The Wife of a Lesser Man (LA Cops Series Book 1) (12 page)

“The neighbours say her name is Jacqueline.  She’s a social worker, quiet, boyfriend but no husband, lived here about three years, no kids that anyone’s seen, no troubles reported.  Clean, easy going, nice girl.” 

Mark nodded.  “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“Nobody knows.  He comes and goes apparently.  Drives a fancy car.”

“What a waste.  She can’t be more than forty-forty five.  Gorgeous.”  Richard commented shaking his head in distaste.

“Any shell casings?” 

“Rodrigues looked but couldn’t find any.  We’ll see if Charlie’s crew has better luck.”

“Anything else?”  Mark asked, scratching his head.

“Yeah.  Take a look at this,” Richard said, kneeling down again.

He took Jacqueline’s left hand in his gloved hand and turned it so the inside of her wrist faced them.  Mark looked and shook his head. 

“All too familiar.”  He commented.  There was a mark on her wrist identical to the one that he had seen on Karen Reed.

…

Charlie sat on the floor in the master bedroom with his legs folded under him.  His crew had been there for hours collecting evidence.  It was nearly 9:00 a.m.  As he picked up each evidence bag, he would inspect it and sign off on the front of the bag before placing it in the box to be shipped back to the station for testing.  He knew he couldn’t let Mark down this time since this case would be handled predominately by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, given that it was now considered a serial murderer committing these crimes. 

The evidence bags were small, like little sugar packets, only plastic and re-sealable.  He came across a bag that contained a small sample of the victim’s hair, most likely taken from a bathroom hairbrush.  As he looked at it, he was reminded of his wife, who had just lost all her hair from chemotherapy.  The victim’s hair was deep red, just like Madeline’s.  A chill went up his spine as he examined it.  Some of it was in a clump, while a small tuft of it lay in a swirl.  The ‘C’ shape indicated the victim had somewhat curly hair, again like Madeline’s.  Charlie fought the urge to open it and run his finger along it.  It would be a long time before he felt his wife’s silky hair again, he thought.

He remembered the day Madeline began losing her hair.  It was Charlie’s day off and he was helping her out of the tub.  Her body was so weak she had trouble.  She had refused to wash her hair, fearing the agitation would trigger shedding.  Madeline had always been a woman of respectable vanity, looking her best whenever possible in sensible attire and grooming.  Her hair didn’t require much maintenance and therefore a simple brushing with powder spray would suffice.  As Charlie helped her apply the spray to the back of her head, he used quick, gentle motions.  He watched her grimace.  She knew any day she would feel the cold spray directly on her scalp, and would watch her hair fall to the floor.

As he looked at the tiny plastic bag containing Jacqueline’s hair he was reminded of that day not so long ago.  Doctor’s said Madeline’s hair would grow back soon and that the chemotherapy seemed to be working.  Only time would tell.  Charlie was thankful she was well enough to be home; only having to visit the hospital for her treatment, but the whole experience still took its toll.  Even with Mark’s knowledge of Madeline’s illness, it still didn’t sit well with Charlie.  His rapport with the station and with the community was impeccable.  He had a reputation to uphold and was uncomfortable with making excuses for himself.  His love for Madeline ran deep.  He never loved anyone more in his life.  He also loved his job.  Charlie had trouble finding the right balance under the circumstances.  The guilt he felt was eating at him constantly.

Charlie dated the evidence bag incorrectly and unconsciously chided himself by biting down hard on his lower lip.  The pain caused his eyes to water.  His vision blurred slightly and as he re-entered the wrong date again he threw the sharpie marker across the room.  Just as he did that, Mark and Richard were walking toward the bedroom.  They both saw what happened and Mark blocked Richard with his arm, indicating he would deal with it.  Richard nodded and went into the bedroom beside them.

“Hey,” Mark said, nodding towards Charlie.  He waited for eye contact before continuing.  Charlie didn’t look up.  Instead he looked off to the side.  Mark kneeled down beside him.  “You need any help?”  He asked, noticing the scratched out date on the evidence bag.

