JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (20 page)

On hindsight, he probably shouldn't have said anything to Steve, but it was too late for that now. Most guys on the force would have quickly aborted a burgeoning relationship with a female newspaper reporter, but not Daryl; in the last four months he had become really attached to her. He had known that she was something special after their first date, and he had to resist the urge to rush into the relationship. After a few weeks of casually seeing each other, they had talked about the future of their relationship one night in December. Rachael had wanted to take things slow, too, and Daryl couldn't have agreed more. When Daryl had asked Rachael if she thought they might have a future together she had smiled. “I think so. I really like you, Daryl. A lot. But ... my heart's been broken before. I have a feeling yours has, too. Let's continue to see each other, but take it slow. Okay?"

How she had sensed that he had been hurt by past loves was something that Daryl found remarkable. It was evidence of Rachael Pearce's ability to observe other people, listen carefully to what they said, analyze them, and come to logical conclusions. It was then that he had told her about his first marriage and how it had ended. She had listened sympathetically, and while he had wanted to tell her more, specifically about Shirley, he didn't feel that had been the right time. Rachael hadn't pressed the issue, and Daryl was thankful for it.

But when Daryl tried learning a little bit more about Rachael's past—specifically her childhood, since they had practically grown up within the same general area—she had given him only a general background. “There's not really much to tell,” she had said one morning at a coffee shop in Pasadena. She had spent the night at his house, and they had walked to Peet's Coffee on Lake and California and were enjoying an early morning stroll and had decided to stop for a morning coffee. “I never knew who my real parents were; I was given up at birth and placed in foster care. I was shuttled to different foster homes throughout my childhood and never really grew close to any of my foster parents. Other than that, I did things normal kids did. I lived in a middle-class neighborhood and had a middle-class lifestyle like everybody else in that area. Besides, I don't like to live in the past; I live in the present. I guess that's where my independent streak comes from. I've always felt that I was on my own, that I've always had to take care of myself, that I could never rely on family for help because I felt that I never really had a family."

It was a stunning confession, but it wasn't too surprising. Daryl found himself drawn to Rachael even more. She had come from a shattered past that he could relate to very much, and she had triumphed. That's one of the things Daryl liked about Rachael.

She was always looking forward: to the next story, the next feature, to what might be coming up on the wires. She had seen the potential for a book on the Butcher murder series and had started compiling notes. Rachael Pearce was looking ahead to the future while Daryl was still stuck in the past, clinging to a job he had sought out of frustration due to the murder of his first wife, a job he used to vent his frustration at the gang members that he hated and despised.

And as 1997 dawned Daryl realized one other thing: he was slowly falling in love with Rachael Pearce.

“Let's get back to the scene,” Daryl said, dismissing the thought from his mind.

Steve followed him, and as they headed back to the crime scene he knew that he was being scrutinized by his peers for his relationship with Rachael Pearce. He knew that seeing her was considered a big no-no, but he thought he had done pretty well in distancing his work from his personal life. He had already made it clear to Rachael that he wouldn't talk about the Butcher case to her and she hadn't pressed the issue. In fact, she had been a dream when it came to respecting his wishes of not talking about the case.

“This case is important to you and I don't want to jeopardize it by you divulging information,” she had said when he brought up the
hands off
policy in their relationship.

Daryl not only respected her a lot more as a journalist, it helped push him over the edge of liking the hell out of her, to possibly falling in love with her.

But business was business, and ever since he had spilled the beans about the relationship to Steve Howe, he had kept silent on the issue. He didn't talk about his weekends anymore, nor did he care to talk about Rachael when she was brought up in conversation. He wanted to keep his private life separate from his professional life, and his reluctance to divulge some of his dirty laundry had earned him some behind-the-back snickers from his colleagues. He knew they talked about him when he wasn't around but he didn't care. Fuck ‘em.

