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They had just about finished when Gary Rasmussen came into the office. He was sweating as if he'd run down the three flight of stairs from his office. He paused to catch his breath.
"Ok you got your trained investigator," his breathing was still hitched.
"That's the good news. The bad news is that we've got another murder, this time in Battersea Park. The MO looks like it might be connected to the motel case. Go and prove me wrong. Please prove me wrong," Gary wiped sweat from his brow.
At that exact moment Alice Leasingham's phone pinged as did Steve's.
"It's Bob. He needs me at a murder scene. Battersea Park," Alice looked at the screen of her phone.
Steve pulled out his phone and saw a text message also from Bob requesting he come to a crime scene at Battersea Park.
"Fuck!" Steve checked he had everything he needed and snatched up his car keys whilst Alice quickly checked the contents of her CSI crash-kit.
"Let's go!" Alice and Steve brushed past Gary Rasmussen who was leaning against the door-jam praying to whatever god looked over policemen.
"It ain't a serial until there's three," he whispered.
The scene at the Park Services hut was nothing like the scene at the Abacha Motel and everything like the scene at the motel. The area was fenced off with crime tape and uniformed cops were treading carefully around the exterior, putting little orange neon flags on potential clues. A CSI tech was pouring plaster into tire tracks. The path leading to the doorway was laid with crime scene tiles.
Two police cruisers and a crime scene van were parked just outside the taped off area; a Park Services truck was parked next to the work hut. A CSI tech was cataloguing evidence bags before putting them away. Two men in Park Services uniforms were being interviewed by police officers. They both looked pale and shaken.
Steve parked outside the crime scene perimeter. Alice went over to the crime scene van and Steve approached the two men being interviewed. One of the police officers met him half way.
"They picked up their truck at the depot this morning around seven, drove out here and found the door had been jimmied. Said it's not the first time it's happened and figured it was kids or junkies but then they found the victim. Said they didn't touch much but we'll take them downtown and get detailed statements and print them," the officer summarised what he knew.
"Good work. You don't think they're suspects?" he had to ask.
"Not a chance but we'll confirm the facts once we have their statements," the officer smiled grimly and turned on his heels and went back to continue his interview.
Over at the crime van Steve put on Tyvek over-boots and surgical gloves and Alice stepped into a full hazmat suit. He waited for her and they logged into the scene and entered the hut together.
It smelled of two-stroke gasoline, decaying vegetation, old sweat and fried food. Steve surveyed the brush-cutters, chainsaws and other power tools hanging from hooks on the wall and some others laid out on the workbenches for repair and maintenance. Yellow PVC raincoats and orange hi-vis work vests hung from wooden pegs next to the power tools.
He followed Alice to the scene of the crime at the back of the hut where the workmen had set themselves up a little kitchen and rec space. He observed the two battered lounge chairs, the reclaimed coffee table, the old flat-screen mounted on the wall and the salvaged appliances in the crude kitchenette.
Alice went over to join Bob Tanner, carefully putting her pelican case down and opening it up.
The deceased lay face down on a steel-framed camp bed propped along the back wall. Her legs were spread wide. Her pantyhose and hotpants had been crudely pulled up over her buttocks. The smell of semen was strong. He noted the condom wrapper and unused condom on the floor.
The setting was different but the signature was the same, Steve would bet a year's pay that it was the same perp.
"The strangulation is identical, the staging of the body, the sexual rituals appear the same although he spent a little more time with this one," Bob Tanner came over and summarised what he'd observed already.
"Can we turn her over?" Steve asked.
"Brendan, you finished? You got enough pictures and taken all the trace?" Bob asked the ME and crime scene techs.
They all nodded.
Steve and Bob carefully turned the victim over on her back.
As they did her wig fell off. The victim had a buzz-cut under a pantyhose skullcap and was obviously male. His face had been feminised by the heavy makeup and the wig. He was flat-chested, the satin blouse he was wearing clung to his ribcage; there was no bra.
"This one's different," Steve mumbled to himself.
Steve, Bob, Alice and Brendan took a while to observe the victim whilst a CSI tech took a series of photographs.
They couldn't help noticing that the victim had stubble on his chest.
