Therapist Ch. 05

It is early Sunday morning. The ringing phone wakes Lieutenant Pierce from a beautiful dream. A dream in which he was eating the most delicious peach cobbler topped with pure vanilla ice cream he has ever eaten. He looks at his bedside clock; it is a few minutes before six. He groans. Before he answers it he halfheartedly hopes that it is a wrong number, so that he can have whoever it is arrested for disturbing his peace at this ungodly hour.

“Hello,” he mumbles into the receiver.

A pause while he listens.

“Where at?” he asks.

Another pause.

“OK, I’ll be there as soon as possible. I’m just getting out of bed now so it’ll take me a few minutes to get there. Meantime, don’t let anyone fuck with the scene.”

He starts to hang up but brings the receiver back to his ear. He listens. “Yeah, call Olivia. Tell her I said to meet me there. She’s going to give you some flack about her vacation starting. But tell her I said her vacation doesn’t officially start till tomorrow morning and I want her there. I need her.” Then he hangs up the phone and falls back into the pillow with a sigh. He is lying on his back; his wife is on his right.

“What is it?” Darlene asks although she knows the answer. She is leaning up on her left elbow. She touches his hair at his forehead and plays with a lock of it with her fingers.

“They’ve found another victim; this one’s in the Lower Ninth Ward. She’s branded just like the one found in Audubon Park last week. I’ve got to get there. If Olivia calls tell her I said that I want her there because I need her. She’s good at protecting the evidence.”

He throws the covers off himself, sits up and looks at his wife. He lifts her sheer pink neglige with his left hand and looks at her supple breasts, then down to her pubic mound. He cups her right breast and gently squeezes it. He flicks her nipple with his thumb. Then he leans over and pecks her on the mouth. He heads for the bathroom; he is naked.

Darlene watches him walk across the room. She smiles and touches her right nipple. He is middle aged but still has a great physique, every inch of him.

Darlene gathers the discarded sheet around herself, covering herself. She knows that he threw the covers off her just so that he could look at her, to see her pussy hair. She smiles at the thought. She is wearing only the top to a sheer neglige tied with a bow at the neck; the bottom having been removed by Robert the night before while they were making love.

“Want me to fix you some breakfast first honey?” Darlene calls to him.

“I haven’t got the time Babe. Tell you what though. Put a couple of chocolate chip Pop Tarts in the toaster for me and fill my mini-thermos with milk.”

“That’s no kind of breakfast,” she complains.

He returns to the bedroom. He is running his portable electric shaver over his chin as he opens his dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of jockeys.

“Yeah, well I ain’t got time for anything else. So be a doll and fix it for me, will you?” Then he begins to get dressed. Within ten minutes he is out the front door, juggling his thermos and Pop Tarts in his right hand while he slips his left arm through his jacket.

Lieutenant Pierce uses his police siren and he is at the scene in another fifteen minutes.

He parks his car near the vacant lot and downs the last of the milk in his thermos. He gets out of his car and looks around. He sees that his African American partner Olivia Martinique has still not arrived. He doesn’t really expect her to show up; she’s supposed to be going on vacation to Florida with her family. He vainly hopes that she hasn’t left yet.

As he approaches the scene he notices that there are already two television news teams and a reporter from the Times Picayune at the scene. There is also a small crowd of spectators standing across the street. Some are in the street, a little too close to the scene as far as he is concerned.

A petite auburn haired girl, wearing a UNO sweatshirt and short jogging pants, is talking to a police officer. The officer is taking notes of what the young woman is saying. Lt. Pierce notes that she has great looking legs and a nice curve to her ass cheeks. He assumes that she is the person who found the victim. He will talk to her later.

The petite blonde reporter from WDSU-TV, the one he thinks has sexy looking lips, recognizes him from last week’s victim. She approaches him and sticks a microphone into his face.

“Can you tell us anything Lieutenant? Someone said that the victim was branded across the chest just like the one found in Audubon Park last week. Is that true?” she asks him.

“I don’t know; I’ve just got here.” Then to a uniformed police officer standing nearby he says, “Could you keep those spectators back? We don’t want anyone mucking up the evidence.” Then he starts to walk toward the body but is again stopped by a reporter. It is the tall black female reporter from WWL-TV.

