you,” Mick said.
“Humans shouldn’t see this kinda thing, Mick. You can’t see this stuff and stay human,” McGrew said.
The two men walked toward the cordoned off house with the rest of the crew in tow. The attending officers moved aside and allowed their entrance. As they entered the house, they all put on plastic shoe covers. One of the crew set up his camera on a tripod and began snapping photos. Mick Dire and Greg McGrew carefully maneuvered through the blood splatters on the floor and stood at the entranceway between the dining room and the living room. McGrew began pointing at sections of particularly bloody spots on the floor and walls. One of the crew snapped pictures every time he pointed. Shelly Magnus’ body lay butchered on the floor halfway beneath her own dining room table.
“So, the boys chose a brunette this time and didn’t rape her too. That’s off pattern. Still left their shoeprints. Same two sets of running shoes. Messy for calculating, cold blooded killers,” McGrew said.
“Serial killers. This is number three and that makes them official serial killers. I don’t believe they’re messy at all. They planned this one too, just as carefully, but something just didn’t go their way this time is all. She’s fully dressed, not even an attempted rape. Why not rape her too? Look at the slashes, Mac. Slashed everywhere. Look at how badly slashed her head is. She’s just about scalped. They let her run and bleed everywhere too. She wasn’t tied to a chair. She was killed in anger. Something was lopped off too. See that lump over there by the doorway? What the hell?” Detective Dire said.
“That’s a tongue, pal. I’ll be positive when we’re able to walk closer but I’d bet my badge that’s her tongue,” McGrew said, then pointed toward Shelly’s discarded tongue. Cameras flashed in the direction of the kitchen door.
“Of course, they didn’t tie her up and tape her mouth closed this time but they didn’t want her screaming her head off while they cut her up. She fits their profile perfectly. Almost perfectly. Single white female, very attractive, fairly well to do, lives alone, I’m sure that she is active in the dating scene like the others,” Mick said. He stared at the body for a long time without blinking. McGrew stared at Mick, watching the wheels turn.
“Get your guys to hurry with the preliminary stuff. I think I know why she wasn’t raped and why she was slashed all to hell. I need to go to her bathroom down the hall and I don’t want to step on any evidence and screw anything up,” Mick said finally.
“I love to watch that little machine of yours work. What’s the theory, Mick?” McGrew asked.
“They expected her to be blonde. I think that she is a blonde who recently dyed her hair brunette and threw them off when they finally came to do her. Either that or she’s a brunette who went blonde for a while, during the time our boys came across her, then she went back to brunette by the time they decided to do her. In either case, she was a blonde when they first began to plot this thing. When they got here, she was brunette and that pissed them off, which is why they didn’t rape her and why they cut her up so badly. She changed the game and they didn’t get to play. There’s a bottle of dye in her bathroom somewhere or in the trashcans out back. We need to check her dirty clothes hamper for a towel with dye. We need to check her checkbook for a check written to a beauty shop too. Maybe she didn’t do her own dye job,” Mick said. He continued to stare at Shelly’s lifeless body.
“I love this guy. I never would have went that way but I can see your point. Could be so,” McGrew said.
“It is so, I can…feel it. There are too many similarities in these girls for it not to be so. There’s still a missing piece to their puzzle though. Something obvious that we’re not getting,” Mick said.
“Still a missing piece to these guys? There’s a lot of missing pieces to these maniacs,” McGrew said.
“Not a missing piece to them, I’ve got them pieced. There’s a missing piece to the girls’ puzzle. There’s something that unifies them and I can’t…can’t quite…see it,” Mick said.
“What do you mean, see it?” McGrew asked.
“Sometimes I can…see what’s what,” Mick said.
“You mean like, you’re psychic?” McGrew asked.
“No bullshit like that. It’s more like my mind opens the book on a case and I can, I don’t know…see the picture. These three girls are all together in the picture but there’s a part of it that is right in front of me and I can’t quite see it,” he said, then finally looked away from the body.
“You are the most fascinating cop I’ve ever met, Dire. You really ought to take that lieutenant shield. Cap could be working for you in a couple of years,” McGrew said.
“Why would I want to do that? I wouldn’t get to do all the fun stuff like this anymore. Before dawn murders, blood and gore, beautiful young dead people, mindless murderers stalking the city-“
“Okay, Mick,” McGrew said.
“She hasn’t been dead too long, three or four hours I’d say. The blood is still runny in the bigger pools. How did we come upon this so soon? Who called it in and why?” Mick asked.
“Cap says the neighbors heard banging and what sounded like furniture moving. The woman next door said that she saw the Magnus woman come home around ten o’clock. She came over to see if everything was okay after hearing the banging noise, looked through the side window after no one answered the door, saw the body and called it in,” McGrew said.
“Banging but no screaming because of the tongue. Our boys were probably still here when the neighbor looked in. I need to talk to her after we do what we do,” Mick said.