Quickly shifting his mental gears from his personal life to his professional one, Daryl got back into the business of overseeing the preliminary investigation into the discovery of the partial remains of what he felt was the latest victim of the Eastside Butcher.

Some dopey variety show was on MTV as they sat up in her big queen size bed, but Daryl wasn't paying much attention to it. He was reading the Metro section of the
Los
Angeles Times
, which had devoted a tiny portion of page three to the latest victim. The paper reported what he already knew: the remains had been that of Chrissy Melendez, a sixteen-year-old known prostitute and associate of the Devil's Army, a biker gang. She had been reported missing around February 13 by her parents.

Daryl closed the paper and turned to Rachael, who was leaning back against a mountain of pillows looking at the program with a hint of disdain on her pretty features.

The show was a cross between the Dating Game and the Tonight Show, and its cast and host were all under twenty-five. What the hell was wrong with MTV nowadays? Did kids really like watching this shit?

“Crap,” Rachael said, flipping the channel to VH-1. David Bowie was gyrating in a leisure suit to “Cracked Actor."

“At least this is better,” Daryl said.

“I love David Bowie,” Rachael said, setting the remote down in her lap to watch it.

“More than you love me?"

Rachael giggled and kissed him.

It was Friday evening and he had gone to her place immediately after getting off of work. They had gone out for dinner at a Chinese restaurant they had discovered a month ago, and afterward gone straight to her place. Once there, they had changed to swimming trunks for him and a bikini for her, and gone to the complex's sauna to bask in steam for a good thirty minutes. The sauna had relaxed him, taking out all the frustration that had been building up. They had gone back to her condo, showered together, then made love. Now between brief interludes of foreplay they were watching whatever was on the tube and making conversation. Winding down from their busy week.

“Did you still want to go up to Big Bear next weekend?” he asked. He had a friend from high school whose family owned a cabin in the mountain retreat who often let Daryl borrow it for a weekend whenever the mood struck, provided it wasn't occupied.

Next weekend it was free and clear.

“I'd like that.” Rachael said.

“Good.” Daryl said.

Daryl had been turning over the idea of talking to Rachael about the case this past week. While their relationship had started off slowly, it had blossomed into something really nice, so nice that Daryl began to think of Rachael as somebody he could confide in and trust with anything. She was certainly doing her best in being open and honest with him in everything, from telling him her story about her marriage and her slow rise through the journalistic ranks of the
LA Times
, to the various anecdotes of her week. She finally revealed a little slice-of-life picture of herself during her formative years growing up. She admitted that in high school she had been pretty much a ‘nobody'. Despite a short stint as a Girl Scout, and some extra-curricular activities she had volunteered in, she hadn't been that outgoing or popular in school. She must have been painfully shy as a child and teenager and was just now starting to blossom as an adult. Sometimes that happened.

He tried being honest with her about his life as well, but some parts were just too tough, the Butcher Case notwithstanding. There was still the issue of his first wife Shirley to deal with. He wanted to tell her about that, but he couldn't right now. He had the feeling that if he did, the same old problems would creep up again, affecting his relationship with Rachael and she would leave him just like all the other women had. He
had
told her about his second marriage to Diane, just enough to satisfy her curiosity, but not enough to get into the nitty gritty. And she hadn't dug too deep either, which was how he liked it.

But he
wanted
to tell her all this stuff, wanted to bare his soul, wanted her to know him completely. The only problem was that he didn't know how.

The Butcher case might be the first step down that long, rocky road. If he could tell her about the case, his frustrations dealing with it, the daily anecdotes that involved his day, which always involved the Butcher case, then he could feel more at ease with opening up to her. Because he would have to tell her all this stuff on the condition that she not use any of the information he told her for any newspaper piece. He felt that if he asked her this that she would be agreeable to it; after all, she had agreed that they not even talk about the case and that had been fine up till now. Daryl wanted to talk about the case now; he just didn't want her to construe their private conversations as
carte blanche
material for something she could write about.

