Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (22 page)

June 15,
2007

Saturday

7:49 AM

28

Her mother waited downstairs. Jenn could hear her, pacing back and forth in the terracotta foyer. Her high heeled shoes were making that annoyingly irritating noise.
Clickety-clack, clickety-click
. Please Mother, not today. Now was not the time to get into another long, boring argument. She was already late for work and Mrs. Preston had told her if she was late, one more time, she’d have to start looking for another babysitting job. Mrs. Preston needed somebody more reliable, more responsible, to take care of her little Bernard. Imagine. Jenn hated the brat anyway. Why would anybody call a child Bernard?

She looked over the painted balustrade. Imported from Italy, of course. She could still see her Mother prance into view, turn, pivot, and walk back out again. Maybe Jenn could sneak by without her noticing. What time was it? Oh, sweet Jesus. She needed to go. She grabbed her favorite GAP sweater, the one she shoplifted on a double dare with her best friend Sabrina and ran down the stairs. Two at a time. Maybe if she was fast, her mother wouldn’t see her, let alone, stop her.

“Jenny?”

Too late.
Shit!
She stopped and turned ever so sweetly. “Yes, Mommy?”

“May I have a word with you before you go?”

“I’m already running late for work. Can’t we talk later, when I get home from school?”

“I’ll drive you to Mrs. Preston’s if you want. I think we should talk.”

“That’s all right.” Jenn glanced outside to avoid eye contact. “I prefer walking. What is it? Can we make this quick, please.” She grabbed her black suede backpack from off a foyer chair and flung it over her shoulder. “C’mon. I’m late.”

She walked toward Jenn. She had that concerned look on her face. Oh, God, what now? She rested her arm around Jenn’s shoulder, the scent of coffee strong on her breath. She must have just finished smoking a cigarette. The lingering smell hovered above her like stale perfume. It almost made Jenn want to quit.

“Jenny?”

“What?” Jenn rounded her shoulders, hoping her Mother would get the hint and remove her arm. “What’s the matter, now?”

“I just want you to know… that I know.”

Jenn looked puzzled.
What could she possibly know?
“What? You know what?”

“I know about…” she paused in that fake, overly dramatic way, like she was filming an afternoon soap opera or something. So corny. Jenn was losing patience. And fast.

“What? What? WHAT do you know? Tell me!”

“… about Phillip. I know he stays with you. I know he was here last night.”

Jenn turned sixteen shades of white, then green, then gray, hoping what just fell from her  Mother’s lips was some sort of parental joke, a dream, some horrible PTA nightmare.

She continued, “I want to make sure you’re using some sort of protection, that’s all.”

Jenn felt as if she might pass out, right here, on the spot. The only thing she could think of doing was to leave. Exit. Get the fuck away from her
Mother!

“Yes. I’m using protection.” She bolted for the door, pushed the screen so hard it bounced back against the side of the house with a twang.

Protection, she thought as she jumped the three cement steps, opened the trellised gate and took off running up East Bay Street.

Protection?

Well, to tell you the truth, Mother dear, it’s a little too late for protection. Your baby Jennifer has an appointment to go in for an abortion. Remember our little talk? Well, maybe you should have had that “little birds and the bees” talk two years ago when your Jenny first started playing with boys.

She could see it all, flashing before her. Forty years from now. When her Mother was an invalid and in some nursing home and her Daddy, a not-so-sweet memory. She’d be sitting beside her bedside confiding the entire horrible decadent deeds her only daughter had done. How she was the first girl in her class to lose her virginity. On a dare (of course). What else was new? To Jimmy Sanders, the Senior All Star football quarterback, who, on the way home from a football game, in the backseat of the bus, no less, decided to do his own private investigation. A winning season. Jenn said, “Deposit a quarter,” and he did. Oh, Mother, his dick was huge. And beautiful. Especially for her first time. She was as tight as a cherry. Bomb! Want to hear more? Mommy? Want to hear every itsy bitsy teeny weenie detail? Your little Jenny must have been all of what, thirteen?

Thanks for the concern, Mom, but you’re a tad bit late to start rapping about protection.

Silly cunt
!