The McGrew Crew laid a plastic tarp over the body and the forensic team began their investigation of the room in earnest. They took dozens of photos of the blood-splattered walls and floor, Shelly Magnus’ defaced body and of course, her abandoned tongue. Mick Dire went directly to the master bathroom while the crew did their job.
Chapter Two
Marthangelica
I
“Mick, I’ve got a…a tip for you. I have a woman who knows something about your case that will be helpful,” Captain Dickinson said.
“How do you know that she will be helpful?” Mick asked, groggily.
“You were asleep weren’t you? I never catch you asleep. I take that back, I catch you sleeping the day after an investigation. You’re always awake when I call you to tell you about a murder, no matter what time. Why is that, Mick? Does that make you a suspect? I’m gonna have to watch you now,” Cap said.
“Yeah, it’s me, Cap. So, why did you say that she will be helpful instead of saying that she could be helpful? Are we talking witness? It’s not the neighbor, Mrs. LaRue, is it? I talked to her. She doesn’t know anything. She didn’t see anything,” Mick said.
“Just write the number down and go talk to the woman, Mick. Got a pen?” Cap asked.
“No, just a good head for names and numbers, go ahead,” Mick said.
“Marthangelica Grande, 21774 South Rose Avenue. Head out as soon as possible, then come in so that we can throw some ideas around. I want to piece some of the forensic stuff together with your ideas and whatever Ms. Grande gives you,” Cap said.
“Now, tell me what’s really going on with this lead, Cap,” Mick said.
“We go beyond the boss and employee thing, Mick. That’s a good thing ninety-nine percent of the time, but then there are times like this when I need you to say, ‘Yes, sir Cap, I’ll get right on it.’ Why doesn’t that ever happen, Mick? Why can’t you, from time to time, just do what you’re told?” Cap asked.
“Questioning things is why you want me around, Cap. It’s what I do,” he said.
“Detective Dire, I have an issue that needs to be resolved concerning a serial killing. There’s a woman with information that might be helpful to our investigation. Can you go and get the info from her or should I send someone else?” Cap asked.
“I got it, I’m gone,” Mick said, and then hung up the phone.
“Cap, you’re holding out on me. Something’s not right with this. You know more than you’re saying,” Mick said aloud in the empty room. He got up and trudged off to the shower.
II
“Detective Dire, LAPD Homicide, ma’am. Captain Dickinson said that you called regarding information that-”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but can you hand me your badge so that I can see it up close?” The woman behind the door asked.
Mick handed the badge to her through the four-inch gap between the door and the frame. There was an unusually heavy chain keeping the distance at four inches. He peered through the gap and she looked directly into his piercing green eyes. She carefully studied the slice of face that she could manage to see in her doorway. The man was handsome and serious.
She had the badge less than two seconds before she quickly opened the door and ushered Mick into her home. He scanned the room and what he could of the adjoining rooms in what would have been a glance to the average person. He knew volumes about this woman already and he had an uneasy feeling about who she was and what she was.
“I’m sorry about the badge thing but you can’t be too careful these days. I guess there never were days when you could be too careful, were there?” She asked, then handed him his badge. She let her fingertips touch and linger momentarily on his wrist in doing so. He pulled away and brushed the spot on his right wrist with his left hand. He smiled at her in a vain attempt to persuade her that he wasn’t wiping her prints from his skin.
“So, Miss Grande, my captain said that you might have some useful information about a case that we are currently working on,” Mick said.
“Blondes bound to chairs, hand and foot, deep gashes all over their bodies, throats cut, three guys, that kind of thing. Please sit down, Detective Dire,” she said.
Mick sat down. He stared intently into the woman’s eyes. He gnashed his teeth imperceptibly but hard and narrowed his glare to a pinpoint.
“Is there something that I should know about you…Miss Grande? You seem to have a bit too much information. The press isn’t onto this yet, so how could you know what you seem to know?” He asked.
“Please don’t stare at me that way, detective. It makes me extremely nervous when someone stares at me,” she said.
“Forgive me ma’am, but you kinda threw out a big chunk of stuff that you have no right to know,” he said.
“I am several years older than you, I believe, but the ma’am name is making me feel much older. Please call me Marthangelica. Ms. Grande, if you feel like you must be ultra professional,” she said.
“Forgive me again, Ms. Grande. Can you tell me how you came about this…knowledge of the murders?” Mick asked.
He purposely looked around the room to avoid direct eye contact with this woman. His heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest. A little voice was telling him to grab this woman and shake the information out of her, cuff her, call forensics to comb the hell out of this house, throw her in the back of his car, drive her to the station with sirens blaring, hell-bent for leather. Looking around the room was helping to quench that voice.
“I could just blurt out whatever answers you want but you’d…you wouldn’t take them the right way. You wouldn’t believe me. God, you are amazing. Amazing. I’ve never met anyone like you before in my entire life,” she said. She smiled a tremendously warm smile at him that beamed awe and appreciation.
