Naked Dragon (3 page)

Dave exchanged looks with another black officer, Ken Williams, and shook his head, as if saying the description wasn't much to go on.

"We're stepping up patrols in the area. Several ACT

officers will be riding in plain clothes and stopping and chatting with young men out on the street," she said, "We'll just have to wait and see if we get any forensics off the crime scenes. Any questions?"

Ken raised his hand and was acknowledged. "You want us to stop vehicles with men meeting that description?"

Officer Wayne Sanchez replied, laughing, "That's every other car."

Dave laughed, agreeing, as did the other twenty or so officers in the room.

"No," the lieutenant replied, "Not unless there is a reason to stop them. No random stops."

After a few other questions were asked that led to nothing more than time wasting, the roll call was ended and they grabbed their gear and headed to the parking lot to get into their assigned cars.

Feeling someone brush past him, Dave tilted his head at Ken's smile. "Growing a mustache? Or just finish a glass of chocolate milk?"

"Funny." Dave grinned.

"Didn't you have one when you first joined?"

"Yeah. I don't know why I shaved it." He rubbed under his nose again, touching the stubble. "It'll take forever."

"Naa, I give it a couple of weeks."

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Naked Dragon

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Dave nodded good-bye as he opened his patrol car up and loaded it with his things. Next he checked the trunk for his evidence equipment and a bio-hazard kit. The shotgun was loaded and ready. Hopping into the driver's seat, he logged into service, then went about his shift writing tickets and reports for false burglary home alarms and petty crimes.

At around seven p.m. he parked on a quiet side street in the International District looking around the area for anything unusual. It was still daylight and warm as the festivities for Seafair continued with parties and celebrations throughout the city. There were several groups of young Asian men hanging out on corners and near the restaurants that were overflowing with patrons. Just before he thought about pulling up to them and talking to them to see if they knew anything useful, the dispatcher's voice came over the air, and his words sent a chill up Dave's back as he once again called for his supervisor.

"...two-George."

"Two-George," the sergeant replied to his call sign.

"Meet two-George-three at the location on your screen."

Instantly Dave's computer started beeping and a call for service appeared on it. 'Suspicious Circumstances' and the address were typed across the page.

"You copy, two-George-three?" The dispatcher awaited Dave's acknowledgement.

Dave reached for the mike and replied, "Copy," sadly.

When he hung it back up he mumbled, "Shit, shit, shit..."

He was only a few blocks away. As he parked and told the dispatcher he was arriving and standing by, he wondered if 23

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the murderer could have walked right passed him or driven directly in front of his car, and he wouldn't have even known it.

"White male, thirty to fifty? Jesus, that's everyone around here!" he grumbled and began looking at the faces in the passing vehicles in earnest.

A patrol car pulled up and parked behind his. He climbed out and found his expression mirrored on Sgt. Wilson's face.

When Dave met him on the sidewalk in front of another apartment house, he said, "I don't believe this. Four killings in four nights? Sarge, this is insane!"

"I know, Dave. I know." Sgt. Wilson patted his back gently. "I think they should go public with it and ask the community for help. Keeping it secret is helping no one but the killer."

"Exactly!" Dave exclaimed in exasperation. "Talk to the captain about it, sarge. This is too many dead kids."

"All right ... let's just get this over with." As he walked up to buzz the manager, he smiled and looked back over his shoulder, saying, "I never did know why you shaved it off. A mustache suits you."

Laughing, Dave touched under his nose and said, "I know.

I could kick myself for shaving it."

"It'll grow, don't worry." He turned back to the intercom and shouted, "Seattle Police!" into it.

An elderly Asian woman soon appeared, opened the door for them and waved for them to follow her.

They climbed up a narrow staircase in another decrepit apartment building. As he maneuvered in the claustrophobic 24

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space Dave knew the coroner would have a tough time getting his gurney up the cramped passage, and then down again with a dead body strapped to it.