"The victim shaves their body but hasn't done so for a couple of days. That wig is a cheap store-bought synthetic, shake-n-go, the makeup is heavy but not professionally blended," Steve began making notes on his tablet.
"Shake-n-go?" Alice asked.
"Straight out of the box, no styling," Steve's knowledge of wigs came from Felicity and the drag queens at the club.
"The victim presents as female but I don't think they are transgender. More like a transvestite... a crossdresser," Steve surmised.
"The face is very attractive, the figure slim, good legs and buttocks. In a dark room she'd pass as femme," Steve continued.
"Or a dark street corner?" Bob pointed to the track marks on the inside of the victim's arm.
"Could be a pro?" he speculated.
Steve surveyed the scene again and took it all in including the cheap fake fur bolero jacket on the table.
"Another prostitute but this is no April Summers. I bet this one is street," Steve sounded confident.
Steve deliberately used neutral pronouns. Until the victim's chosen gender was established he didn't want to disrespect the dead.
Steve and Alice worked the scene until their presence was no longer needed and then they left the CSI techs to continue doing what they did best. Brendan Scott left with the body and advised that he would conduct the autopsy first thing the next day.
They drove back to Police Plaza and began to download their evidence and observations into a new case file which they linked to the April Summers case file.
"We need to link all of the similarities between the two cases but also identify the differences. We can't assume the crimes are linked until we prove it," Alice said as she tapped her keyboard.
"First off we have to ID the victim and inform the next of kin," Steve replied as he worked through the list of items he had found in the victim's purse: condoms, lubricant, chewing gum, a small baggie of crack cocaine, a crack pipe, cigarettes and lighter; nothing to identify the victim.
"He's Leroy Dubbin or Loretta when he's working the street," Penelope Benson said from the doorway causing both Steve and Alice to jump with surprise.
Penelope was wearing her Balwyn PD police officer's dress uniform which was the mandated uniform for officers undertaking administrative duties or attending official functions and parades. The uniform hadn't changed since the 1970s, the PD stubbornly stuck to the past, calling it tradition.
It consisted of a navy blue skirt and jacket with badges and insignia appropriate for her rank and grade. Steve noted the numerous citations and decorations on her left breast. Her white blouse was wrinkled and grimy from lifting boxes in the evidence room. Tan pantyhose and black low heels completed the ensemble; she held her service cap in her left hand. Her makeup was on the heavy side but she was still a good looking woman for her age.
"What are you doing here Bishop? I thought you'd been assigned to administrative duties," Steve bristled.
"Rasmussen assigned me to you on temporary duty. Apparently you need a trained investigator and I'm the only one available. Funny how when the shit hits the fan they break the glass and bring out the bad penny," Penelope entered the room uninvited and perched herself across from Steve and Alice.
Like most of the female police officers Penelope had her uniform tailored to fit and had shortened the skirt to just above regulation length and had cinched the waist of her jacket. She dropped her cap on the desk and dragged a stool up between Steve and Alice. When she sat the hem of her skirt rode up revealing the dark band of her control top pantyhose. Her perfume was cloying, deliberately applied heavy to mask the stink of last night's bourbon. She chewed gum to freshen her breath.
Steve had worked for Penelope when she headed the Task Force and although they had never hit it off they had a mutual respect for each other. He was particularly impressed with how she had overcome the prejudice against her being a transgender woman early in her career. She was respected by everyone in the PD and her recent fall from grace, marital breakup and lapse in sobriety was tolerated but she was on borrowed time. She needed to clean up her act or she was likely to get fired, heroine or not.
Steve had never been physically attracted to Penelope Bishop but as he studied her time-worn but still attractive face, her glacial-green eyes, the heft of her bosom, her curvaceous figure and long legs, he could see why so many men in the PD lusted after her.
Penelope was aware that Steve was studying her but she ignored him. She leaned across him and clicked the mouse and bought up a mug shot on the screen. Her arm brushed Steve's chest and he felt a spark of something and he swallowed and leaned away from her, giving her some space.
"Leroy Dubbin, aged twenty eight, no fixed address, just completed a one year parole period after a two-year stint in a medium security prison near Austin," Penelope tapped the screen.
"He's a junkie and street level dealer and he's gay. As soon as he was incarcerated he knew that he would be grist for the mill being overtly gay. For his own protection he voluntarily became the prison wife of Alexi Sales who was his cell block boss," Penelope explained.