Mick’s eyes skittered about the room. He saw her unnerving smile and found that he couldn’t look at her face. She now had him on the defensive and he despised himself whenever he encountered someone who could disarm him and have the upper hand. He was, after all, Detective Mick Dire, the finest detective on the Los Angeles Police Department’s Homicide Division roster. A fact that he rarely used to give himself self-satisfaction. He used that fact now to regain his composure.
“Ms. Grande, I’d like to believe whatever you have to tell me about this case. How do you know what happened to these women?” Mick asked.
“I promise to tell you every infinitesimal detail that I can about the murders in time, detective. First, I have to know you. I just said that you were the most amazing person that I’ve ever encountered and you completely ignored that. Why did you ignore that?” She asked.
“First of all, I don’t particularly like compliments, if that’s what that was. Secondly, who or what I am has nothing to do with the information that I need from you. And lastly, I don’t know what that means, I’m amazing. I have a job to do. You are the job right now,” he said.
“I’m getting absolutely nothing from you. You are completely closed. I have no idea who you are. You are amazing,” she said, still smiling.
“You do understand that I’m here to get something from you? Something very important. I’m not here to give you anything, Ms. Grande. I’d like to get what I came for and I’d like to get it very soon,” he said.
“I promise that I’ll give you everything that I can. I need to…I need for you to let your guard down for a minute first. Okay?” She asked.
“I’m really not here for small talk or conversation. You don’t need to know me. I don’t think you know how serious this matter is,” he said. He threw the narrow stare at her again.
“Are you the lead detective on this case? Of course you are, I shouldn’t have asked that. Tell me about me. What do you know about me? It’s obvious that Cap didn’t tell you anything about me. Tell me what you know about me from the ten minutes that you’ve been here,” she said.
“I can tell that you like to play games, beat around the bush. I can tell that you’re a tease who has no idea how vital this information is,” he said.
“Please don’t throw your anger at me. I really do have things to tell you and I swear that I will tell you all that I know. I just have to know who I’m dealing with first. Tell me what you know from observation,” she said.
“You’re a shut-in. Possibly agoraphobic. You’ve got Meals-on-Wheels containers in your dining room. Dead giveaway. Satellite dish on the roof, also a sign of someone who spends a lot of time in the house. You’re a New Age believer. Probably believe in angels and auras and the like. I smell incense, I see your wind chime by the window, I see your CD collection with all the New Age music, you want me to let my guard down so that you can see me. New Ager kind of stuff. You believe in luck and chance. I see the used up lottery tickets in the trash can over there. You want more?” He asked.
“Actually, that was pretty damned good. Something still doesn’t follow though, does it?” She asked.
“Not if those things are true. No, something is way off. Are those things true?” He asked.
“Yes, for the most part, right on the nose. I’m not agoraphobic though. I actually love the outdoors but I rarely go outside. I wouldn’t label myself a New Ager, but when I look at the pieces, I guess I am. So, what’s troubling about this picture?” She asked.
“How could someone who hardly ever gets out of the house, know the first thing about this case? Either you know a victim, you know one of the murderers, or…”
“Or what, detective?” She asked.
“Or you’re…you claim to be psychic. I’m sorry, you guys don’t like being called psychics anymore. You call yourselves super-sentients now, right? You’re the woman that I’ve heard about who calls the station and claims to have tips on cases a couple of times a year, right?” Mick asked.
“Super-sentient, I like that. I’ve never heard that one before. It fits. You should see your face. You are so dejected. You feel like Cap pawned you off on me. He sent you to the crazy lady’s house and you’re pissed off,” she said.
“Wow, you really are psychic,” he said.
“Now, take that pissed off feeling and turn it back into curiosity. Remember how hot you were to know how I knew what I said about the murders when you first came in? I wouldn’t dare to say that I’m psychic. I think psychic implies a certain amount of control over…things beyond our world or on some other plane of being. I can’t honestly say what it is that have. Besides, when people hear the word psychic they tend to disbelieve immediately. Like you’re doing right now,” she said.
“So, what is it that you want me to believe? You saw this stuff in a dream, a vision, what?” He asked.
“Neither. I didn’t see any of the things that I told you about in those poor girls’ murders,” she said.
“So, you’re just a civilian with information about murders that no other civilian has? Other than the murderers, of course,” he said.
“I have more information than that, Detective Dire. I have more important information than that. I want so badly to trust you,” she said.
“What info could be more important? What do you know?” He asked.
“I’ve seen the next one,” she said.
“How do you know about the first three, if you didn’t see them?” He asked.
“I really want to trust you, detective. I know that I said I’d tell you everything you want to know but I can’t tell you now how I know about them. I need to trust you first,” she said.
Mick Dire stood up and began walking around Marthangelica Grande’s living room. His eyes darted around the room without focusing on anything in particular. Finally, he stopped and stood in the center of the room. He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ceiling.
