Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) (17 page)

“Today I am going to the vic’s apartment to see if anything there might give us a lead; messages on her answering machine, threatening letters, photos, or anything that might give us a clue. Then I am going to meet with the man we saw in the video and see what light he can shed on this.”

“I thought you didn’t know his name.” Nagel sounded angry. “Who is he? Do you know his name or not?”

Storm could have kicked himself. He knew if he gave Nagel Joe Dresden’s name the word would spread to Dakota Taylor within minutes of his leaving the police station. But, oh well, it was done now. Besides, they had seen the videos. He was sure of that, and Storm suspected they knew Joe was with her, so what did it matter? But Storm thought he would try to throw a curve ball with his answer, anyway. “Lieutenant, since this is an ongoing investigation I can’t release that information to Mr. Nagel.”

The lieutenant didn’t back down. “Detective, Mr. Nagel is representing the mayor’s office and they want this wrapped up as soon as possible, solved or unsolved. Get it closed with as little public attention as possible. Do you understand me?”

Storm knew that look. And he knew something else, something new. He now knew how the other murders had been dispensed with. He now understood the pressure that must have been put on the other detectives working those cases.

“OK, Lieutenant, but this has to be kept quiet. We don’t want him running or covering his tracks. I need to question him before he knows that he is a suspect.” Storm’s voice softened as he spoke. “He might not have had anything to do with it,” added Storm. “His name is Joe Dresden.”

Storm saw Nagel’s eyebrows arch in recognition, but the lieutenant didn’t seem to have a clue who Dresden was. The lieutenant was new to Houston, so the name most likely didn’t mean anything to him. Storm knew he had just given Dresden to the dogs; the Show would be separating itself from him as soon as they could. It might cost them some of Ellen’s money, but they would find someone else to replace that with and keep themselves clean. They couldn’t replace their holy reputation. Dresden would be the latest pariah. Storm knew giving Nagel Dresden’s name was a dirty trick, and he wished he could have taken it back at this stage of the investigation. He had to admit he didn’t like Joe, but feelings aside, Dresden was a sleaze, so maybe—maybe—giving Nagel and Flynn a possible sacrificial lamb wasn’t all that bad.

“Detective, we’re done here,” said Lieutenant Flynn. “I need to have a few words with Vern. Close the door on your way out.” Storm knew that was his cue to leave. Storm was sure they were discussing any further exposure the city might have.

Storm got Leslie’s address from the file and as he headed out the precinct door Sergeant Hernandez handed him an envelope. Storm waited until he got to the car to open it. The photos of all seven victims fell out onto the seat beside him. All seven were the morgue shots; all seven death masks, but the similarity of the masks was what struck him. The killer definitely had a type.

The first girl was Elaine Gage. She was twenty-five, brunette, from Hallettsville, Texas, no family to speak of, and she had worked for Tejas Petroleum. She was found naked in an abandoned car on Fannin Street across from the Dome. She, too, had been raped and anally abused, and her throat had been cut in the same manner as Leslie.

The second girl was Debbie Turnbull. She was twenty-three, brunette, from Needville, Texas, and again, had no family. She was found naked and abused in the new construction area for the light rail system next to the Dome.

The third victim was Michelle Canter, twenty-four, also a brunette, from Yoakum, Texas; Linda Black, twenty-three, from Shiner, Texas was the fourth; Sissy Debuse, twenty-five, from Kingsville, Texas was the fifth; and last year’s victim was Stephanie Gilgore, twenty-five, from Lufkin, Texas. All of the victims were found near the Dome, all looked enough alike to be sisters, all had little to no family to push for an investigation, all had been abused and had their throats severed and windpipes cut through, and all had been forgotten until now.

Not only did the killer have a type, he had a method. What Storm didn’t have was a motive. He hoped that Hernandez had found something in FBI reports that could help them. He also needed to ask Hernandez if there was anything in the files of the other girls about their clothes. Something about that was still nagging at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Before going to Leslie Phillips’ apartment, he would first stop by Joe Dresden’s office. He called to check to make sure Joe would be there for a while. Catching Joe at his office would give him the perception of “home field advantage” and hopefully give him a false sense of security. In Storm’s experience, people made mistakes when they felt at ease.