"Alexi smuggled in female clothing and makeup and feminised Leroy who after lights-out became Loretta. As well as tending to Alexi's needs, Loretta was prostituted to the other inmates."
"When Leroy was released he dropped Loretta's persona but he continued to sell his fag ass for drug money. He soon realised that if he hit the streets as Loretta he could make more money. So Leroy became Loretta at night as a matter of financial convenience; he has no gender dysphoria per se, he just crossdressed to make money," Penelope slid off the stool and straightened her skirt.
"And you know all this how?" Steve asked.
"Leroy was also a snitch. Not really ever a CI but he sold the odd titbit of information to supplement his habit. I've used his services now and then over the years," Penelope took off her jacket and hung it on a coat hanger.
"So boss? Am I hired?" she smirked at Steve and pulled up a seat at her old workstation and fired up the computer.
"Do I have a choice?" Steve replied.
"Not really. It's me or some dumb-ass rookie," Penelope smiled at Steve.
"You're hired. Welcome back to the Task Force," Steve returned her smile.
The three-person team went to work chronicling the evidence, putting together a timeline and calling in supporting agencies, lighting fires under bureaucrats. A police patrol found the burned out BMW at the quarry. Two of the tires hadn't burned and were identified as being a preliminary match for the tire tracks in Battersea Park. Penelope searched the DMV records and found the owner.
"Why do idiots keep their spare car keys under the inside fender," Penelope shook her head and hung up her phone.
"The BMW was stolen from a house in Forest Gardens two nights ago. It's getting trucked to the compound but it's burnt out and we're unlikely so retrieve any evidence," Penelope pinned a downloaded picture of the burned out BMW on the wall.
Alice Leasingham's phone rang and she took the call.
"Preliminaries in from CSI. Fingerprints from the Park Services hut match those taken at the Abacha Motel. They're still waiting for a DNA match," Alice looked expectantly at Steve.
"Do we go ahead and tell the Chief that it's the same killer?" Steve said to Penelope who had her head buried in her computer screen.
She held up a finger signifying Steve should wait.
He took a beat and let Penelope work the keyboard and mouse. He didn't want her to assume that she was back in charge but he valued her input.
"Bingo!" Penelope's smiling face looked up from the screen.
Steve noted that she was pretty when she smiled, which was seldom.
"The burner phone used by the perp to lure April Summers to the Abacha Motel," Penelope snapped her fingers at Alice Leasingham who obediently came over to look at Penelope's screen.
"Shit I should have found that!" Alice berated herself.
"We've all been busy Alice. I only just thought of it myself," Penelope consoled her colleague.
"You ladies want to let me in on this," Steve sniped.
Penelope nodded at Alice.
"The perp's burner phone pinged off a cell tower in Battersea Park two nights before he killed April Summers. He was already casing the park service hut even before he killed April," Alice announced.
Steve rubbed his chin. The two murders were now intrinsically linked.
"Maybe he considered using the hut to meet April," Steve opined.
"From what we know of April she wouldn't have met him there. She may have been a prostitute but she was no street walker," Penelope offered a contrary opinion and Steve nodded his agreement.
"Was our killer already planning his next murder before he killed April?" Steve tossed out another postulation.
"Or he could have been scouting for somewhere to use whenever the occasion arose," Penelope countered.
"Keeping it for a contingency. Then he found Loretta on the street and she triggered something that caused him to act out," Steve went along with her hypothesis.
"We need to narrow down the signatures that trigger him," Alice agreed.
"We need to hit the streets and talk to the other hookers. You fancy a date tonight? A rendezvous on Bridge Street," Penelope smiled at Steve.
He nodded.
"Ok. I'm going home to get changed out of this fetishist dream of a uniform into something more suitable. Pick me up at eight?" she asked Steve who looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly 7pm.
Steve followed Penelope outside into the corridor and pulled Penelope into the stairwell by the crook of her arm.
"Stay off the sauce," he growled.
Penelope just glared at him and shook off his grip.
He watched her walk away down the deserted corridor and couldn't help but stare at her ass and legs.