“Okay, you don’t trust me because I won’t open myself up to your psychic abilities or whatever they are. You want to trust me because you want to tell me something that…shit! Cap told you about the murders didn’t he? You know Cap because you called him Cap a while ago. You don’t trust me enough to tell me that because you promised him that you wouldn’t tell anyone that he gave you vital information about a serial murder case. Goddamnit!” Mick said. He opened his eyes and threw the narrow angry stare at her once more.
“Well, you’re good. Of course, I’m not saying you’re right or admitting to anything, you understand,” she said.
“You don’t have to. I can’t believe Cap would-”
“Give a crazy lady important police only information?” She asked.
“Give anyone that kind of information! That’s high up on the list of things not to do. There must be a reason why Cap would do it though. I know him. He must believe in you,” he said.
“You don’t though. I want you to. I need for you to but I can’t tell you what you need to know unless I trust you and know who you are,” she said.
“What do you want to know? Ask me whatever you want,” Mick said.
“I don’t wanna play twenty questions here. I need for you to relax the detective mode and just be a guy for a minute. I can know you, if you let me. As it is, I can’t see anyone in there at all. That’s why I said you’re amazing. I can always see something in people when I meet them but there’s…a wall of…you’ve got a block up in front of yourself,” she said.
“That’s why you never go outside. You can’t deal with seeing whatever it is that you see in the people you meet. People are dirty and ugly inside aren’t they? Scary,” he said.
“You are amazing. I’ve had people try to block themselves but something always squeaks through. You’re like a stone. Like a retarded person or an autistic,” she said.
“There’s no way to take that as a compliment,” he said.
“I don’t mean it that way. I’ve met retarded kids and autistic people and I can’t read them. I think they are too open, if that makes sense. There’s no hidden personality, no linear thoughts to clog their minds, no bullshit,” she said.
“I’m not trying to block you out or myself in, I’m kind of single minded when it comes to work. I’m not here. Detective Dire is,” he said.
“Well, I don’t want to offend you but I don’t trust Detective Dire. I can’t see anything in him. You’re good at what you do, but I can’t see anything. Why don’t you just sit down again and take a deep breath and be Mr. Dire for a second. It only takes a second for me to get a reading on who you are. It all comes out in a rush and sort of imprints itself in my mind. I don’t get it all, just a smattering of the kind of person that you are,” she said.
“Can’t take me on my word, huh?” He asked.
“Sorry. I need to know who I’m dealing with. Other than the guy in the fancy Armani suit,” she said.
“Versace,” he said, then sat on the arm of the couch.
“Cops don’t dress that way, you know? Everything about you makes me curious. How can someone totally lock out their personality? Amazing,” she said.
“What can you get from me? What will you see?” He asked.
“You mean will I know your secrets? Naughty little things you do or have done? No, not really. I don’t usually see everything in detail like that. It’s like a flipbook really. I get a bunch of single images that sorta make up a total picture but there are usually pages missing,” she said.
“Usually? Does that mean that sometimes you get the whole story?” He asked.
“I have gotten almost total images once or twice. Still no secrets and stuff like that. I think that kind of thing is hidden too deep in a person’s psyche and they keep it locked down,” she said.
“It’s not that I have things that I’m hiding but then again, I don’t know you at all either. Okay, so what do you need me to do?” Mick asked.
“Just relax and let your sense of duty go. Just be open and willing to share yourself,” she said.
“You understand that I don’t believe in this stuff, right? I don’t really share myself,” he said.
“Okay, don’t share. Just sit there and go blank for a moment. Empty your mind of all thoughts,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said.
“Alright, focus on a simple thing. Think about your favorite meal or the car that you wish you could afford,” she said.
Mick Dire stood up and took off his jacket. He folded it neatly and placed it on the living room table. He unbuttoned the second button of his tailored shirt and shook his shoulders to loosen them. He returned to his seat on the arm of the couch.
Marthangelica Grande walked to the dining room and brought a chair over to the couch. See sat smiling, facing the dapper young policeman. She watched him slowly exhale and calmly focus on her face.
The room grew increasingly quiet as the two people unconsciously blocked out all sounds around them. Mick’s hands were on the knees of his Versace slacks but he could no longer feel the material. He felt numb and weightless. Marthangelica’s eyes widened and she began to feel frightened of what might be about to happen. She winced.
III
A light, the size and teardrop shape of the flame of a candle briefly shone between them. Their four eyes were drawn to the light for the millisecond that it appeared. From the light, a shockwave silently exploded in all directions. The wave upended Marthangelica and her chair and sent them skidding across the floor and under the dining room table. The wave blew into Mick’s shirt and filled it with an electric air. His hair blew back from his forehead. He was lifted roughly from his seat on the couch and bounced against the window behind him. His head broke the glass just before the concussion of the wave blasted the rest of the window out into the yard. He rebounded from the window and was deposited, face down onto the seat of the couch. Marthangelica’s mail, magazines, and newspapers were sent fluttering around the room. Dishes clattered in the kitchen and knick knacks fell from the fireplace mantelpiece in the living room. The shockwave itself made no sound but the effects of it were tremendous.
