Bobby Rockford, one of the detectives on the detail walked over, “Mornin’, Mac.” Rock was big, six-foot-three, two hundred-fifty pounds, shaved head, with bright white eyes that contrasted against his black skin. He was scary when he smiled, with a gap you could drive a truck through between his two front teeth. A former Division II defensive tackle at Mankato State University, Rock was not a man to be trifled with. Paired with Riley, who was also at least six-foot-three, they were a physically imposing pair.
“Hey, Rock,” Mac said, then looked back to the map. “Checking out where he’s dumped the bodies.”
“Yeah, he’s a smart fuck,” Rock gestured with his coffee cup “Every location has at least three ways out. The asshole probably never leaves the same way he goes in.” He took a sip of his coffee. “In each spot, he only has a block or two to get back onto University, where a van-if we’re right about that-wouldn’t be viewed as being out of place, no matter the time of day.”
Mac nodded, “I imagine he probably scouts his drop locations as well. He’s probably familiar with the area- who lives there, who drives what vehicle, who’s up at late hours.”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Rockford replied, nodding. “You read the FBI Profile on this guy right?”
Mac nodded.
“They think he might be some sort of ex-military or ex-cop, the way he conducts surveillance, attacks them in ideal spots, leaves nothing behind and gets away undetected. He’s good, the fucking prick.”
Mac looked at his watch, 8:25 a.m. He wondered where Riles was.
Just then Riles came in, looking harried and anxious. He looked out to everyone and announced, “We have a balloon. Vacant lot on Myrtle, between Cromwell and Hampden. Let’s go.”
The air was sucked out of the room immediately. On a cold and blustery November day, number seven was awaiting their efforts. Nothing like baptism by fire, Mac thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Myrtle Street was located in the industrial end of University Avenue on St. Paul’s northwest side. That end of town was dotted with an assortment of manufacturing operations behind small sidewalk stores, ethnic shops, and numerous small bars with names like Ace’s Place and Pete’s Canteen. Mac and Lich drove over in their department- issue gray sedan, turning left at the GasUp station on the corner of Hampden and University. They went one block and hit a dead end, the only way they could go was right on Myrtle and the vacant lot was half way down on their left. A coroner wagon, two squads and Riley’s unmarked were already there.
The body had been dropped in a vacant lot filled with knee-high weeds and brush. Bottles, cups, rusted barrels, newspapers, an old recliner, and dirt piles littered the landscape. There was one sickly tree and the outline of the old foundation of a house that once had occupied the lot. The uniforms had taped off a large area around the body as well as along the street.
On both sides of the vacant lot were chain link fences covered with vines, tall unkempt shrubs, and weed trees. The combination of vegetation made it virtually impossible for nearby houses to see into the vacant lot. The back wall of the Hancock Foundry spanned the backside of the lot. There were no windows and one lonesome set of double doors, with a dumpster to the left, one lid up and one down.
Across the street stood old two-story, white, wood-sided houses with steep, pitched roofs. They all had a solid, bland, wood front door and single picture window on the front with a metal awning. All the same style, built some seventy years earlier. The metal awnings and front doors were all different colors, the only thing differentiating the houses. The properties were not well tended, most having untidy yards. It was a poor, working- class neighborhood.
Riley was crouched by the side of the body, taking notes, while two crimescene techs examined the body, one of them speaking into a Dictaphone. Mac and Lich stood fifteen feet away. Mac couldn’t make out much about the victim, other than she was nude, wrapped partially in plastic. He could see her legs and she fit the profile-thin, medium height. The balloon, tied around her ankle, bobbed and weaved in the November wind, smiling at him. Jeering.
The rest of the detail arrived shortly thereafter. Riley saw everyone coming and got up out of his crouch. He nodded for them to follow him over to the street. Everyone gathered around. Riles quickly gave out orders. They needed to canvas the area around the lot.
“Who found the body?” somebody bellowed.
Riles looked down towards the other end of the street towards the city workers digging up what looked like a sewer line. “One of the guys came over here to take a piss and saw the body. He’s over working with his crew. I’ll take Lich and McRyan over to talk to him.” Everyone else spread out to take up their assigned tasks of what would likely be another fruitless search for anything on this guy.
A uniform fetched the city guy who had found the body. His name was Myron Dix, a large, rotund African American who looked to be in his early fifties, with a bushy gray beard. He was wearing his City of St. Paul hardhat and orange work vest over his tan canvas work suit, a smoke hanging out the side of his mouth. Mac admired the canvas work suit; it undoubtedly was warm, and he was already chilled. It was forty degrees, but with the wind howling it felt more like twenty.
Dix and his crew had arrived for work at 7:00 a.m. They had gone to work and didn’t notice anything right away. “Anyway, around 7:45 a.m. or so, my two cups of coffee hit me, and I needed to piss,” Dix said. “I’d usually get into the truck and hit a gas station or something, but with the vacant lot so close, I wandered over there.” Never mind the fact that urinating in public was against the law and this guy was a city worker.
“What did you see?” Riles asked.
“Well, there’s the one tree over there. I went behind it and did my business. On my way out I looked over to my right and saw the balloon. That’s been in the papers. I got a little closer and saw a leg. Another step or two, and I got the whole picture.”
Lich jumped in. “Did you touch the body, anything like that?” Dix put his hands up and shook his head. “No. No. No. Figured that killer was at it again. They say he dumps the bodies in vacant lots.” Dix waved his left arm towards the lot, “This shithole qualifies. I ran back to the truck and called it in.”
They went back over it again. Time of arrival, did he notice anything out of the ordinary, any vans in the area, anyone else walking through the lot? Dix had nothing to add. The two other guys on his crew were of no help. As they were walking away, Mac asked one last question, “You guys start today?”
“Naw, man,” Dix replied. “Noon yesterday.”
Mac and Lich stayed with Riley and continued on with the canvas. It was painful watching him work it. You could see it in his eyes as the day went along. House after house, witness after witness, nobody saw anything. The case was beating down on Riley, and the despair showed on his face, as they developed nothing other than their seventh dead body. Mac overheard a couple of conversations Riles had with the chief. It wasn’t pretty.
Mid-day they learned that the victim’s name was Charlene Murphy. She worked at the Hole-in-the-Wall, a diner that wasn’t but five blocks away. She left work at 11:00 p.m. the night before, and the diner’s morning workers found her car in the back of the parking lot, with her keys lying underneath. The strangler likely attacked her there, dragging her back into the alley and to the van they assumed he had. A canvas had been started behind the restaurant, but it was unlikely anyone saw anything. A ten-foot-high fence ran most of the length of the alley. Not only couldn’t anyone see anything, but the fence also created an excellent sound barrier.
At 4:00 p.m., Riles ordered everyone downtown, leaving two men behind to catch people as they came home. Mac and Lich headed for their car. When Mac got into the car and turned the key, he noticed the gas gauge was nearly empty. Lich saw it too. “Let’s hit the GasUp on the corner.”
Mac pulled up to the line of pumps closest to Hampden Avenue, got out and started filling the tank. “I’m chilled to the bone, man. Grab some coffee.”
“Will do,” Lich answered as he headed inside.
As the tank filled, Mac looked out onto University and watched the traffic pass by. Not much going on other than normal traffic for this part of town, delivery trucks and vans, beat up cars of working-class folks, the occasional
