Match Play (3 page)

B
arrios is
completing his notes when he hears sirens approaching; he excuses himself and steps out to the compound. Detectives Sharp and Howard are in the lead vehicle, the crime unit van following.

Detective Sam Sharp emerges from the driver’s side. He is a stocky middle-aged man with graying hair, sun-wrinkled skin and five o’clock shadow. He speaks first to Barrios. “Hello, Frank, what have you got?”

Detective Howard, in contrast to Sharp, is young and handsome with a professional demeanor. He nods to Barrios and joins the two men.

“I didn’t stay inside any longer than it took to secure the scene. The victim is a forty-three-year-old female. She’s been cut to pieces. It’s a goddamned mess…I’ve never seen anything like it,” Barrios exclaims with widened eyes. He relays the information from his notes as the Crime Scene Unit techs fall in behind them as they walk to the apartment.

Jackson holds the tape up for the group. Detective Sharp stops them at the bottom of stairway.

“Listen up, everyone! I don’t tolerate screw-ups. Don’t touch anything without gloves. Don’t assume anything is not important. Bag and mark everything. Barrios, go see if the coroner is here, and you,” he points to Jackson, “keep everybody outside of that tape.” Sharp motions and heads up the stairs. The latex gloves start snapping as the group ascends.

The stairs are lit by the porch light Barrios had turned on earlier. When they reach the door, Sharp pushes it open with his gloved hand. “I want everything printed, starting with this door, dust it all.”

He steps into the apartment. The light in the foyer allows him to see the outline of the torso on the floor and only the reflected contours of the face staring at him from the kitchen counter. He searches for light switches, careful not to disturb anything. Two switches at the back wall of the foyer turn on an overhead light and a lamp; suddenly the grisly scene unfolds before them.

“Remember, any doubts, bag it!” Sharp motions to Detective Howard. “Check the other rooms,” and Howard heads down the hall, decorated on both sides with framed photographs of golf courses.

Sharp kneels by the torso. A small yellow pennant with the numeral I embroidered on it is standing upright in the navel. The abdomen is coated with a green substance. The gaping wounds where the breasts, arms and legs should be are now cavities filled with a white grainy substance.

Howard walks back into the room and kneels by Detective Sharp. “The arms and legs are in the bathtub. You’ve got damp and bloody towels but everything else appears undisturbed. What do you make of the breasts over there?” he says as he shakes his head.

Sharp hasn’t noticed the breasts but he glances over at them. They are about six feet apart sitting upright on the carpet. They are even with the width of the open French doors, back about four feet from the opening. He returns his attention to the torso. “Her abdomen resembles a goddamn golf green! Christ! What the hell went on here? All right, Stevens, start taking pictures. Everybody else get out of the way, don’t touch anything until Stevens is finished.” He nods to Stevens. “Let’s document everything before we start to collect evidence. Get that torso from several angles, Stevens. I don’t want to miss anything.”

Sharp and Howard stand by the front window and converse quietly. Sharp says, “Barrios better get that coroner up here. This isn’t your normal lover’s quarrel or rape murder; this is the work of a psychopath.”

Howard nods in agreement. “Yes. I think he bled her out in the bathtub and then butchered her. Why go to all this trouble?” He spreads his arms.

“That’s for the coroner to figure out. Let’s just make sure we don’t miss anything.”

They hear steps outside and turn to see Officer Barrios usher in a woman in her late thirties. He points to the two men and says, “The detectives, ma’am.”

“I’m Dr. Nancy Cochran, assistant coroner.”

“I’m Detective Howard and this is my partner, Detective Sharp.”

Stevens interrupts with, “I’ve got everything, but I’ll hang around in case you want anything else.”

“Yes, please do,” urges the doctor. “I will want some shots after we move the body.”

“All right, everybody, let’s collect the evidence,” Sharp commands.

Nancy Cochran makes a visual assessment of the scene. She is tall, with auburn hair tied in a French braid, minimal makeup and a commanding presence. She’s wearing simple frameless glass that she pauses to clean. She pulls on her gloves and goes straight for the kitchen counter and the victim’s severed head. One of the technicians helps put it on a piece of plastic. More blood spills from the bowl and oozes over the edge of the counter. She thoroughly examines the skull and carefully scrutinizes the base of the neck where it had been removed from the body, while recording her observations with a microphone/headset.