Mick lay bleeding and unconscious on the couch. His left shoe dangled limply on his foot, then fell to the littered floor. Marthangelica saw the shoe fall but heard nothing. In fact, she realized that she couldn’t hear anything at all. She saw the last of the papers floating lithely to the floor but no sound reached her ears.
She slowly crawled from beneath the table and shook her head repeatedly in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. The world was still muted. She trudged over to the couch where Mick lay with his face buried in the cushions and his rear pointed to the ceiling. She could see the blood oozing from his scalp onto the disheveled cushion. She pushed his rear to the side and he toppled from the couch to the floor. His eyes were closed and he simply flopped down with a thud. He was still. Too still. Marthangelica saw that he wasn’t breathing.
“Detective Dire!” She screamed. She felt the scream in her throat but couldn’t hear it.
“Mick!” She screamed again.
She grabbed his face in her hands and began to cry. She shook his head and screamed into his face. At that moment, Mick gasped deeply and his eyes flashed open. Marthangelica’s ears popped when his eyes opened and she heard the end of the gasp.
“Jesus Christ! What the f…what happened?” He asked.
“I have no idea, Mick. You’re bleeding. You okay? I’m going to get you something for your head,” she said, then ran to the kitchen and got a wet dishtowel.
“I think I’m okay. I don’t feel anything,” he said. He saw the blood on his chest and sleeve. “Maybe I’m not okay but I don’t feel any pain.”
“Here, turn around. Let me put this on the cut. It’s on the back of your head. I think it came from the window,” she said.
Marthangelica applied the cold wet towel to the two-inch gash on the back of Mick’s head. He sat on the floor and she sat on the couch caring for her temporary patient. Mick’s cell phone rang and he unclipped it from his belt. He looked at it and saw that the caller was Cap. He also noted that it was one o’clock exactly and he’d been at Marthangelica’s for approximately one hour now.
“Hey Cap, what’s up?” Mick said in his most steady voice. He paused briefly, listening to Cap. He looked up from his seat on the floor and into Marthangelica’s eyes. She smiled at him and held the towel tightly to his head. “No, I’m not done here yet. I’ll call you when I’ve got what I need. Just wait for my call, okay? We’ll get together later and put all the pieces on the table. Okay. See you then.”
“I hope you’re not looking to me to explain whatever the hell that was because I don’t know what just happened,” she said.
“Maybe I relaxed and let go too much,” he said.
“Are you telling me you made that happen?” She asked.
“No, not at all. Actually, I was trying to be funny. I can’t explain what the hell that was either. How badly am I cut? Is it deep? It is starting to sting a bit now,” he said.
“It’s not so bad. The bleeding’s starting to stop. Just hold it tightly. Keep the pressure on it and it ought to stop in a couple of minutes. You might need a few stitches though,” she said.
“I’ll have it checked later. We need to talk now,” he said.
Marthangelica walked back to the dining room table and pulled the chair out from beneath it. She began to carry it over to the couch, when Mick stood and walked to her. He took the chair from her and set it at the dining room table. He held it out for her and she sat down. He walked to the chair opposite her and they rested their elbows on the table and looked into one another’s faces.
“Amazing,” she said.
“No shit,” he said. They both laughed. “Seriously, Martha, what the hell just happened?”
“It’s Marthangelica. You know how you don’t like being called Mickey? And your ex, Bethany, hated to be called Beth? It’s like that. My parents went through the trouble of finding a unique name and I kinda expect people to respect that,” she said.
“Sorry, Marthangelica. So, you know about Bethany. I guess I opened up, huh?” He said.
“Yeah brother, you opened up like a friggin’ volcano,” she said.
“Are you saying I made that happen?” He asked.
“No. I mean that when I get a read on someone, it’s, like I said before, a flipbook. Like a series of snapshots of their life. Very general stuff usually. You popped open like a full on movie. You hit like a twenty nine year long epic film. It all imprinted itself in my head too. I have recall of…your life. There are gaps that I didn’t see but I saw one helluva lot,” she said.
“You mean, you saw intimate moments of my life? I find that hard to believe,” he said.
“You’re wrong about bumblebees, Mick,” she said.
“How so?” He asked.
“You really wanna know?” She asked.
“Most definitely,” he said.
“You and Bethany were making love on a picnic blanket…somewhere. She was on top, then she laid down next to you and you were about to get on top of her, when a bumblebee flew into the action and stung you on the tip of your penis. It wasn’t a bumblebee, Mick, it was a hornet. You never really got a good look at it, you know. You’ve been killing bumblebees ever since. Painful,” she said.
