M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“What? Like no disturbances in the Twilight Zone?” He followed up his comment with an abbreviated whistle of the old TV show’s opening theme.

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, so?” He shrugged. “In my book, quiet’s good.”

“But it’s been too quiet.”

“Ya’ sure you’re not just lettin’ your imagination run away on ya’?”

“I don’t think so. Not this time.”

“So ya’ got somethin’ ta’ work with?” he asked with more than just a hint of sincerity in his query this time. “One of those hinky visions? Some more fucked up poetry? Anything?”

“No. Not at the moment. Like I said, it’s been quiet. What I’m talking about now is just a feeling.”

“That doesn’t really help me, Row.”

“I know, Ben. It doesn’t exactly help me either.”

“Hey, Chief,” a voice came from behind me.

“Yo, Chuck,” Ben returned, looking past me. “How’s Sex Crimes treatin’ ya? Gettin’ any?”

“More than you, would be my guess,” Detective Charlee McLaughlin joked as she came into view. “And I’m being treated about as well as a sex crime can treat anyone I suppose.” With that she turned her attention to me. “Hey, Rowan. I didn’t know you were here. How’re you doing?”

“I’m good, Charlee,” I acknowledged. “You?”

“Can’t complain.” She shot me a quick grin. “Speaking of sex crimes, I saw Felicity on the news a little while ago.” She punctuated her comment with a whistle. “I’m surprised you aren’t out there playing bodyguard. I think the reporter was sweet on her.”

“I’m sure she can handle herself,” I chuckled then asked, “How’s your daughter doing?” I was almost grateful for the sudden distraction the chitchat provided.

“Great. She’s planning to transfer up to UM Columbia after the spring semester.”

“Terrific. Still planning to major in journalism?”

“Yep. That’s the plan.”

“Good deal.”

“So what brings you down here?” she asked and then continued with a good-natured chuckle. “Storm dragging you into something else he can’t figure out?”

“Hey now,” Ben interjected with a grin, “I’m not the one that transferred outta Homicide to go slummin’ in Vice.”

“I just got tired of seein’ your ugly face every morning, Storm,” she told him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “so what brings ya’ up here?”

“Chasing a hunch, actually.” She turned serious. “You got a minute?”

“Do you two need me to leave?” I asked.

Ben gave Detective McLaughlin a questioning look, and she shook her head.

“No, I trust you. Just don’t repeat anything you hear, okay?”

“Of course not.”

“Then grab some real estate,” Ben said as he motioned to another of the 70’s era plastic chairs that was positioned next to a desk behind her. “Whatcha’ got?”

“Rumor is,” she began as she slid the seat over and parked her small frame in it, “you’ve got a dead blonde with a stun gun welt on her neck.”

My friend nodded acknowledgement. “Yeah. Sure do. Looks like a robbery-assault gone south. What about it?”

“Well, I assume you’ve been watching the news and have heard about the serial rapist?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard ta’ miss. You workin’ that one?”

“Yeah, I’m up to my ass in it. Anyway, we’ve been playing some of the facts close to the vest.” She looked him square in the face. “And like I said, this is just a hunch… But the deal is, as of this past Thursday morning I’ve got eight very confused, very blonde rape victims. All of ‘em with stun gun welts and testing positive for Roofies.”

Detective Benjamin Storm’s chair canted forward with a slow rumble, sliding smoothly along with the groan of the springs beneath until all motion finally halted. The inevitable stop was announced with a dull thunk, followed immediately by the proverbial pregnant pause. He shot me a quick glance then leveled his gaze on McLaughlin.

“Dammit, don’t make me wait till tomorrow ta’ open the present, Chuck,” he said. “Tell me ya’ got this asshole in lockup.”

“Actually,” she said, “I was kinda hoping for a stocking stuffer from you.”

“Shit,” Ben muttered. “You got anything at all?”

“Well, we’ve been lucky and gotten to some of these right away. Seems he doesn’t bother with condoms, and he’s a secretor, so we’ve got a blood type and the whole DNA pedigree. But I don’t have a warm body to hang the dog tags on because he’s not in the database.”

“That’s more’n we’ve got. You chasin’ any good leads?”

“Haven’t got much. He’s apparently got a kink about necks though.”

“How’s that?”

“Shithead sucks hickeys on these women the size of Rhode Island. Guys down in Sex Crimes are calling him Count Suckula. ”

“Fuckin’ lovely.”

“Yeah, tell that to the victims.”

“You got anything else? Any of ‘em able to give ya’ a description?”

“Nope,” she sat back and shook her head, shifting in the uncomfortable seat. “Not really. Like I said, Roofies. Outta the eight, five of them went to the hospital within the first forty-eight hours, and they all tested positive. We’re guessing it would be the same on the other three, but they didn’t come forward right away. Lab says they can probably pick up trace amounts in hair if we have to go that route.

“All of ‘em pretty much remember getting zapped. Apparently he’s got this stun gun jacked up pretty good, and it’s kinda hard to forget getting hit with one of those anyway. But as far as anything after that, they’re pretty sketchy until they wake up.”

“How’s he grab ‘em? B and E?”

“Only on one.” She shook her head. “So far he’s taken three of them from parking lots at shopping malls, two when they were leaving their places of employment, one that was jogging, and another who was leaving a doctor’s appointment. Now here’s the spooky part. He’s keeping them for a while.”

“Whaddaya mean keepin’ ‘em?”

“I mean all of them are pretty much missing anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours out of their lives.”

“So he’s gotta be takin’ ‘em somewhere,” Ben mused.

“That’s how we’re looking at it.”

“Is there any connection there?” Ben pressed. “Where are they wakin’ up? Is he dumpin’ ‘em in the same general area?”

“Check this out,” she said. “The asshole is taking these women home.”

“Ya’ mean like their home, home?”

“Yeah, as in takes them back to their respective domiciles and leaves ‘em. Locks the door and everything. Even leaves their keys in the mailbox.”

“No way.”

“Yeah way. It’s like he doesn’t want ‘em to get hurt or anything.”

“Except by him.”

“Well, yes and no. I’m not trying to diminish the crime here by any means, but we’re not talking a typical rape scenario. There’s no real physical abuse to speak of, other than the stun gun and the hickeys. Other than that, it just appears to be sex. Statistically, as the assault goes, very non-violent. I’ve seen worse date rapes. We’re guessing that’s why he uses the Roofies on them.”

“Bizzarro,” Ben replied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Charlee acknowledged with a knowing tilt of her head.

“Any patterns we can do somethin’ with?”

“We’ve run it all. Common acquaintances, ex-husbands and boyfriends, the whole nine yards. What we’ve got is that they’re all blonde, around five-four, five-five, good looking. Ages range from twenty-two to forty-one.”

“Just City, or County too?”

“That’s another squirrelly thing.” She frowned. “Not only is he pulling from City and County, but one victim is in Saint Charles, another is across the Mississippi in Godfrey. If that’s not bad enough for ya’, I just got a call from the sheriff’s department out in Jefferson County. They’re faxing us a report, but from what was said when we talked, it looks like they might be hosting victim nine as we speak.”