Howard continues to examine the kitchen and bags two wine glasses and a bottle of opened wine.

Sharp is in the living area and picks up a piece of newspaper lying in the middle of the floor. He turns it over and recognizes the rankings for Sunday’s golf tournament, the final day of the RR Donelly LPGA Founder’s Cup. The piece has been neatly cut and marked over with a black pen. Most of the letters in the names of the players have been carefully blocked out. He studies it a moment then drops it in a bag and marks the bag for location and content. Next he finds a scorecard from Wild Fire Golf Club, the location of the LPGA Founder’s Cup. He almost regards it as unimportant until he realizes the score box for the sixth hole is marked in pencil with a circled 3, and in the box above that, 1 UP. He bags and labels it.

Sharp joins Dr. Cochran as she records…“the left breast is found on the carpeted floor in the living room. It is expertly excised, areola up, nipple excised and absent. Tissue shows some discoloration but is otherwise normal.” She moves to the other breast, simultaneously nodding to Sharp and motioning to objects lying by the open French doors.

Sharp finds a golf tee and a 3 iron golf club. He is examining the golf tee as Dr. Cochran places the second breast in a bag and hands it to a tech to mark and pack. “What do you have there?” she says.

“It’s a golf tee, one of the types that advertisers use. It’s etched with ‘Your Kia Dealer, Carlsbad, CA.’ It was probably given away at the tournament.” He tosses it into an evidence bag.

“What about the golf club?” asks Cochran.

“It’s a 3 iron, probably belongs to the victim.”

Cochran gives it a cursory glance. “Better take it too.” She moves to the torso and begins speaking into her microphone. After recording the location, she says, “The breast cavities are filled with what appears to be sugar; there is some tinting of the granules by the body fluids and blood.” She pauses and motions to Howard. “Detective, bag the trash, every bit of it. Do you see sugar or a sugar sack in the trash?”

Howard opens the trash lid. “Yes,” as he holds it up for her to see.

“Please bag the entire contents of the trashcan and any and all wastebaskets in the apartment. Then check to see if there is any sugar in the house. We want to know if the killer found it here or brought his own.” She turns back to the torso and continues recording. “The abdominal area is colored green in a contoured shape; lab analysis will identify the substance. The navel is pierced with a cylindrical wooden shaft approximately three sixteenths of an inch in diameter and six inches in height from the navel. A flag or pennant with the numeral 1 is on the upper part of the shaft.”

A small amount of fluid seeps out of the opening as she removes the shaft.

“The shaft has penetrated the abdominal cavity several inches.” She motions to a forensic tech who takes the flag. “The entire torso appears to mimic a golf course green. The removal of the appendages is of clinical proficiency. All of the cuts are as horizontal as possible, allowing them to hold the granules. The cavities where the legs and arms have been removed are also filled with a sugar-like substance. No! This is not sugar, it is not refined enough; it is white, but more the consistency of powder, perhaps laundry detergent.”

She instructs the tech to collect the material from each opening and bag it separately. “The torso is discolored and further analysis will be determined at autopsy.” She stands and tells the techs to bag the torso and asks the photographer to take pictures of the carpet after the body has been removed. She comments to Detective Sharp, “The person who did this is very adept with a knife; if you haven’t bagged all the knives in the apartment, please do so now. Where’s the rest of the body?”

Howard points down the hall. “The arms and legs are in the bathroom. First door on the right.”

The doctor disappears down the hallway but returns in only a few minutes. “There’s nothing particularly interesting in the bathroom. Bag the arms and legs, photograph the tub and get some samples of any dried blood, even if it is diluted. I want whatever is in the drains bagged also. In fact, I want the contents of all the drains, and I want the garbage disposal.” She surveys the room. “Did anyone find the nipples? Examine everywhere and in everything, don’t assume they are not here. Anything that seems out of place, bag it, anything! Since this crime appears to be golf related, we should collect all golf equipment and clothing. Have you found her handbag? Has everything been printed?”

The tech who had been processing prints nodded affirmatively.

“Can anyone think of anything else? What about you, Detectives, do you have all you need?”

“We need your autopsy as soon as we can get it,” says Sharp.

“Tomorrow,” answers Dr. Cochran as she pulls off her gloves. She glances at the photographer. “Did you get everything I asked for? I need the pictures first thing tomorrow.”