“Was she tortured? Was she sexually assaulted?” she asks.

“I’ve got no comment at this time,” he says as he continues to walk toward the crime scene. Then he stops and turns around to face the three reporters.

“Look, I’ll make a statement later. Right now I need to inspect the scene, the body and everything. I know y’all have a job to do but so do I. Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want anyone screwing up the integrity of the evidence. So, if y’all will excuse me.” He turns back around and slips under the yellow tape surrounding the scene.

“Looks like we do have a serial killer on our hands Lieutenant,” a white female officer says to Lt. Pierce as he approaches closer to the body.

“What makes you say that?” he inquires.

“She’s branded just like the one found last week in Audubon Park. The word WHORE is burned across her chest just like the other one.”

“Let’s not jump to any wild conclusions,” he tells her. “This one might be a copycat. Let’s hope so anyway. Mardi Gras is just a few weeks away and New Orleans doesn’t need a serial killer on the loose at this time of year.”

As he stands over the nude woman Robert does what he always does at a homicide scene. He says a silent prayer for the victim.

Praying for the victim is something Robert has done ever since he became a homicide detective, ever since his first case.

******************************************

It was eleven years ago, a Monday morning and the day after Christmas. Robert had transferred into the department a few weeks prior, just after making sergeant. Everyone was on vacation except him and David, a Jewish detective who had just come back from spending Hanukah with some relatives in Pittsburg. Someone had to pull the shift and partner with David and Robert was low man on the totem pole. So he had to work.

About midmorning a call came in to the department; a domestic dispute had turned sour . . . real sour. A man had beat his girlfriend with the butt of a 12 gauge shotgun and then shot her, once in the chest and once in the head. Then he turned the gun on himself.

She was lying on the kitchen floor. Her chest was a mass of blood. Her face was completely obliterated. He was sitting on the sofa. He had obviously put the barrel of the gun in his mouth before pulling the trigger. The top of his head was missing; there was blood and brain tissue on the wall behind him.

There was blood, overturned and broken furniture in both the kitchen and the living room. The small Christmas tree was knocked over with presents and wrapping paper thrown all around the living room. The queen size bed had been shoved up against the wall and the mattress was askew from the box spring. A bedside lamp was lying on the floor, broken. Even the bathroom mirror was broken with fresh blood on it.

Robert had never seen such carnage in his whole life. It looked as though he must have chased his girlfriend around the small one bedroom apartment before he killed her.

There was one long empty box lying on the floor next to the sofa. It was obvious that the shotgun had been in it Christmas morning. There was a card lying next to the box with a note, ‘for you baby when you go duck hunting.’

Robert was holding his own until he saw the note. But with the realization that she had given him the instrument of her own death for a Christmas present, Robert broke down. He was a veteran police officer, had seen hundreds of deaths by accident, murder, suicide, you name it. But none of them affected him the way this case did.

He quietly excused himself, told David he would be right back and went to his car and just sat for about ten minutes. He didn’t cry; he just grieved. He grieved for her and for every victim he had ever encountered.

Before he went back inside he said a silent prayer for her. He’s done the same for every case he has been on since then. Then he gets to work.

******************************************

He takes out his note pad writes that the victim is lying on her back with her head turned to her right. Her right arm is twisted and her right hand is under her, in the small of her back. Her left arm is across her stomach. Just as if she were sleeping. But her legs are splayed wide open almost as if the killer wanted everyone to see her vagina. He wonders if this was on purpose or if she just ended up that way when he dumped her here.

The legs of last week’s victim were closed by the waves washing up against the body. He guesses that opening this one’s legs wide was a purposeful act. He looks for finger prints in the blood stains on her legs, ankles and feet. He doesn’t see any and makes a note to tell the coroner to check for some.

He stoops down and studies the nude body. He particularly studies the word WHORE branded just above her breasts. The first thing Lt. Pierce looks at as he inspects the victim is the letter H. He is looking to see if it too has a slight bend in one of the legs, just like the first victim. He tells no one what he is looking for. It is a piece of evidence that only he, his partner Olivia and the coroner know about. The bend is there and Lt. Pierce comes to the same conclusion as the female officer.

