the unsub is hassling Vaughn, trying to get the dough. But Vaughn doesn't have it, because he was my number-one suspect in his sister's murder and couldn't exactly go to the probate hearing. But let's say the unsub doesn't believe him, starts working Vaughn over, maybe cutting fingers off, trying to get him to talk. It gets out of control and he eventually kills Vaughn.'
'I guess it could have happened that way,' I said.
'Damn right. And then comes all the other postmortem behavioral stuff we profiled-the latent rage against his father-everything is unleashed. Vaughn is dead, but this other bum, the unsub, carves the symbol on his chest anyway. A postmortem mutilation. Maybe the unsub's dad was a medic in Nam, or he hates all vets, sees his father in them. He cuts off the rest of Vaughn's fingers to frustrate identification, then dumps him in the river. After this first kill, our serial killer is born. He realizes he's got a taste for it. A blood lust. He keeps on killing. One bum after another.'
I sat in the room thinking about it. A few things worked, but too much didn't.
'How's some homeless guy transport the body?' 'Okay. Maybe the unsub's not all the way homeless yet. Maybe he's living in his car.'
'Maybe.' At least Zack was trying.
'I'm just coming up with some options here,' he said.
'Yeah, I know, I know.' I didn't want to discourage the first spark or interest he'd shown in months. 'Listen, maybe you should pick up my murder book after all,' he said. 'Maybe there's old case stuff in there that would jog my memory. Van Kelsey retired four months ago to grow grapes in Napa. I'll call him and see if he remembers anything.'
'Okay. I gotta tell the task force about this, so I'll swing by Parker Center on my way home. After I bring Underwood up to date, I'll pick up the murder book. Is it in your desk?'
'Yep.'
I stood to go and Zack rose with me.
'I made a decision today,' he said.
'What is it?'
'I don't want to be a drunk. I don't want my life to be fucked up like this anymore. I want to get better.'
'That's great news, Zack,' I said. For the first time in two months I was feeling hope.
Chapter 35
It was almost four-thirty in the afternoon and the sun was just going down when I got back to Parker Center. This day had flown by. I stopped at our cubicle in Homicide Special and pulled the Arden Rolaine murder book out of Zack's bottom desk drawer. It was pushed to the back. As soon as I opened it I saw that Zack hadn't even mounted the crime scene photographs. They were still in an envelope, just thrown in along with the coroner's report, autopsy photos, and the rest of his case notes. The book was little more than a catch-all. Nothing was in order. No time line or wit lists. His interview notes were a mess.
I shook my head as I sorted through the grisly crime scene pictures showing the living room of a small cluttered house. It looked old and musty. The dark red velvet furniture had lace doilies on the arms. Sprawled on an Oriental carpet, on her back, wearing a blue terry bathrobe and rolled down stockings, was Arden Rolaine. Whoever killed her had done a damn thorough job. There was nothing left of her face. Her gray hair was matted and thick with dried blood.
I replaced the pictures in the folder. Then I noticed a Federal Express package on my desk. It was the book I'd ordered from Amazon. Com. My reading assignment from Agent Underwood. I picked it up and headed down the hall to CTB. I wanted to check in with Broadway and Perry. Their cubicle was empty, but Lieutenant Cubio found me and handed me one of the secure satellite phones. They were only a little smaller than an old Army field telephone.
'These came in from ESD an hour ago. Pretty easy to operate. You've gotta access the satellite. To do that, you use these six numbers first.' He handed me a slip of paper. 'Then dial the regular ten-digit phone number you want. There's an extra two-second delay because of the satellite scramblers.'
He handed me another piece of paper with the SAT numbers for Tony, Emdee, Roger, Alexa, and himself. 'You're good to go,' he said.
'Where are Rowdy and Snitch?'
'Off minding the wool.'
I raised my eyebrows.
'Women,' he explained. 'Broadway's wife Barbara is a Ph. D., teaches African studies at Mount Sac college. Emdee dates strippers. I think the current lamb is a lap dancer named Cinnamon or Ginger. . one of those spices. She works at the Runway Strip club out by LAX.'
'If they call in, tell Roger and Emdee after I check in downstairs, I'm going home. I have a coach's meeting at five-thirty.'
'A what?'
'My son is being recruited for football at UCLA. Karl Dorrell is coming over. I gotta bust ass or I'm gonna miss it.'
'No shit? Karl Dorrell? Really?' I'd finally said something that impressed this hard-eyed, boot-tough Cuban.
I rode the Otis to three and found that the task force had slowed down since this morning. Half the troops were gone; the rest were talking softly into their phones.
Agent Underwood was in his office getting ready to go home. His ostrich briefcase was open, and I couldn't help but notice the oversized Glock with a big Freeze Motherfucker barrel.
'Well, look who's here. I thought you were too good for us. On a special assignment for the chief. Didn't have time for our cheesy little serial murder case.'
'When you urinated on my criminal profile, I figured we weren't gonna make much of a team.'
'What do you want?' he snapped, as he turned his back and continued to load things into the briefcase.
'There's an old murder case that's touching this Vaughn Rolaine Fingertip kill,' I said. 'Happened early last June. Vaughn's sister, Arden, was beaten to death. Completely different MO from the Fingertip murders so it's probably not the same doer. The victim was pounded into oblivion with a brass candlestick.'
'Is that MO? I thought a rage-based act made it a signature. Of course, I keep getting this stuff all confused.' Really getting pissy now.
'You're right. It's a signature.'
I dropped the packet of crime scene pictures on his desk. He picked them up and thumbed through them.
'My partner had the case. He put it together when he heard Vaughn Rolaine's name.'
'Your partner, the invisible Zack Farrell.' Underwood smiled. 'How is that guy? Since he works for me, I keep meaning to meet him.'
'He's sick, Judd. He's in the Queen of Angels's psychiatric ward. He had a complete emotional breakdown yesterday.'
Underwood stared at me for a long time. Then he nodded. 'Sorry to hear it.'
'Thanks.' We stood in awkward silence. 'Anyway, by the middle of June, Detective Farrell had Vaughn Rolaine down as the key suspect, but wasn't able to find him because he was homeless and moving around. I don't know how this all fits, but it needs to be looked at.
'That the murder book?' He pointed to the blue binder in my hand.
'Yeah, but it needs work. I'm taking it home to organize it. I'll drop it off here in the morning.'
'Okay.'
I held up the FedEx from Amazon and he frowned. 'Motor City Monster,' I told him.
'Since you're not on the task force anymore, you can forget reading it.'
'I know we didn't hit it off, Judd, but you caught this Detroit killer. I never even got close to our Fingertip unsub. I'll have it read by Monday, because it's never too late to learn something. Good luck catching this guy.' I