“Painful and embarrassing. Guess I have to believe in you now,” he said.
“You don’t have to, Mick. If it makes you feel safer to keep what I do in the bullshit range, go right ahead. Most people do, even after they honestly know different. I wouldn’t blame you. If I could get rid of this…thing, I would. I’d do it in a heartbeat,” she said.
“Can’t you turn it off or turn it down or ignore it at least?” He asked.
“Nope. Lucky me, I’m stuck with seeing crap I don’t wanna see,” she said.
“I don’t blame you for being a shut-in. I wouldn’t go out either if I saw the reality of everyone I bump into on these nasty streets,” he said.
“I hate to say this but, Anne Frank was wrong about people,” she said.
“‘Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.’ Amazing thing for her say but I agree with you. I deal with the shortcomings of the human race every day,” he said.
“Well read man,” she said, smiling.
“So, what do we do now?” He asked.
“Mind helping me clean up this mess a little? I don’t really keep a terribly clean house but I don’t like living in a house that a cyclone’s just hit either,” she said.
“Of course, but then we need to get down to brass tacks, okay?” He asked.
“Of course, Mick. I know why you’re here. I want to do whatever I can to keep this from happening,” she said.
Mick took the bloody dishtowel and went to work. He went to the door and walked outside into the bright sunlight. His eyes adjusted quickly for having been through what they’d recently been through, not to mention the muted light of the home that he’d just walked out of. He went to the lawn and began picking up the shards of glass that had blown out from the combination of the shockwave and his hard head. He put the pieces of glass into the dishtowel and carried them like a diaper filled with a danger that no diaper deserved. His mind unwound while he did this chore. He felt as though he’d been through a heavy day of work. Like his brain had reached its limit of thought for the day and needed to reset itself.
Marthangelica went into the kitchen and got a trash bag, which she filled easily while she walked around the room. She threw everything into the bag that didn’t seem vital. As she cleaned up the strewn vestiges of her home, she went over the partial motion picture that was Mick’s life. She began to evaluate him, as a man and not as a detective. She happily collected the mess of her life.
It took them the better part of an hour to restore the house to relative harmony. Mick called a glass company that did immediate repairs for the Los Angeles Police Department and had the window bill charged to the city. Marthangelica took Mick to the bathroom and properly cleaned his wound.
“It’s not as bad as it looked in the beginning. It seems to have closed on its own and the bleeding’s stopped. You still should have a couple of stitches put in there for good measure,” she said as she wiped the dried blood from his neck.
“I’ll take care of it later. We’ve got a medic on staff at the station. I have to meet with Cap later to go over the case and I’ll drop by the medic’s office on the way,” he said, as they walked back into the living room.
“Okay. We should get on with my piece to this puzzle,” she said.
“Right. Hang on,” Mick said. He walked to the living room table and got his jacket. He took a small digital recorder from the inside pocket and walked back to the dining room table. Marthangelica joined him. He turned on the digital recorder and said the date and time out loud as well as her full name.
“The night before last, I was outside taking a walk and a woman jogged past me. I rarely go outside and when I do, it’s usually late at night when there aren’t many people out. Anyway, she jogged past me and I received an image of her dying in a terrible way. She was about five foot nine or so, hard to tell because she was jogging,” she said.
“What did you see happening to her?” Mick asked.
“It’s more memorable…it’s easier for me when I let the information come out the way it came in, Mick. If I try to tell it all in a linear way, like cops like to hear it, I will probably leave out something important. Sorry, I know it sounds jumbled this way,” she said.
“No problem. Take your time and give me your story,” he said.
“The first thing I got was her name. I know that her name is Carol. I didn’t get a last name. She lives alone and has three cats. She usually doesn’t jog at night. Physically, she was blonde and pretty. Nice muscular body. She graduated from USC a few years ago, maybe four. She was thinking about her last Spring Break vacation in Corpus Christie. She got a hummingbird tattoo on her hip on that vacation. Her right hip. Those were her thoughts as she sped past me. When I looked at her from behind, I got something from her that I rarely get from people. I got a glimpse of what was about to happen. I saw it all happening but in blurry fast motion. There were three men in her house. Two of them dragged her to her bathtub and forced her to take a bath and there was blood in the water but it wasn’t hers. I know that sounds stupid but that’s what I saw. The third man watched but didn’t participate. She was smiling and waving at them during this for some reason. She was scared out of her mind but she took the bloody bath anyway. After the bath, the two men beat her and tied her to a chair. They put her panties in her mouth and put duct tape over her mouth. She was terrified. She could hardly breathe. They –” she stopped and closed her eyes.
“Marthangelica? You okay? You want a break?” Mick asked.