"Why do they all stink?" Dave whispered to Sgt. Wilson.

"Hot summers make it worse," Sgt. Wilson replied quietly.

She pointed to a door with the blood drop on it and wouldn't even use the key herself. She handed it to the big black man with the three chevrons on his sleeve and he pushed in the key and opened it, then he handed her the key and thanked her.

After she bowed her head, she seemed to run away, not wanting anything to do with the contents of the tiny apartment.

"Déjà vu..." Sgt. Wilson sighed. "Ready, Dave?"

"Yeah. Christ, I'm getting used to it."

"I never get used to it. It always shocks me." Sgt. Wilson had his hand on the door knob, then shoved it back. Carnage once again filled their senses.

"Jesus!" Dave took a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and snapped them on as his sergeant did the same. "I lied. I'm not used to it. Am I nuts or are these getting worse and worse?"

"You're not nuts." With his hand resting on the handle of his holstered Glock, Sgt. Wilson entered the latest nightmare of a crime scene. Very gingerly he stepped around the sparse furnishings and blood spatter to the bedroom. Once they could tell no one alive was left in the apartment, he took out his mobile phone and dialed homicide. "Tell radio we're under control."

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Dave nodded and clicked his mike. "Two-George-three."

"Two-George-three."

"Under control, radio."

"Copy. Two-George-three is under control."

As his sergeant relayed to the homicide detectives the latest massacre, Dave had a careful look around. This time the body was so mutilated he couldn't make out the facial features. Sickened by the sight and the growing scent of decay, he began making his way out to guard the scene. On the wall by the door they had entered through was the word
Dragon
smeared in blood. "Getting bolder I see. Leaving clues for us?" Dave whispered to himself.

After Sgt. Wilson hung up from his call, Dave waved him over. "Look."

"That's new. He never left us any clues before."

"He's getting brazen. Four dead and we're no closer to figuring out who he is."

"He must leave here bloody. You can't do this to someone and not get covered with it." Sgt. Wilson leaned closer to inspect the word. "What the hell?"

"What?" Dave shivered and moved behind him.

"I may be wrong, but, isn't that a penis?"

"Oh, no ... please don't say that."

"He used it like a fucking pen."

Dave covered his mouth and moved to the door. Once he was standing in the hall he tried to swallow the bile in his throat. He snapped off the rubber gloves and crushed them in his palm.

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A moment later the sergeant came out and stood near him. "You need some air?"

"No. I'm okay."
You're a big tough cop! Stop shaking at
the knees!

"We have to get this fucker. He's sick. He's really sick."

"Please convince the captain to put out some information on this guy."

"It's not up to him. The FBI is taking control of it."

"That is such bullshit. The young guys out there need to know!"

The sergeant looked around the hall first, then moved closer to whisper, "I'll tell ya something, but it goes no further."

Dave nodded.

"You know when the Green River killer was at it he did mostly prostitutes, right?"

"Yeah." Dave tried to get the connection.

"Well, word is that these are also prostitutes. These young kids. This guy picks them up off the street. So, the FBI don't think the general public should be alarmed for no reason. This jerk seems to be killing off street kids, homeless boys who get money for sex."

That boiled Dave's blood. "So, just because these boys are on the street they don't rate as human beings? Come on, sarge."

"I'm not making the rules, Dave. But, the whole homo-thing makes everyone nervous."

A cold chill washed over Dave's spine. 'Homo-thing'? He expected better from his own sergeant. They were black.

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They knew what it felt like to be a minority. He shut his mouth. Last thing he wanted was to be labeled a 'homo-thing'.

"Right. You stay here and guard the door. I'll let the detectives in when they come."

Dave nodded, biting his lip in frustration. As the sergeant left, Dave listened to his boot heels echoing down the stair, then it was silent except for the sound of running water and a radio playing somewhere far off in the building.

What chance did these kids have? Homeless, minorities, and gay. Dave rubbed his face as he wondered.