Ellen’s Dilemma

Ellen Dresden’s symbol of success was the facility she had built after assuming the controls of her father’s company. She had bought an expansive piece of land virtually littered with small brick and metal buildings all in need of refurbishing and had torn all those eyesores down. In their place she had erected a grand, opulent, very modern three story building with a flair for Texas architecture. A sandstone and mortar façade covered the front of the facility, emulating a rendition of the first Christian missions that had dotted the Texas landside of the past. Ellen was definitely a Texan, and like all true Texans, was proud of her heritage. Anything resembling the Alamo was perfect in her mind.

The inside of the building sparkled; it was all marble and chrome, with a large circular reception desk and leather chairs inviting waiting guests to take
a seat in the reception area. The non-administrative part of the distributorship was the latest in mechanized sorting tables and robotic arms used for overhead storage. The commodities the warehouse stocked were all electronically coded and put on their appropriate assigned shelf. When an order was taken an order entry clerk would input the list of items in a central computer. The computer would automatically create a “picking slip,” which identified where the items were stored, the number ordered, the price, weight, and shipping instructions. The robotic arms would retrieve the items, assembling them at the end of each row of storage, where a floor person would load them onto a cart and verify the order with his or her copy of the order. Forklifts or push carts would then move the products to shipping and out they went. Efficiency was the word for this place. The floor was immaculate; the equipment pristine, and even the workers’ uniforms were spotless.

* * * *

Storm gave his name to the receptionist and asked for Joe. When she asked the nature of his business he just replied, “Mr. Dresden will know.”

About five minutes later Joe appeared, as if by magic. If he was a little shaken by Storm’s visit, his outward demeanor was that of a businessman meeting a colleague or vendor. Joe extended his hand and Storm accepted with a quick one-time pump and then suggested they go somewhere they could talk in private.

Joe’s office was exactly as Storm had imagined; a massive burled wood desk at least seven feet long sat in front of windows that overlooked the glistening warehouse. Pictures adorned most of the walls; including some of Joe and Ellen at the Show with the champion animals they had purchased. Golf trophies sat on a side table—Storm realized golf was probably the only sport Joe participated in. Joe was a pretty boy and would never have been a part of something that might cause physical pain. Joe was, just as Storm had thought, a weenie.

“Please have a seat, Detective,” Dresden said, walking around to his oversized chair behind his desk. Storm wasn’t intimidated—he’d had plenty of experiences with this old Napoleonic businessman’s trick. Storm’s chair was lower than normal, placing him in a position of looking up at Dresden. Since Joe was also short in stature, Storm was sure the furniture had been built to make him feel more in control of whoever was visiting him. For Storm this supposed disadvantage was easily remedied, as he was about to show Joe some more pictures and to do so would require him to stand up and lean over the desk, thus breaching Dresden’s comfort zone. Two can play this game, he thought.

Storm laid the envelope of pictures he had brought on the desk, and looking at Joe, he leaned across the desk and pulled out the first photo, the picture of Leslie lying, obviously dead and with her throat cut, on the metal examination table in the morgue.

Storm said nothing, just waited a few seconds to let the significance of what Dresden was looking at sink in. This picture had a much more sobering effect than the one Storm had shown Joe the night before that had been copied from her driver’s license photo. Noting the look on Dresden’s face, he queried, “Do you know her, Joe?”

Dresden flushed. “You know the answer. I told you last night I knew her. So yes, I know who she is. But I didn’t have anything to do with killing her.”

“But you were with her?”

“Yes.” Dresden’s voice was shaky and weak.

“You told me last night you had sex with her. Do you like hitting girls, Joe, beating them up? Is that part of your sex play with them?”

“No, I never hurt that girl.” He averted his eyes from the morgue photo on his desk.

“What did you do with her?” snapped Storm.

“I told you, we had sex. That’s what she wanted, I wanted her, too, but that was it. Honest. I had nothing to do with her death.” There was a strong quiver of fear in his answer.

