All The Pretty Girls Ch. 01

During the investigation Steve Randal had been sacked from the task force by Penelope Bishop because he was a lazy drunk who was suspected of being on the take. The 'Two Steve's' friendship dissolved and they came to despise each other.

Steve led Felicity to a booth at the back of the bar away from the noisy crowd. They ordered steaks and Felicity had a glass of Australian Shiraz whilst Steve had a JD with a beer back. The steak was an extravagance for Felicity who needed to watch her figure; she allowed herself one cheat day a week. Steve's metabolism was mesomorphic and with his regular exercise regime he tended to put on muscle rather than fat.

They both smoked but Steve smoked in moderation and often chided Felicity who was the kind of smoker who replaced meals with cigarettes whilst Felicity chided Steve for his heavy drinking. Neither of their lifestyles was perfect but they both exercised regularly and were physically fit. They were both highly sexed and despite busy schedules they made time for a healthy love life.

"I gotta take a piss," Steve eased himself out of the booth.

"Just because we're in a cop bar you don't have to talk like a Neanderthal," Felicity said around a mouthful of tenderloin.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Steve smiled at her.

"You didn't say that last night when you were going down on me and I asked you if you had the weekend off," Felicity pointed her fork at him.

Steve had a habit of blushing when he was embarrassed. He looked around to see if anyone had overheard Felicity. Everyone knew that she was transgender and most people in Balwyn were tolerant. One of their most famous detectives Penelope Bishop was transgender and had married a Sergeant in the Balwyn PD who was killed on the job. His picture hung behind the bar alongside the other police officers who had died on duty.

Steve was not ashamed of Felicity but her inference that he was going down on her implied that he was sucking her cock which just didn't seem the right thing to say in a cop bar. He straightened his shoulders. Fuck 'em! He loved Felicity and what they did in the bedroom was no one else's business.

"I won't be long," he leaned into the booth and kissed her cheek, an outward display of affection to ease his guilt.

"Take as long as you like and bring me back another wine, I'm sleeping in tomorrow," Felicity smiled at him.

"Me too if I don't catch a case," Steve smiled back at her.

Detective cases were assigned on a rotating basis, but the Special Task Force was only assigned high profile cases or cases that required their particular knowledge and skills relating to the offense. Once assigned to a case, the Task Force would follow it through until the case has been solved and the suspect tried and convicted. The Task Force was currently not investigating any cases and Steve was using the time to tidy up the never ending paperwork and to file outstanding reports. Steve's boss Silvia Bickle was on a well-earned leave break.

"I mean sleeping in as in catching up on my rest, not as in rolling around in bed all morning playing hide the sausage," Felicity smirked at Steve who just nodded knowingly.

As he made his way across the room he was confronted by a drunken Steve Randal.

"Gotcha yourself set up just nice dontcha? Stole Penny Bishop's job and hooked up with the pretty tranny cooze," Steve Randal drawled.

"You're drunk Steve; go home and sleep it off," Steve Edwards tried to side-step around his old partner.

Steve Randal stepped into his path and blocked him.

"Something about that case wasn't right. You pick up with the tranny cooze who we both know was a suspect and then Penny Bishop is fucking the Doyle broad who turns out to be the killer. Penny gets shit-canned and you come back into the PD a hero when your tranny girlfriend fires you from her club," Steve Randal hissed drunkenly.

"You call my fiancé a tranny one more time and I'll break your fucking nose," Steve Edwards growled.

"Still ain't right is all I'm saying," Steve Randal hiccupped.

"Penelope Bishop should have known better than to enter into a sexual relationship with a witness in an ongoing investigation. She made her own bed to lie in," Steve Edwards glowered, poking Steve Randal in the chest to emphasise his point.

Steve Edwards' anger was fuelled by circumstances that only he knew. Penelope Bishop had a brief torrid sexual affair with the college professor Melissa Doyle who it turned out was mentally unstable and had killed herself leaving a suicide note stating her unrequited love for Penelope as the reason. Steve Edwards was first on the scene and had burned the note and planted the evidence to prove that Melissa Doyle was the Lipstick Killer. He had done so because he knew who the real killer was and he would do anything in the world to protect her.