Within the hour the men in white bio-hazard suits were climbing the narrow stair.

"We meet again," one of the detectives joked.

Dave tried to smile. "Yeah. Ah, you guys have any suspects?"

"Not yet. It's too soon. We're waiting for some things to come back from the lab."

Nodding, Dave stepped back to allow them inside the chaos. Immediately he heard them comment on it. "Jesus Christ ... what a mess."

Shivering as the image of the bloody word and its writing tool came to mind, he was preoccupied when a man in a suit approached him.

"Wipe it from your mind. He was already dead when it happened."

Raising his head quickly, Dave found Robbie standing there smiling sweetly at him.

"Jesus! You're good!" Dave laughed uneasily.

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"We have to stop meeting like this," Robbie teased.

The two other men in suits appeared. They were the same agents as the night before. Dave barely acknowledged them and they didn't pay him any attention either as they peered into the crime scene while the detectives and lab men were busy working.

"Uh ... I should let you get on with your work." Dave cleared his throat and backed up to give him space. When he looked up, Robbie was staring boldly at him again. Why did he always feel naked around him? Then, in his mind, he thought,
Fine! If you can read my thoughts, read this!
and concentrated hard on one thing,
Call me! Go out with me
!

A wicked smile appeared on Robbie's lips. First he looked to see where the other agents were, then he whispered close to Dave's ear. "Wait downstairs by the entrance. I'll be there in a minute."

With his mouth hanging open, Dave nodded and then met his sergeant who was coming up the stairs with the coroner.

"Oh. Dave ... do the same thing on this report. Go find the landlady and get any info on him if you can."

"Right." He hurried down the flight of stairs and knocked on her door. It took a while but it opened. "Hi. Do you have any information on the boy who was renting that apartment?"

"He no rent. He break in. No one in that unit. That why I check it. I check it and see lock broken. Then I look in and see blood."

"Right. So, no one was renting it?"

"No, no rent."

"Did you see him come in with another man?"

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"Yes. I saw two men come in."

Dave felt his skin prickle. "When?" He took out his pad.

"Uh, about five-five thirty. I think they go visit friend in building. They were buzzed in. I no take no notice."

"What did the other man look like?"

"White. White man."

"White? Tell me about him. How old was he?" Dave's heart was pounding.

"Uh ... I dunno. Uh. Maybe forty? I dunno."

"Height? Weight?"

"Skinny ... skinny ... no tall."

Dave stood straight. "Show me. How tall on me?"

She pointed to his shoulder.

"Very small then?" he asked.

"Very small."

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"I dunno. No. I dunno. Maybe. Funny looking. Funny looking man. Have dark hair, I think..."

"Dark hair? Any facial hair?" He pointed to his immature mustache.

"No. No face hair."

"How about his clothing?"

"Heavy clothing. I thought strange because it so hot. Too much clothing."

Dave wrote it down as she described it to him. Nodding, he scribbled it down quickly. Once he verified all her information, he said, "Wait here. Don't go anywhere. I'm going to send someone here to talk to you. Please. Don't go anywhere."

She nodded.

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"Oh. Did you see this guy leave?"

"No. No see leave."

"Any car associated with him?"

"Ah ... they come out of white car? White? Something like that. It park right there. Where you park."

"Okay. Did you see what kind? Two door? Four door?"

"No. No see. Two maybe. I don't know cars..." she laughed nervously.

"You've been a big help. Stay here." He made it clear, then ran back up the stairs, panting in excitement. "Sarge! Sarge!"

Pausing in his conversation, Sgt Wilson turned back and asked, "You get something?"

"Yeah. The landlady saw the guy. She had a good description and she thought she may even be able to ID him."

"You're joking," Sgt. Wilson said.

"No. She said this was a vacant apartment. They must have broken in. She didn't know the kid's name. Here's the description. It matches the FBI profile." He rattled off the details as all the men in the room paused to listen.