She pulled a cigarette from the side compartment of her backpack and lit up. Camel Light. She checked her watch. After eight. Who cared? She was already late. She slowed down her pace, enjoying the morning, the fresh air, her freedom. She turned down Savage Street. It was quiet and peaceful. Not a soul in sight. So, she’d be a few minutes late. She sat down on the curb and took another deep drag off her cigarette. The cement felt cold and rough against her ass. She pulled her skirt down to cover her thighs. Burr… She folded her arms to conserve heat. It was chilly out. Her nipples were hard. She knew what she would do. She would tell Mrs. Preston she had to take her mother to North Charleston. To that free abortion clinic. That would stop the bitch dead in her tracks. That would shut the witch up.
Bernard!

Oh, well.

She stood up and brushed the dirt from off her rear end. She flicked her cigarette with one hand, something Philip had taught her. She watched as it spiraled into the gutter. Then, she crossed the street.

If she had one wish, it would be for her Mom and Dad to know her.
Really
know her. Know
who
she was, not the Jenny they needed her to be. She would really, really like to have cool parents. People she could actually talk with.

Up ahead, on the other side of the street, Jenn noticed another person stepping off the curb. He looked in each direction before crossing. His hand clenched the inside of his coat pocket. So, she wasn’t alone. Thank God. She often wondered what it would be like to pick up some stranger and just do them. In an alleyway or a public bathroom. Anywhere. Just do it! Go for it. The thought made her horny. It took her away for a second. She could escape the pain. The emotional anguish she felt so often.
Parents. Expectations. Performing!
She began fantasizing about the man approaching her. Hidden deep within the folds of his trench coat and white cotton boxer shorts, a one-eyed, cobra dick rested, preparing itself to strike.

Oh geez, Jenn. Get a grip!

Somehow, the whole scenario had a déjà vu feeling about it. Like she’d been here before. Maybe it was the raincoat he was wearing. Did Daddy have one like that? Or, the sunglasses? Large aviator frames that covered most of his face. He also wore a large ball cap. As Jenn inched closer, she could see her reflection in the glass, the faintest tint of pink. He was carrying a newspaper, held tight against his side. Kind of strange, but oh, so familiar.

Jenn smiled sweetly as she passed by. She flicked a wave of bouncy blond hair from off her shoulder, something her Mother had taught her to always do for strangers…

29

Stupid bitch!

draw

If anything is sacred…

The human body is sacred.”

‘I Sing the Body Electric’

~ Walt Whitman

8:47 AM

Saturday

30

“Hello?”

“May I please speak with Jennifer?”

“This is Mrs. Stattler, Jennifer’s Mother. May I help you?”

“We’ve been very patient with your daughter, Mrs. Stattler. Waiting for Jennifer to show up this morning, but…”

“For her babysitting job?”

“Yes, exactly. And it isn’t the…”

“Excuse me for interrupting, but Jennifer should be there by now. She left well over an hour ago…”

“Well…”

Mrs. Stattler hung up.

“Oh, dear God…”

Clickety-click on terra cotta.

8:49 AM

31

“It’s
important to focus on the crime scene analysis and victimology. Right away,” Wright said, as Dan led him to the front of the conference room. He carried a bulky manila folder with him and placed it onto the table.

“Coffee?” Dan asked. He didn’t want to appear overly enthusiastic, a fan, a brownnoser.

“That would be great. Black. Thank you.” Harry flung his gray suit jacket over the back of the chair and took a seat. He rolled the sleeves of his white button down shirt up to his elbows and glanced quickly at his watch. “I apologize for being late. As you know, we have our work cut out for us.” Wright opened the envelope, emptied the contents onto the table and started shuffling though papers.

Dan poured Wright a cup of coffee in the kitchenette. He allowed Wright to use one of his personal mugs.

“Why were these victims selected over others?” Wright’s voice had range. Tone. Projection. “How were they killed?” Dan could hear him from the kitchen.

Dan delivered the coffee and took a seat beside Police Chief Abrams. Fellow officers sat behind them in a clump, organized as the Mutilator Task Force. It reminded Dan of a twelve step meeting. Everybody sat quietly and stared and sipped from their paper cups, mesmerized and attentive.

“From these two questions, we can begin to address the ultimate question: Who? I made a few notes when I initially checked out the file, but, unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity to study much of it. So, please bear with me. Detective Hammer, is there a Coroner’s report with this paperwork?”

Pressure released with a squeak from Dan’s chair as he walked back to the desk and sifted through the paperwork. Harry looked up. His eyes were old and tired and red from no sleep. But fierce with defiance, a sense of purpose, focus.