There is a serial killer on the loose in New Orleans.

He shakes his head in disbelief. Then he examines her left wrist and her ankles. They too are scarred. There are welt marks and bruises all over her body, just like the one found last week. He does not want to turn the body over just yet. He assumes that her right wrist is also scared. He can see that she was punched in the face several times; her lower lip is split and her nose is broken. He left cheek is bruised. Robert writes in his pad that the assailant is probably right handed.

He can also see that she has been sexually assaulted. There are several contusions on her vagina. He assumes that there are also bruises on her buttocks. He wonders if she too was ravished with a wooden object. Another piece of evidence that only he, Olivia and the coroner know about. The coroner said it was probably a broomstick but he couldn’t be sure.

Her clothes are nowhere in sight. There is only a black stocking tied tightly around her neck and a gag on her mouth.

He gets up from the body and starts to search the tall grass around the body for tire marks. He does not find any. He tells the police photographer to make sure she gets some close up photos of the word WHORE branded on the victim’s chest as well as some close ups of her wrists and ankles.

He approaches the young female officer who spoke to him earlier; she is standing on the sidewalk. “Has anyone found her clothes,” he asks her. His depression over the vicious murder is evident, both in his voice and in his demeanor.

“No sir.” She smiles at her superior officer in an attempt to somewhat brighten his gloomy mood.

Robert guesses that she is in her late twenties or early thirties. She has a dimple on her right cheek that makes her smile look genuine. Robert also notices that she has a nice round ass.

He looks back toward the victim ignoring his own thoughts. He knows that Darlene does not mind him looking at other women. She knows that he keeps his “wondering” to merely looking at them; he loves Darlene to too much to get involved with another woman.

Then he looks back at the young officer. “OK, I want you to get a couple of officers and I want every dumpster and garbage can within a three block radius searched for her clothing. Who knows maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“That’s a lot of dumpsters and cans. It’ll probably take us all day,” she answers him.

“I don’t care if it takes you all day and half the night. I want those dumpsters searched. Now get some more officers and get on it,” he orders her.

“Yes sir,” she replies. Her smile is gone.

He looks back at the body again and then to another police officer standing nearby.

“Who found her?” he asks him.

“That college kid over there who was talking to O’Malley a few minutes ago,” he answers and points to the petite auburn haired girl. Lt. Pierce notices that she also has nice supple breasts, just like Darlene’s.

“Thanks.” Then he walks over to the young coed. She is leaning against a police car across the street from the scene. “You found her?”

“Yes sir. I was out jogging with my dog and noticed her.”

The lieutenant looks from the student to the back of the lot where the dead woman is lying. “She’s lying in the tall grass way back there in the back of the lot and you saw her from the street? How’d you do that?”

“I just saw her. What’s wrong with that?”

“Look kid, I can’t see her from here in that tall grass and I’m a good four inches taller than you. Now tell me how you found her or I’m going to start thinking you got something to hide. I’m going to start thinking that maybe you did something to the body.”

The young coed looks down at her feet and tugs on her dog’s leash. She frowns. “My dog got away from me and I had to chase him. Hey! It wasn’t my fault. I stopped him as soon as I could.”

“Stopped him. What do you mean?” The lieutenant asks her.

“He was licking her face. I’m sorry; it wasn’t my fault. I pulled him away as soon as I got there.”

“That’s OK. Where on her face did the dog lick her?”

“I don’t know, just her face that’s all.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you tell that to the policeman who took your statement?”

“No,” she answers him.

“Go give that information to him right now. Tell him I said to put that in his report. And don’t worry about it. The only thing you have to worry about is if you’re hiding something from me. You’re not are you?”

“No sir.”

Robert then gives the petite woman his card and tells her that if she happens to remember anything else to please give him a call. He tells her that she did the right thing.

Next he calls the coroner to give him the bad news. He informs him that this latest victim has the bent leg in the letter H, just like the first victim. He also tells the coroner about the dog licking the victim’s face and about checking the blood stains on the victim’s ankles and feet for possible prints.