“Rachael, can I ask you something?"

“Sure, love,” Rachael murmured.

He asked her. It was awkward, but he spit it out. And while his stomach was fluttering with butterflies as he asked her, afraid that she would be mad at him, she hadn't been in the least bit. She had been more than agreeable. “Oh, Daryl, of course! I can never do that to you! Never! It's against my ethics as a journalist to write about something that I know is off the record. And besides,” she added, turning his face towards hers with her fingers. “I not only respect the hell out of you, but I am crazy about you and don't want to do something that would hurt you."

Heart swelling, Daryl took her into his arms and kissed her.

They remained in each other's embrace for a moment. Then, Rachael got out of bed. “Want a drink?"

“Yeah. I could use a beer."

“Me, too. Be right back."

He watched as she strode naked out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen.

When she came back with two bottles of Corona he started telling her about his latest frustrations with the Butcher case. Rachael remained silent, listening to the story, letting him vent. It was just what Daryl felt he needed. Somebody to talk to, somebody who would listen.

Chrissy Melendez had been positively identified seven days ago, but the coroner hadn't released the information to the press until yesterday. The identification was pretty positive, despite the fact that all that they were able to find was the lower portion of the torso at Newport Beach. The Butcher Task force, in conjunction with the Newport Beach P.D. and the Orange County Sheriff, had combed the beach from Long Beach to San Diego to find the rest of the murdered girl, but no trace of her was found. Daryl and Steve, along with five other investigators had searched the area along the beach, as well as a canal in Long Beach that fed into the ocean. Daryl had even crawled through a small portion of the canal that Steve had been unable to venture into—Steve was extremely claustrophobic—and while the adventure had left Daryl muddy and scratched up, it hadn't turned up any further clues.

Likewise, his investigation into the whereabouts of Chrissy Melendez prior to her disappearance had run into a dead end. He had questioned the parents of the girl, who pointed the finger at the girl's boyfriend, twenty-year-old Rick Medina, a known drug dealer and Devil's Army Motorcycle gang member. Rick, they said, had a history of violence against Chrissy; he had something to do with her death. But Rick's story had checked out. He had an airtight alibi. Daryl and Steve had not only questioned the gang associates Rick had hung out with that day in Hollywood, but they had also interviewed the merchants at various shops they had visited on Hollywood Boulevard, all who vouched that Rick had been on Hollywood Boulevard the night Chrissy disappeared.

They had paid a visit to Maria Chavez, who ran the escort service, and despite the fact that Hollywood Vice had busted her and her girls on various prostitution charges, Maria had been more than willing to cooperate. She had provided Daryl and Steve with a list of the clients that had visited her escort service that day and they had interviewed all of them. They had even managed to question the first out-call client Chrissy had visited, but gained no further clues as to where she was going after she finished with him. All they heard was the same story: she had taken a phone call at the massage parlor of a customer requesting out-call service and Chrissy had not only volunteered to do the job, she had taken the address with her when she left. Phone records had failed to pinpoint where the call had been made from.

They got a break three days ago when Rick's car was found in San Pedro, near the shipping docks. Rick told investigating officers that he had given Chrissy his car for the day while he'd hung out with friends that day in Hollywood. It had been found parked in an alley nestled between two garbage cans, and judging from the evidence it had most likely been dropped off there not long after Chrissy disappeared. The coroner was certain that Chrissy had been killed the night she disappeared and dumped in the canal the following night after dismemberment. If that was the case, was it possible that her killer transported her remains in her boyfriend's car and that after disposing of her the killer had disposed of the car as well? It seemed likely. Working within that twenty-four hour period, the killer would know that there wouldn't be that big an effort yet in attempting to find her, but he was still taking an incredible risk in driving the car. For all he knew, the car could have been stolen. It demonstrated many things about the killer's psyche, which was beginning to intrigue Daryl.