“How do you know that? Did you ask her if she wanted to get screwed in a bathroom of the VIP club, Joe?”

“No, but she had been around before. She was at the barbecue Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. I am not the only guy she was with; she was with other guys out there, too. It could have been some other guy.”

“You see, Joe, I am only interested in Saturday night, the night you were with her. The night you pulled her into a bathroom and raped her.”

“That is a lie. I never raped her. She was the one who suggested the bathroom. I only met her Thursday night. She was with Alex Flanders that night and they had already done the nasty.”

Alex Flanders had been identified as one of the men seen entering and leaving with Joe on the video. Russell had commented when he saw the men in the group that they were the regular horn dogs and show dignitaries. This gaggle of nefarious reprobates was usually in each other’s company.

He’s pleading with me now.
Let’s see where this leads.
“How do you know that?” Storm moved closer to Joe’s face as he asked.

“Everybody talks about the Badge Bunnies out here. Everyone knows who they are. They’re not sacred or anything.”

“‘Badge Bunnies’? What the hell are Badge Bunnies?” asked Storm.

“Girls like her, ones that come out to party and be a part of this whole experience. Girls looking for wealthy connected men that are at least directors of the Show.”

“Then you and your buddies pass them around?”

“No, it’s not like that. You just know if they are available. You know what they want and they know what they have to do to get in.”

“So you take them up to the VIP club, get them drunk, take them in a bathroom or a stairway and do them?”

“Kinda.” Dresden’s voice had begun to shake. “How do you know I was with her Saturday?”

“You were caught on security video taking her up to the VIP club.”

“How? Cameras aren’t allowed in any clubs.” Storm could see Joe thought he had him there.

But he’s so wrong, Storm thought with satisfaction. “Oh, Joe, tell me you don’t know.” Storm just looked at Dresden and shook his head. “It’s funny, people like you have already forgotten about 9/11. The world has become much more Orwellian since then. All buildings and facilities have to have security cameras at all entries and exits. Big Brother really is watching you. Did you think because you can stop pictures from being taken in the clubs, you and your buddies can stop public security? I guess Homeland Security hasn’t heard about your elevation above the law.”

Storm went on. “Who else ‘knew’ her, Joe?”

“I’m not sure. Alex probably knows some of the others.” Joe looked as if he was still processing the idea that cameras now were being used for surveillance at the Show and that neither he nor probably most of his friends were aware of it.

“OK. Enough about Leslie for now, Joe.” Storm pulled the rest of the pictures out and arranged them across Joe’s desk. Joe’s face went from flushed pink to putrid green.

“You know any of these girls?” The shock and fear in Joe’s eyes gave him away. It was obvious he knew at least one of them. Not waiting for an answer, Storm asked, “Joe, you ever in the military?”

Dresden’s gag reflex kicked in, and he swallowed hard before answering. “No. Why?”

“Well, each of these girls was killed in exactly the same way. Each had her throat cut and windpipe severed so she couldn’t scream. Do you know how to do that?”

“God, no. For God’s sake, put those away.”

“Not ‘til you have looked real close and tell me if you know any of these girls.”

“I know two of them,” Joe stuttered. His hands were shaking so bad he held them in a clinched double fist.

“Which two?” Storm pressured.

“This one and the one on the end.” His well manicured index finger touched the bottom of each photo.

Joe had picked out Elaine Gage and Stephanie Gilgore. Stephanie was the girl killed last year.

“How did you know them?”

“Like I knew that other girl.”

“Then you raped them, too?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I was with them. I never raped anyone.” Dresden seemed to be shrinking behind his desk. Storm knew he realized he was not in control anymore and actually never had been.

“Did you kill them, too?” Storm didn’t expect any other answer than a “no.”

“
No!
” Dresden pleaded, yelling. He’s totally falling apart, Storm told himself.

“Joe, I want a DNA sample from you.”

“Why? I already admitted I knew them.”

“To verify that the semen found in Leslie’s vagina is yours and to check against any DNA findings from the other girls.”