“You
are
the homicide detective working this case, am I right?”

I am.” Suddenly Dan was back in boot camp. Orlando Florida. On the grinder. Early morning roll call standing at parade rest. Nerves on overload.

“Were you the first Detective at the scene?”

“Other officers arrived before me, Sir. Officer Evans. I think…he was the first one at the location.” He looked out over the crowd in Evans’s direction. Evans sat slumped back in his chair, biting down on a jelly donut. “Here’s his report. Right here, Sir.”

Wright glanced up from his paper. “You
think
?”

Evans straightened his posture. He smoothed down his hair.

“Was there a Medical Examiner?”

“Yes, Sir. Dr. Marjorie Dunlap was the Medical Examiner on duty that night.”

“She
is
a physician, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Sir, and an excellent Medical Examiner, too, I might add.”

“We’ll see about that. I’ve had situations where the Coroner is nothing more than the local funeral director. He checks the body, gives it a push and says, ‘Yep, that boy sure is dead.’”

Chief Abrams hearty laugh boomed from behind Dan. Other officers in the room followed the Chief’s lead. Cinderblock had an irritating way of echoing. Dan didn’t find the story amusing. He felt protective and defensive of Marjorie. “I don’t think, I mean, I know you’ll find Dr. Dunlap’s protocol on the money. She’s quite comprehensive.”

Wright continued rearranging papers. “Was the crime scene altered in any way by the investigation team?”

“Not that I know of, Sir.”

“Who found the body? Family?”

“The first girl, Angie Kessler, the one who survived the attack was found on Old Towne Road stumbling along the side. A pedestrian, George Madden, picked the girl up and transported her to the hospital.”

“Was he questioned?”

“Yes. It wasn’t until later that we found the remains of the second victim.”

“Were photographs taken?” He rustled through more papers. “I don’t see any crime scene photos. I’d like to see the remains.”

“Yes, Sir, photographs were taken.”
Wright must think we’re complete idiots
. Country bumpkins. “I’ll collect them when we finish up here. They’re probably still at the Lab.”

Wright held his chin with his index finger. His eyes squinted. Was Dan the only one here? In the room? Wright’s concentration was overwhelming. Intense.

“Was anything taken that you know of; underwear, jewelry, anything that belonged to the victim? Souvenirs, maybe?”

Dan swallowed hard. He was being given the first degree. Others watched on in amusement. The Hammer finally under scrutiny.
Hammerhead.
Dan needed water. In his own mug. He spoke but his voice cracked. Clearing it, he answered, “not that I know of, Sir.”

“It’s important to visualize the crime scene. As close as possible to see how the offender left it. Do you understand?”

Everybody in the room nodded in agreement. Mannequins. Puppets. Robots.

“Detective Hammer, you may sit down.”

Saying his name aloud startled Dan. He was in a zone, dozing. A daze. Wright’s voice was hypnotic. He walked back to his seat, a zombie, as Wright continued.

“From what I see here, gentlemen, we have a very long way to go. We must start by recreating the crime scene. In our head. In order to do that, we need to know as much about the victims as possible. We have to imagine how they reacted. We have to put ourselves in their place, feel their fear, their pain. We have to understand what it felt like to scream in terror, realizing it won’t help, that the person or people responsible won’t stop…”

Wright stood up to make his point stronger. He began pacing back and forth. His shoes squeaked. He tapped the eraser of his pencil on his wrist.

He doesn’t remember me.

Wouldn’t he have said something by now?

Wright rested his large hands on the table, palms down, as if he were about to do a set of pushups. He talked like a preacher, sent from God. His word
was
God. He had a gift.

“But, just as difficult, we need to put ourselves in the role of the attacker as well, plan along with him, think how he thinks, understand and feel his gratification. This one sacred moment when all of his pent up fantasies can finally come true and he can gain ultimate control. Able to manipulate and dominate another human being. We have to walk in the killer’s shoes as well as the victim’s.”

Quiet.

Outside, a bird chirped sweetly, answering another bird’s call. Ironic. Sun spilled into the room through narrow, dirty slats. Motes of dust danced chaotically in the filtered light. Dan looked outside, searching for the bird. He needed a reminder, a gentle nudge that beauty still existed in the world. That nature and innocence could coexist together. Still. What he witnessed instead was a splotch of dried bird shit, streaking the glass pane a dingy dull gray and white.