The aftermath of the case was a mess. Melissa Doyle was in a relationship with Silvia Bickle, Penelope's best friend and partner. When it had come to light that Penelope Bishop had an affair with Melissa Doyle, Silvia Bickle had to be restrained from beating Penelope. Penelope's husband, FBI agent Bradley Wilson, had requested a transfer back to Austin and Gary Rasmussen the Chief of Detectives at the direction of the Chief of Police had busted Penelope back and assigned her to administrative duties.

It was only because Penelope was a local hero, having cleared up several high profile cases, that she hadn't been fired or brought up on charges. Penelope had been three years sober and in a happy marriage when her world had imploded.

"Still ain't right," Steve Randal mumbled as Steve Edwards brushed past him.

Steve's night went from bad to worse when he entered the corridor that led to the Longhorn's facilities. Penelope Bishop was obviously drunk and propped against a wall of empty beer barrels. She was wearing a micro-miniskirt, fuck-me heels, taupe pantyhose full of runners and her blouse was open to the waist.

A man half her age was mauling her, one hand under her skirt, the other inside her brassiere as he kissed her fervidly. Penelope opened an eye as Steve squeezed past them and she looked at him with intense hatred.

"Come on Ellery; let's get the fuck out of here. This place suddenly just got filled with rat-fucks!" she pushed the boy away from her.

Ellery Gamble was a rookie motorcycle cop. Being hit on by a legend like Penelope Bishop should have been quite the coup for a rookie. It would have been if it wasn't known by the whole of the Balwyn PD that Penelope had reverted to being a drunken whore after being demoted and abandoned by her husband.

Steve felt sorry for Penelope but she was responsible for her own actions. Nothing he had done had caused her demise. At least that's what he told himself.

*****

Steve slept restlessly that night and when he took a call at 8am the next morning he was still groggy. He wrote down the details on a pad he kept on the nightstand.

"I gotta go honey I've caught a case," he whispered into Felicity's ear.

She mumbled something he didn't catch. He kissed her cheek and made his way to the bathroom.

Steve signed into the crime scene and put on the Tyvek over-boots and surgical gloves provided by Alice Leasingham. Alice was a member of the CSI team and had been on temporary assignment to the Special Task Force during the Lipstick Killer case. She was fiercely loyal to Penelope Bishop and treated Steve like an imposter who had stolen Penelope's job.

Steve followed Alice into the seedy motel room where they found Bob Tanner, Balwyn PD's CSI team leader and Brendan Scott the medical examiner hard at work. Gary Rasmussen was standing beside the bed on the tiles that the crime scene techs had placed on the stained carpet to prevent cross-contamination.

Steve looked at the young woman lying on the bed and then at Gary.

"What have we got Chief?" Steve asked opening up his tablet to commence taking case notes.

"Looks like a sexual assault and strangulation or possibly consensual sex followed by a murder," Gary stared at the corpse on the bed.

Steve knew that robbery, jealousy, and vengeance are the three motives responsible for nearly all murders with gang killings loosely classified in the last category. It was rare that someone was killed by a complete stranger.

Taking in how the woman was posed, how she was dressed, and the nylons around her neck, Steve had a bad feeling.

"It looks like semen on her legs and here inside her panties," Steve flinched as Bob Tanner lifted the girl's skirt.

Even after years of tending to homicide cases the indignity that victims were subject to during the investigation made him feel uneasy, especially when it was a young woman.

"Looking at the ligature marks, the petechiae in her eyes and the pantyhose tied around her neck I'm guessing strangulation but of course the autopsy will confirm cause of death. Estimated time of death is late yesterday afternoon or early evening," Brendan Scott said referring to his notes.

There was an uneasiness between the attendees at the crime scene. After Penelope Bishop had been demoted, Silvia Bickle had been promoted to Detective Sergeant and led the Special Task Force but she was on leave which left Steve in charge. After years of working with Penelope and Silvia, the ME and CSI team were not used to having to deal directly with Steve but they were professionals and carried out their duties accordingly.

"Ok Chief, without jumping to conclusions let's say it's a crime of passion or possibly rape and murder. Why call in the Task Force?" Steve asked.

"Roll her over," Gary Rasmussen said gruffly.