“I’m not good with dates either,” he said.  “I’d forget my own birthday if it weren’t for my wife.”  Mark chuckled and then caught himself. 
Damn! 
He thought; remembering what Charlie was going through with Madeline.  He turned his head and blinked like he had something in his eye.

“It’s okay,” Charlie said, recognizing Mark’s admonition.  “You don’t have to feel bad for mentioning Shelley.”  His voice cracked when he said her name.  Mark looked over at Charlie.  “Are you okay?”  Charlie looked down but nodded, Mark hesitated.  “How is Madeline?”  

Charlie’s focus went to the evidence bag he was still holding.  He unconsciously rubbed it with his gloved hand.  “She lost all her hair.” 

Mark wasn’t sure how to respond.  “It’s just hair,” he said.  “It’ll grow back.” 

Charlie swallowed and took a breath, almost choking.  A tear fell down his cheek.  He sniffled and drew in a big breath of air, trying to stave off more tears. 

“Hey, you could loan her some of yours you know.”  Mark said matter-of-factly.  Charlie looked at him as if to say ‘what are you talking about?’  Since Charlie kept his hair in a very short crew cut.

“But we’ll have to shave your back first.”  Mark smiled and to Charlie it was infectious.

Mark stood up and retrieved the sharpie marker off the floor and offered it to Charlie.  “You want to have another go at it?”  Charlie took the pen out of Mark’s hand and said, “Thanks.  You’re a good friend.”

…

Shelley awoke with a pounding headache.  She hadn’t felt that miserable in a long time.  Some of the tendons in her legs gave her a vague reminder that she needed to go to Yoga more often.  Last night was the first night in a couple weeks since she went.  As she rubbed her leg she promised herself to wash and re-pack her things so she could head back tonight.  From Mark’s phone conversation she’d overheard earlier, she guessed he would be putting in some hard time, so she wouldn’t need to check with him first.

Piles of toilet paper rolls and assorted paper products greeted her as she entered the bathroom.  With a slight groan she bent down to pick them up and placed them back in the cupboard.  The band aid she placed on her toe the previous night had stuck to the bathmat.  As she tried to get up from her crouched position she let out a gasp of pain. 

“Goddammit!!” She yelled.  Her hands found the counter and she inched herself up, already weary and the day hadn’t started yet.  Her sullen face stared back at her in the mirror.  She was reaching the age when forgetting to put on her night cream was very obvious by morning, especially after a night of drinking and sex.  As she inspected the dark circles under her eyes, Shelley scoffed at herself.  “What sex?”  She asked her reflection.  Then as she gave herself a dismissive wave in the mirror, she heard the phone ring.  “Oh what
now
?”  she said as she stomped into the bedroom, snatching up the phone without bothering to check the caller ID.

“Hello?”  she answered coldly.

“Well well well…..”  Sarah said as if to say ‘I told you so.’

Shelley sighed, “
Yes
I have a headache,
no
I’m not skipping work and I love you but I’m really
not
in the mood right now.” 

Sarah paused.  “Hey, take it easy there tiger. I was just calling to tell you my legs ached and I hoped yours did too.  But thanks for asking.” 

Shelley scratched her head.  “Well, the only way to get past it is to hop back on the horse.  I’m going tonight, you wanna join me again?  I promise I’ll behave.”

“Oh no.  I’m not into it hard core yet love.  Besides, hobbling is not very sexy and if Michael’s there, well…..” 

“Oh come on.  Don’t be a baby. You’ll be fine by tonight.”  Shelley persisted.

“I tell you what.  I’ll see how my day goes, fair?” 

“Alright, fair enough.  I gotta go, my bladder’s about to explode and I’m late.”  Shelley said, remembering she had a 9:00 am meeting at the school and it was already 8:05am. 

“Sure, hey, how did it go last night?” 

“I think my mood should tell the tale.”

“Oh….Shit…Sorry.  Do you want to talk about it?”  Sarah asked.

“It’s too early to drink.” 

…

Richard broke into Mark’s office, breathless.  “Hey…buddy…conference room in two…”  Mark nodded and peeked over to see if Lisa was at her desk.  She was gathering files and motioned for Mark to hurry. 