"Fuck!" he hissed and began to climb the stairs to tell the Chief of Detectives that the same man who had killed April Summers had killed Leroy Dubbin.
When Penelope arrived at the small bungalow that until recently she had shared with Bradley Wilson she saw Ellery Gamble's motorcycle parked in the driveway.
"Fuck!" she hissed and got out of her vehicle.
Didn't Ellery know that he was just a convenient fuck whenever Penelope got drunk and melancholy? He was a boy-man: young, handsome, fit and about as intelligent as a sack of hammers.
After her first husband Randy Cole had died on the job Penelope had used alcohol and sex to try to numb the pain; to try to ease the guilt. She was already drinking heavy and catting around before Randy was killed by a hit and run driver.
FBI agent Bradley Wilson had rescued her. She had hated Bradley when she first met him, seconded to the Task Force to help solve the Sleeping Beauties murder case but she fell in love with him. With Silvia Bickle, her partner and best friend supporting her, she had driven off her demons.
It all came crashing down when she had been seduced by Melissa Doyle who was Silvia's lover and life-partner. The scandal and backlash against her had ruined Penelope's life; she had lost her second husband and her best friend and had been demoted and relegated to the evidence room as punishment.
She was using alcohol and sex yet again to ease her conscience but maybe she had a chance to redeem herself now that she was back on the Task Force.
The problem was that Ellery Gamble had taken her advances as some sort of declaration of love. He was nearly half her age for fuck sake!
She found Ellery sitting in the swing on the back porch. Penelope bristled. That was where she and Bradley sat on quiet evenings, holding hands, content with each other's company.
Ellery scrambled off the swing, nearly falling down in his haste. He was so clumsy that Penelope wondered how he managed to stay astride his 1200cc BMW motorcycle.
"You look kinda sexy in that uniform," Ellery held Penelope lightly by her elbows and looked lovingly into her green eyes.
"I suppose you do too," Penelope admitted.
Ellery's blue uniform clung to his muscled torso like it had been painted on.
"I gotta get changed and get back on the job. I'm back working as a detective again with the Task Force," she eased herself out of Ellery's embrace and found her keys.
When Ellery followed her inside Penelope got a little angry.
"I don't have time to fuck around Ellery," Penelope tried to push him out the door but he was far too powerful for her to succeed.
"We can fool around a little before you get changed. You gotta take your clothes off anyway," he grinned at her and she noticed the thick bulge in his tight pants.
For some reason she looked over at the kitchen counter. There was half-bottle of cheap whisky on the counter and she desperately wanted to bring it to her lips and feel the liquid burn her throat as she chugalugged it. She knew that she should end her relationship or whatever it was she had going with Ellery but fucking him seemed the lesser of two evils.
Penelope pounced on him, kissing him viciously as she furiously unbuckled his duty belt and fumbled with his pants. Ellery tried to speak but she drove her tongue into his mouth to shut him up. She didn't want anything from him except his penis.
She yanked his tight motorman's pants down to his knees and took the girth of his huge cock in her hands and squeezed it. Ellery sighed into her mouth, she could feel the pre-seminal fluid begin to flow and she massaged it into his flesh. His hand went under her Penelope's skirt, inside her pantyhose and found her cock already elongating along her perineum.
Ellery had been useless at first. As much as he had wanted to pleasure Penelope he had been afraid to touch her penis. The fantasy of fucking a trans woman was a lot different to the reality but Penelope had cured him of that in the few days that they had been lovers.
He eased her cock from between her legs but left it nestled inside her pantyhose and satin panties. He began to stroke it though the silky layers of delicate fabric knowing it would drive Penelope wild
And it did. The feel of slinky diaphanous nylon and satin on the sensitive flesh of her erect penis felt magnificent. Penelope nearly forgot that she was in a hurry as she let Ellery stroke her through her undergarments, feeling his hard cock throbbing in her hand.
Their kisses became frenzied and Ellery began to guide her towards the bedroom but Penelope had no time for that.
She dragged him by his shirt to the kitchen countertop and he took the hint. He put his hands around her slim waist and hefted her onto the countertop without even breaking the kiss. Penelope rubbed his cock on her pantyhose-sheathed thigh and felt him shudder. He let go of her penis and began to yank at her panties and pantyhose, wanting to get them down, to get access to her ass.