“They raped her and cut her arms and legs while they did it. They cut her face four or five times. Blood was everywhere. She kept passing out but they had ammonia on a rag and they kept waking her up so that she…could experience this madness. The third man only watched. I think he was supervising the whole thing from where he stood. After they raped and tortured her, they cut her throat. Blood splashed everywhere. The men were covered with blood and they laughed. They didn’t try to cover anything up or clean anything up. They wore surgical rubber gloves and condoms but that’s all. They had jeans and tee shirts before they raped her and they stripped down while they raped her. I couldn’t see anything on their bodies like scars or tattoos or any other identifying marks. It wasn’t their futures that I was seeing, it was hers. That’s why I think they were blurry and undefined. I could tell that one had light hair and one had dark hair and the third man who didn’t join in…he was even blurrier than the others. He was more like a ghost or a shadow. I got almost nothing of him. After they cut her throat, they stood there while she bled to death and struggled in the chair. They didn’t wipe the blood from their naked bodies, they just dressed and left. I’ve never heard of killers who didn’t clean up or rearrange things or try to cover up anything at all,” she said.
“Nothing surprises me anymore. Did you get anything else from her? Did you get an idea of how far in the future this is? Anything else to help us locate her? An idea of where her house is? What city or area or neighborhood? The tiniest detail may matter. The devil is in the details,” Mick said.
“I can’t remember anything more than what I’ve said. It happens at night. There’s no light coming through the window. I couldn’t see out the window to see what her yard looked like or any other houses,” she said.
“What style is the house? Modern?” He asked.
“It’s like a spotlight mainly on her. I can’t see much outside of the spotlight,” she said.
“You said there’s three guys and one is like a shadow or a ghost. Are you sure there is a third guy? We’ve never gotten a third set of footprints,” Mick said.
“He’s there all right but he’s not really part of what’s going on. He’s like an observer, if that means anything. He may be calling the shots,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” He asked.
“The other two keep looking at him and nodding. They seem to be doing it for him. That’s really all that I see. No more pages in that flipbook,” she said.
“Okay Marthangelica,” he said, then turned off the recorder. “Off the record, I have to ask a few more questions.”
“Sure Mick. You are amazing,” she said.
“Back to the amazing thing again? What brought you back to that?” He asked.
“You come in here like a piece of granite. Flawlessly locking me out, then you open for a second and blow my house apart. Now, you’re granite again. I can’t get anything from you,” she said.
“Sorry, guess I’m at work again. You don’t want me to open again, do you? I don’t think either one of us wants that. There’s something explosive between us,” he said.
“True. Stay closed,” she said, smiling.
“If you don’t want to answer my questions, you don’t have to. They don’t relate to the case. I just need to know for me,” he said.
“Shoot,” she said.
“Did you have this gift all of your life? How did you go through childhood like this?” He asked.
“Wow, you start off with the million dollar question. I was a few years younger than you when I got this…gift. I had just returned home with my mother from a day out grocery shopping. She lived with me after my father died. Two guys followed us home and did a home invasion thing on us. They raped my seventy-four year old mother and then began raping me. My mom called out to me while she was being raped. She told me to ‘go to somewhere else in my mind’ and that they couldn’t hurt me and things like that. Well, I zoned out and found a happy place while they did all the foul and degrading things that they could think of to my body. I really was out of my body. While I was away, they strangled my mother in front of me but I didn’t even see it. After they spoiled me, they strangled me too. Mom died but I wasn’t so lucky. I somehow revived and began to breathe again but I was comatose. The coma lasted eighteen months. When I came back to Earth, I had this stupid ability. So I was raped, had my last family member raped and murdered in front of me, and then I was punished again with this…gift,” Marthangelica said.
“Jesus,” he said hollowly.
“There is no Jesus. There used to be one but He…went away several years ago,” she said.
“I guess so. I had no idea. I never would have made you go through that story, had I known,” he said.
“I’m surprised that Cap didn’t tell you. I suppose he doesn’t like talking about me much anymore. Can’t say that I blame him though. We had no chance of making our life together work. We were lucky for the year that we did have,” she said. Her smile faded and she stared at her hands.
“So he was the officer in charge of your case back then and he fell in love with you,” he said.
“He hasn’t told you any of this has he? You didn’t know thing one about me and Cap, did you?” She asked.
“No, but the cat’s sorta out of the bag now,” he said.
“You won’t tell him that you know about this will you? I don’t know why it should be a secret but I suppose he needs to keep it quiet. Probably doesn’t want the department to know that he fell in love with a victim or that he fell in love with the crazy psychic lady who calls in and tells them about crimes and criminals or that…” she said with wet eyes.
“Or that he broke her heart once upon a time,” Mick said. He reached across the dining room table and took her hand. “You know that I won’t say anything to anyone. Tell me something though, okay? Do you think that maybe you saw what you saw because it happened to you? Maybe you’re still trying to catch the guys who did it to you?”