As he approached her and took some of the files out of her hand she said, “The media circus is here.  Larger than with Reed.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ve got everything under control.  I didn’t see Lipkus.” Sergeant Lipkus of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or F.B.I., one of Mark’s superiors, would be working in conjunction with Mark and his crew now that it was a suspected serial killer they were dealing with. 

“He should be here any minute, his secretary LouAnn called like twenty minutes ago saying he was on his way,” Lisa said.

“I suppose after today we’ll be graced with his cell number,” Mark said facetiously.  Lisa rolled her eyes in agreement.

Richard held the door open for Mark and Lisa as hundreds of members of the media took their seats.  The room looked much different than it had during Mark’s surprise welcome back party.  There were about fifty wooden school type chairs arranged in a diamond like pattern in the centre.  At the front were two large wooden tables arranged side by side lengthways, covered with a thick blue polyester tablecloth which puddled on to the floor below.  The table was lined with five microphones evenly spaced apart.  Andy sat at one and Richard was beside him.  Charlie was at the opposite end and Mark assumed the remaining two centre microphones were for him and Sergeant Lipkus.

All the members of the media sat patiently, some fiddling with their cameras, others reviewing their rehearsed questions which they had written down on clipboards placed on their laps.  A couple of the major television stations had a crew of cameramen with them.  Those were easy to decipher since the reporters could be found touching up their makeup or straightening their ties.  Everybody had been cautioned to remain seated until the Chief gave the nod for the questions to begin.  If any member got out of hand, Constable Nelson, Noonan or Hobbs were right there to escort them out.  Nelson stood erect like the other two officers.  It was easy to tell it was him based on the obvious tremor in his leg.

Mark took his seat beside Charlie and saluted his coworkers.  Lisa passed him all the files and sat off to the side.  While they waited for Lipkus to arrive, Mark browsed the files in front of him.  His eyes were so dry from lack of sleep that he almost couldn’t read the print.  None of his crew, himself included, had slept since Jacqueline Kent was murdered less than twenty four hours ago. 

The door opened and Lipkus sauntered in like he was the guest star attending a movie opening and he was up for an Oscar.  Mark took notice of his stature and stole a quick glance at Lisa.  She wore the same look of disgust on her face as he did.  Lisa’s eyes met Mark’s and they both exchanged a knowing look.

Lipkus took his seat next to Mark without cordially saluting the other officers present, who were standing out of respect for him.  He didn’t even look Lisa’s way which she thought was so arrogant considering all the information she’d forwarded to him without thanks.  Mark stood and offered his hand and Lipkus gave him a quick pump and said coolly, “Are we ready to start?”  Mark nodded and gave Lisa an assuring nod.  She rose and walked to the podium behind them.

“This meeting is about to begin.  Raise your hand and wait to be called.  One question at a time please, and keep your questions brief.  Thank you.”  Lisa remained standing.  All the media stood simultaneously and the noise sounded like a thunderous cloud had just clapped. 

“You sir in front with the blue shirt,” Lisa pointed.

The reporter briefly bowed a thank you to her and asked, “Chief Tame, can you tell us if you have in fact concluded that this is a serial killer?”  He stood with his pen in hand like he was going to take Mark’s dinner order.  His cell phone lay on his chair and Lisa suspected he had it set to record sound.  The lapel pin on his jacket had lettering which indicated he was from a radio station.

Mark responded, “We have not come to any conclusions at this time.  However, we suspect it is serial based on the nature of the scene.” 

There was a rustle amongst the crowd as everyone raised their hands again.  Lisa selected from the second row this time.  The reporter had a camera man with her, who had the camera pointed towards the panel of speakers.  “Sir, can you tell me when you will make that determination?”

“Once the scene and evidence has been processed to our liking we will determine the likelihood of this being a serial incident.”  As Lipkus spoke, the reporter gave him a puzzled look.  She boldly interrupted his last word and asked.  “And are you from the FBI, sir?”  Lipkus was stung.  He cocked his head to the side and retorted, “I see you’re from WNYU.  What is your name?”  he demanded.