Bob and Alice gently rolled the girl over on her back and lifted her skirt. That the girl had a penis was obvious, even though it was inside her panties.

"The media will have a field day when they find out about this. The LGBT lobby will raise hell; they are statistically four times higher to be victims of violent crime and they like to let everyone know it. I want this solved and want it solved fast," Gary made a motion to roll the girl back to the position she had been found in.

"The case is yours Steve. Get it done and get it done quick," Gary glared at Steve and then left the crime scene.

"Any ID?" Steve asked Bob who nodded to a handbag on the nightstand.

Using his gloved fingers Steve went through the contents of the handbag. He found a small amount of cash in a purse and two hundred dollars in an unmarked envelope, a credit card but no driver's licence, also a small baggie of marijuana. There was the usual detritus found in any woman's bag: makeup, perfume, chewing gum, cigarettes, a bic lighter and a cheap cell phone.

Then Steve came across something he found very interesting. It was a business card advertising Ride 'em Cowgirl. The stylised girl in the cowgirl costume holding out her cowboy hat as she straddled a phallic symbol left nothing to the imagination. The girl's skirt had flicked up exposing her panties which appeared to be bulged out at the front.

The same design was replicated in a neon sign behind the bar at the club owned by his fiancée.

Steve turned the card over. Written on the obverse was 'Thursday 7pm'. Today was Friday.

Steve wrote down the details and then handed the handbag to Alice who was bagging and tagging evidence. He punched the details of the credit card into a secure database on his tablet which came back with the following information: David Summers, age 22 and an address in Balwyn. He punched that information into the criminal database: no outstanding wants or warrants, one misdemeanour count for solicitation resulting in a fine of $200 promptly paid.

He transferred the information into a new case file and sent the name and DOB of the victim to the ME's office.

"Eyes please everyone," Alice Leasingham called out before she turned off the lights.

She had already closed the curtains and the door so the room became completely dark when she hit the switch. Bob Tanner switched on his forensic light source, basically a fancy UV torch, and played it over the girl's body.

"Traces of semen on the sheets and concentrations of spatter on the victim's legs and in the rear of her panties," Bob had lifted the girl's skirt again to shine the light source on her backside.

He asked for assistance to roll her over.

"Faint evidence in the front of her panties, most likely pre-ejaculate. Do you agree Brendan? Get the lights please Alice," Bob turned off the UV torch.

"Your team will take swabs and examine the clothing at the lab but I agree that the concentration around the sphincter and on the legs is most likely from the man who had sex with her; most likely the killer. I'll bet the samples taken from the front of her panties match her DNA and are indeed pre-ejaculate," Brendan Scott nodded sagely.

"Without jumping to conclusions until we've processed all of the forensics and seen the autopsy report I'm advocating that the victim, a male presenting as female, possibly transgender, engaged in anal sex just prior to death and the other participant ejaculated into her anus and then on her legs," Bob Tanner spoke for the recording devices.

Steve was content that they were using female pronouns for the victim as the victim was presenting as female at the time of death.

"It is possible that we are looking at autoerotic asphyxiation gone wrong but I doubt it, the pantyhose are embedded in the flesh of the neck indicating extreme force was used. I'm declaring a wrongful death. Over to you Detective Edwards; I'll see you at the autopsy," Brendan Scott began to pack up his doctor's bag preparing to leave.

Steve stuck around the motel room and helped the CSI team process the scene. He added more data into the case file but most of the detail would be provided later by the CSI techs and the ME after the evidence had been processed and the autopsy conducted. His main concern at this time was to confirm the identity of the victim.

The CSI team had found plenty of fingerprints and trace evidence at the scene but unlike the cop shows on TV the evidence couldn't just be put into some gazillion dollar machine that spat out the name, address and current whereabouts of the perp. Even if the trace evidence could be linked to a perp, if his fingerprints and DNA were not in the system it would be next to useless until Steve had a suspect to compare it to.

Steve went back to Police Plaza and into the office of the Special Task Force. It felt deserted without Silvia Bickle. He fired up the computer and made a more thorough search for David Summers. He didn't find much else, just confirmation of the Balwyn address but there was no NOK listed.