“They caught them many years ago. One of them was killed during the capture. He was killed by Cap. I never wanted to know anything about how that went down and Cap never said anything. The other guy got double life and was killed in jail after three years. They were serial rapists and had killed a couple of other women along the way. Speaking of serial, how do you categorize a killer as serial as opposed to just a killer? Is it the number of people that he kills?” She asked.
“Number of victims is one component. It’s sorta victims plus occasion. If you walk into a bank and shoot three people, you’re a murderous asshole. If you shoot those same three people over a three-week period, you’re serial. It also sometimes depends on your method. If you do some really freaky stuff in the course of your murders, you can fall into the serial category after only a couple of killings. We’d assume that you were going to do more in your unique way,” he said.
“So, our guys are serial in both ways,” she said.
“Well, now that our investigative team has you, we’re a step closer to stopping this before it goes further and before the press gets wind of it and puts the fear of serial killers out there into the public mind,” he said.
“How do you keep the press out of it as it is?” She asked.
“I’m a low key kind of cop. There’s no reporter on to me yet. When they think you’re a top cop who’s out there running down the big fish, they tail you from scene to scene or pay some low level cop to give them info on your cases. They have ways of insinuating themselves into your business and your life. Thank God they’re in the dark on this one,” he said.
“You are a good cop and a good man,” she said and leaned forward until her head touched his hand. She kissed his hand and closed her eyes. Suddenly, the doorbell rang and they both jumped.
“That’s my window guy, I’m guessing,” Mick said.
“That or the kid who brings my dinners. Bit early for that though. You’re probably right,” she said.
Mick went to the door and then went outside. He took the man from the glass company to the window and showed him where the replacement pane was needed. They spoke in friendly tones, which Marthangelica paid close attention to. The sound of pleasant, helpful men reassured her. She put her tea kettle on and prepared two mugs of her special Blackberry Cubbyhole Tea for herself and Mick. A moment later, Mick reappeared in her doorway and smiled at her.
“Tea?” He asked. He walked back to the dining room table and sat across from her.
“I know that you like tea and I think you’ll like this flavor,” she said.
“I’ll have to remember that you already know me. Everything about me,” he said, laughing.
“Not everything but a helluva lot. So, what else would you like to know about me?” She asked.
“Have you lived here alone ever since…since you woke from the coma?” He asked.
“Yes. I’ve been here almost nine years now. I was thirty-one when I moved here. Cap and I are the same age. Speaking of ages and secrets, you think you’re the third youngest man ever to make detective on the LAPD don’t you?” She asked.
“Well, yes. That’s what they told me when I got my detective shield,” he said.
“Cap is the second youngest and the old commissioner, Galloway, was the youngest ever right? Bullshit. Galloway was twenty-eight when he got his. He changed the records when he became Captain and no one noticed or dared to check. When he became commissioner, he campaigned for the job by telling everyone that he was twenty-five when he got his shield. Total bullshit. Cap was indeed twenty-six like you but he was twenty-six and ten months. You were twenty-six and seven months. They said that Cap was younger because, believe it or not, there are plans for him to be commissioner one day. Our Cap is being groomed,” she said.
“I know I should never ask you this question, but how do you know all this? Have you met the commissioner?” He asked.
“No, but I know he’s an asshole,” she said.
“That’s common knowledge,” he said and they both laughed.
“I know this stuff because I follow the police in this city. I thought that I would be a cop’s wife at one time and it’s…a habit now, I guess. I’m a shut-in with a computer and a thing for the department,” she said.
The glass company man knocked on the door and handed Mick a bill. Mick shook his hand, folded the bill neatly, and put it into his wallet. He returned to the dining room table and Marthangelica.
“So, how will you get the department to pay for that?” She asked.
“Accidents happen during investigations and the receipts are taken care of. It won’t be an issue,” he said.
“So, you won’t mention what happened to make your head break the window?” She asked.
“I wouldn’t know how to explain it. Do you know what happened?” He asked.
“No, not really. I have my thoughts on it but it’s only a guess,” she said.
“What do you think that was all about?” He asked.
“Well, I think that you might have some kind of ability similar to mine and we jammed our gifts into each other. I think you have something…that gives you the edge over other detectives. You probably figure some clues out without knowing exactly how you did it. It’s second nature to you by now, I’m sure, but I’ll bet you piece things together sometimes without clues,” she said.
“You may be on to something. Sometimes I can take the flimsiest of clues and string them together into a ridiculous conclusion that I am positive about. It’s not something that I set out to do, it just…happens. I’m usually right too. It used to bug me a little that I knew some things that I shouldn’t know but…you’re right, it’s second nature now. I don’t think it’s anything like what you’ve got going on though,” he said.
“No, it’s not like mine but it is a bit beyond what most people have. Probably why you’re so good at closing yourself off too. You probably can’t have your self going while that ability is in full swing. It must require total focus,” she said.
“I’ll buy that. It’s as good an explanation as any,” he said.
“So, how much of this are you gonna share with Cap?” She asked.