The body bag is sitting on a gurney in the foyer. The techs from the bathroom add the final appendage and zip it shut.

“Is everyone finished? Good, let’s seal the place up,” says Dr. Cochran.

The photographer and the detectives help carry the evidence cases. They and the doctor wait as the techs carefully move outside and descend with the gurney. The doctor exits, then Detective Howard. Detective Sharp snaps off the lights, moves to the door and sets the case he was carrying on the landing. Using the key Sarah McClane left, he locks the door and bags the key. He removes a card from his notebook, adds the date and his signature, pulls off the back cover and sticks the card to the door.

In large black letters, it reads: PHOENIX POLICE DEPARTMENT CRIME SCENE KEEP OUT. The information for contacting the department is on the front of the card.

Nancy Cochran is directing the techs to load the body and equipment then begin a search and examination for evidence in the nearest dumpsters. She bids good night to the detectives with a promise to contact them as soon as she finishes the autopsy.

Sharp lights a cigarette, turns to his partner and the officers and says, “Let’s start canvassing the complex, see if someone saw anything or anyone.” As he and Howard pair off, he says, “Drop me off at Chico’s when we’re done here and I’ll walk home from there. Christ! I need a drink!”

East of San Diego, California, Tuesday, March 19

H
e is
trying to protect himself from the figure standing over him. The attacker is screaming at him and striking him with a club-like piece of wood. He tries to fight back but his own blows are powerless, landing with no impact. He tries to crawl away but the figure hovers over him like a dark cloud and moves in tandem with him. He holds his arms up to shield himself; the screaming voice is almost more painful than the blows to his body. He makes an effort to cry out…to tell the figure to stop, but he has no voice.

Suddenly, he hears a loud rumbling, is it a motor? His thoughts are interrupted…why is there a motor here?

He is having another nightmare. He sits up, trembling and frightened and finds that the sleeping bag is wet with sweat. He shakes off the remnants of the nightmare and after a few moments, feels composed enough to slip out of the sleeping bag.

The terror of the dream still fills his being and he nervously dresses. He moves to the tent flap and unzips it just enough to peer out and discover the source of the sound that has disrupted his nightmare.

A dented and rusty pickup truck with a mismatched camper shell is idling in the roadway. It is sputtering and emitting a horrid smell. The windows are grimy but not so obscure that he cannot see the occupants. They appear to be close to his age, both unshaven with long hair. They are smoking, talking and pointing at his vehicle.

He kneels at the open tent flap and becomes increasingly agitated. He really despises unkempt people; he wants them gone. Then the truck moves, almost as if he has willed them to leave. The passenger is looking over his shoulder, gesturing and sniggering. He wishes he knew what they are saying. They stop again about three campsites past his. They back into the space. He can’t quite see them, but he hears the engine stop and is jolted by the slamming of the truck doors.

He rolls up the sleeping bag into a tight cylinder and packs the rest of his belongings. He sets everything by the door of the tent. He unzips the flap and with keys in hand quickly walks to his vehicle and opens the liftgate. He returns to the tent, notices it is wet and soiled with dirt. He cannot put the tent in his vehicle in that condition. He hesitates a moment, gathers his personal belongings, spins around and heads back to the car and closes the back end.

He opens the driver’s door. One of the men stands near the front of the pickup; he is certain the man is gawking at him. He steps in the car, quietly closes the door, pushes the lock button; he sets the duffel on the passenger seat and feels for the pistol underneath the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and shifts into gear. Normally he wouldn’t move without letting the engine warm for several minutes but his chest feels like something heavy is sitting on it; he is clammy and sweaty.

He pulls out and drives past the men, and as he exits the campground he keeps a watchful eye in the rearview mirror, his anxiety so great he is sure they are running after him. He runs a stop sign and heads for the freeway.

At the onramp to I-8 he can’t decide what to do next. He sits for a moment, gains his composure and finally merges onto the freeway toward San Diego. He is compelled to keep moving, to put some distance between himself and his fear. After a few miles his breathing is back to normal and the sweating and shaking subside. He will find a hotel and put his mind and belongings in order. He will get ice for the cooler and rest.

His plan was to play golf this afternoon but experience tells him he will be exhausted and unable to play. Incidents of panic like this leave him limp and dysfunctional.