Steve drove to Slattery Park, an area of Balwyn where older buildings had been cheaply renovated and chopped up into small apartments which were rented mainly to students and low income families. The area was well kept even though the cars parked in the driveways were old clunkers and the corner bodega's main staples were discount beer, potato chips and lottery tickets. Kids played on squeaky swing sets and housewives congregated on the stoops of the tenements wearing spandex leggings or housedresses, smoking cigarettes and gossiping whilst keeping an eye on their kids. The dads were at work and the students at college.

Even though it was unmarked, Steve's cruiser stood out like a sore thumb and the women watched him with veiled hostility when he pulled up outside of a converted redbrick town house. He alighted from his vehicle, checked the address he had found through the victim's credit card details and climbed the stoop.

Steve didn't have a warrant or probable cause to enter the building so he pressed the call button for apartment two. The townhouse had been converted into four apartments.

He was pleasantly surprised when a female voice came through the intercom.

"We don't want any... fuck off," the scratchy voice said.

"My name is Steve Edwards and I'm a detective with Balwyn PD. Does David Summers live here?" Steve spoke into the box.

There was a pause.

"That's April's dead name. She doesn't use that name," the female said in a snippety tone.

"Look, can I come in and talk to you?" Steve asked.

"What's this about?" the animosity in her voice was evident.

"It's best if I talk to you face to face," Steve didn't want to threaten her with a warrant; it would be his last resort.

There was an uneasy silence for a beat then the front door buzzed and he pushed it open. The hallway smelled of old cooking smells and cigarettes with an undertone of marijuana. The walls were faded and the hall runner was threadbare but it was clean. The tenants had a certain amount of pride in their abode.

Apartment two was located on the ground floor, a staircase led to the two upstairs apartments.

The door to apartment two was ajar and a face was peeking through the gap. Steve held up his badge as he approached and he tried not to look menacing.

"What did she do? She get busted for soliciting again or smoking grass?" the girl asked, keeping the door blocked.

Cannabis in Texas is illegal for recreational use. Possession of up to two ounces is a class B misdemeanour, punishable by up to 180 days in prison, a fine of up to $2000, and the suspension of one's driver's license. However the municipality of Balwyn had enacted reforms to apply lesser penalties and limit enforcement. With a huge college student population and working class demographic the PD would be overwhelmed if they tried to enforce the laws relating to recreational drug use.

"It's best if you let me inside," Steve stood outside the door keeping his badge held high whilst trying to smile.

The girl fumbled with the security chain and then opened the door wide enough to allow Steve to enter the apartment.

The apartment looked like it was inhabited by students or young people on a low income. It was intrinsically clean but there was laundry piled on the sofa, the cramped kitchen-diner with the beat-up appliances, the dining table with four mismatched chairs, the pre-loved flat-screen television and entertainment system sitting on a piece of plywood supported by milk crates said much about the inhabitants.

The walls were decorated with street-art and posters advocating LGBT rights and BLM, the sofa was draped with pink chiffon and the lamps draped by red gauze infused a surreal rose hue, the aromas of perfume, incense and grass gave the place a bohemian feel. He could see three doors which he guessed led to two tiny bedrooms and a cramped bathroom.

"Can I see your badge?"

On closer examination the girl appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She had failed to remove last night's makeup before she went to bed and her tousled red hair and the fact that she was wearing flannel pyjamas implied she hadn't long got out of it.

Steve handed her his badge noting her chipped acrylic fingernails. She studied the badge as if it was a talisman and then handed it back.

"I'd like..." the young woman cut him off by holding up a finger to his face.

She padded to the kitchen and poured coffee into a chipped mug and looked at him questioningly. Steve nodded and she poured another cup and brought them over. She didn't ask him if he wanted cream or sugar or invite him to sit. Steve took the proffered cup and the woman knelt on the sofa which was pushed against the wall under the single bay window. She opened the window and snatched up a pack of cigarettes off the sill and lit one, blowing the smoke out into the street.

"It's on the lease that we can't smoke in the apartment but I can't start my day without a cigarette and cup of coffee. I'm Wendy Beaumont by the way. What has April done now and where is she?" the words tumbled out of the woman's mouth in a jumble.

"I'd like to ask you a couple of questions first if I may Miss Beaumont," Steve fired up his tablet.