An Apple for Zoe: Book One ~ The Forsaken

ran them through the system,' explained Stillwell.

James mind was a whirlwind of confusion.

'You sure about this, Bobby? You're sure this old man is a Nazi, who's been on the run for the better part of the twentieth century?'

Roberts slowly walked over and looked into the face of the old man. An old man whose hands were now bound together with barbed wire and a knotted electrical cord tied around his neck.

'It's him,' said the doctor.

'How do you know?' asked Kirkland.

'I think this says it all,' said Roberts.

Kirkland's stomach turned as he saw the doctor unbutton his shirt cuff and roll up his sleeve, revealing a faded blue numerical tattoo.

'You were there?'

'From 1942 until I was moved to Auschwitz in 1944.'

'Jesus, I'm sorry none of us had a clue,' apologized James. Roberts nodded his acceptance.

'You realize Tom, I can't proceed with the autopsy.'

'Why not?'

'Because of who he is, we have to notify the FBI, State Department, and the German Embassy, just for starters.'

Kirkland's head was still swimming from the twist the events had just taken.

'You just became an international celebrity Tom.'

'Great this is all I need. A case with no answers, weird serial killer kind of murders and on top of that the guy has to be a Nazi war criminal,' lamented James.

Stevens face contorted into an expression of curious puzzlement as he began placing Amanda Carlyle's clothing into an evidence bag when something metal fell from her handbag, clanging against the cold tile floor. Wayne reached down and picked it up.

'Uh, guys, I think things just got a little more complicated,' said Stevens as he held up a blood soaked straight razor.

'Where did that come from?' asked James.

'Inside her purse. That's not all, I think I also found what it was used on.' Stevens held aloft something that was also blood soaked. The men slowly closed the gap between Wayne and themselves.

'Is that what I think it is?' asked Kirkland.

'I do believe it is, Mr. Kirkland,' said the doctor.

The five men looked at one another and then at the dead corpse of Hermann Kritzler. 'Wayne, slide down Mr. Kritzler's trousers,' said Roberts.

The men gathered around the steel table holding the old Nazi's body. Within seconds, Stevens had done as ordered, and they could see a deep maroon stain on the old mans boxers. Stevens looked at Roberts. The doctor nodded the signal to continue. Stevens pulled at the stained boxers, a universal gasp emanated from the witnesses. Roberts smirked as he looked at the Nazi's pelvic area, which was now void of his manhood.

'No more heil Hitler's for this guy.'

'Looks like there is justice after all doc,' said Kirkland.

'Justice Mike? This monster manages to get away with raping girls, murdering thousands, and live well into the next century. Why now? Why wasn't he executed 60 years ago, with all the other Nazi slime?' fumed James.

'Maybe the Devil wasn't done with him,' said Roberts as he scribbled notes into his autopsy book.

James took in a deep breath.

'Wayne, what else you got in that purse?'

Stevens dumped the remaining contents on the table.

'We've got some lipstick, gum, make-up, checkbook, bunch of loose change, piece of paper- wait it's a credit card receipt.'

'Receipt for what?' asked James.

'The straight razor.'

'Who's the card holder?'

'Virginia Rappe.'

Chapter Five Virginia Rappe

Why do I know that name?

James sat at his desk staring at his computer screen. His face was blank. Was the name another mock clue from Edmund Frayker? Was it supposed to mean virgin rape? he wondered.

James picked up the credit card and examined it closely. It appeared to be new. He turned it over to find it was unsigned. James noted the telephone number to report it lost or stolen. As he dialed, James wondered if the name on the card was the identity of the killer. The voice of a young female operator pulled James away from his musings.

'This is operator 2175, do you have a lost or stolen card to report?'

'Yes, my name is Thomas James, I'm a homicide detective with the city of San Francisco. My badge number is 1563. The card I wish to report has been found at the scene of a homicide.'

A long pause filled the air. James knew the operator was trying to absorb the information.

'Did you say homicide, sir?'

'Yes, that's correct.'

'One moment.'

James knew the operator was putting him on hold to find a supervisor. How long would this take? he wondered. Should he take his dinner break now or just wait it out? His attention returned to the phone as the voice of a man was now on the other end.

'This is supervisor Webber, how may I assist you sir?'

'Mr. Webber, my name is Thomas James, I'm with San Francisco homicide. I need to verify some information on a credit card found at a crime scene we are working on.'

There was another long pause. James knew neither, the operator or the supervisor believed him.

'What is your badge number Mr. James?'

'Inspector James, and it's 1563, I already told the girl I spoke with this information.'

'Please be patient with us, Inspector James. You understand we have an obligation to our cardholder.'

'I understand, so just tell me what you need, so you can verify I'm telling you the truth and we can proceed.'

'Just one more moment Inspector, we're verifying your information right now.'

James rolled his eyes as he listened to the monotone sound of the supervisor's fake voice. Deepening it, trying to make his voice sound authoritative and threatening, Webber continued, 'Thank you for your understanding Inspector James. What information do you require?'

'I need an address and telephone number for this credit card.'

James rattled off the credit card number and listened to the clicking of computer keys on the other end of the phone.

'The name on the card please.'

'Virginia Rappe.'

Another pause. James knew the supervisor sensed something.

'What is it Mr. Webber?'

'Are you sure the card says Virginia Rappe?'

'I'm looking right at it,' said James.