They discuss the possibility of other victims who haven’t been found, in the Spillway, the bayous, the lake. He makes a note to call the surrounding parishes to see if they have any unsolved murders with similar Modus Operandi.

He lists them in his note pad so that he won’t miss calling them, St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, Lafourche, St. Charles, St. James, St. John, Ascension, Livingston, Tangipahoa and St. Tammany.

Finally he calls his partner on her cell phone. Before she answers he pictures her thirty-seven-year-old perfectly shaped ass in his mind. He smiles.

When she says hello he asks her why she has not reported to the crime scene; although by now he knows the answer. She tells him she cannot come. She’s in Orlando getting ready to order breakfast before going to Disney World with her family.

He jokingly asks her if she would cut her vacation short and return to work tomorrow; he knows she can’t. She says that she would gladly do it but then her breakfast would get cold. He tells her that he understands and for her to enjoy her vacation. He will fill her in when she gets back next week.

Before she hangs up, Olivia tells him to get Lt. Gerald Falwell to help him out. She reminds him that Lt. Falwell is a homosexual and has got a great looking ass. Lt. Pierce is amused at her witticism and tries to tell her that Lt. Falwell is not his type but she has already hung up. He smiles at the knowledge that she knows that he thinks she has a beautifully shaped ass, almost as beautiful as Darlene’s ass.

He spends the rest of the morning gathering evidence from the scene and overseeing the preparation of the body for shipment to the coroner’s morgue. He makes sure that the victim’s hands and ankles are securely bagged for protection. He is pretty sure that there won’t be any skin under her fingernails but he figures it may be another long shot that might not prove fruitless.

He gives the news reporters a statement that does not tell them anything they don’t already know. The cute reporter from WDSU again asks him if the word WHORE is burned into her chest. He reluctantly affirms it but tells her not to draw any conclusions as it may be just a copycat murder.

A report from the white female officer later in the afternoon produces no clothing. He wonders how thoroughly a search she and the other officers actually performed. But he immediately dismisses his thoughts, as it was a long shot anyway. He didn’t expect her to find any clothing.

By late Sunday afternoon he is exhausted. He meets with the coroner. The coroner’s preliminary report confirms his suspicions that the victim was sexually ravished with a wooden object. He also finds out that both this victim and the one from last week were prostitutes. He knows that he’ll have to visit the French Quarter and several other places that the local ladies of the night frequent; a task he does not relish. He’ll do that tonight after dinner and a hot bath at home.

Just before Lt. Pierce pulls into his driveway he notices George is putting the finishing touches on washing and waxing his own car. Robert walks across their lawns and around to the side of George’s house.

George looks up, “Hey Robert, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing much. I’ve been gone all day.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” George lies. “I didn’t see your car parked in front of your house but I thought it was in your garage.”

He has been watching the lieutenant’s house all afternoon, ever since he heard about the latest murder victim’s discovery in the Lower Ninth Ward earlier this morning on the news. He even parked his car strategically before he started to wash it so that he could see anyone arriving or leaving Robert’s house.

Lt. Pierce never leaves his house on Sunday morning except to go to church or unless it’s for official police work. Since he is one of the chief detectives in homicide, George can only assume that he has been at the scene of a murder. He hopes that it is his prostitute that Lt. Pierce has been investigating.

“Just thought you’d like to know, there’s been another murder victim, another prostitute tortured, sexually assaulted, and branded. You seemed interested in the first one the other day. I thought I’d fill you in on the second one.”

“Oh, I wasn’t interested,” he lies again. “I was just . . . you know, curious. But the other day you didn’t tell me she was a whore. How can you tell that just by looking at a corpse?” George is attempting to obtain as much information as possible without raising any suspicions.

Lt. Pierce ignores the degrading remark. “You can’t. We got her prints and ran them. She was arrested once for prostitution, paid a fine and that was it. The coroner was finally able to lift some prints from the first victim the other day. We ran them too. She was arrested nine months ago for prostitution and possession of marijuana. That case was still pending when she was murdered.”