Читать книгу THE COED MURDER CLUB - Ken Salter - Страница 11

CHAPTER 4

I was frustrated and empty-handed. I’d spent most of the day poking around campus trying to get a lead on the guys who’d raped Mindy. Her descriptions were just too general and vague. I called Monty, the sketch artist, and gave him Mindy’s phone number with instructions to get me likenesses I could use to track the culprits. He promised me preliminary sketches by the next day and promised to fax them to me. I really wanted to see the face of the enemy.

I stopped off at Reggie’s Place to grab an early meal before going home to finish the report for Attorney Schultz. Reggie specializes cooking down home Creole dishes from his mama’s recipes that he learned as a boy fetching logs and stoking the big wood burning stove in his mama’s café for colored folks in rural Louisiana. I often eat and meet family, friends and clients there. It’s also a quiet retreat away from the incessant ringing of the phone and urgent requests I have to field at the office.

“How you doin, R.C.? Looks like the Man got you on the run the way yo’ feet draggin.”

“You sure got that right, Reggie.”

“Well, it ain’t sumthin’ Reggie’s catfish gumbo gonna make worse. I’ll get you some hot cornbread an’ coffee to help wash it down.”

I smiled at Reggie’s understanding of my funk. His solution was just like Dad’s folks would offer.

They also hailed from Reggie’s neck of the woods. Grandma was always fussing around her stove and ready to serve a hot soup or steaming cup of strong coffee to help lift the morale of her men folk when the world was bearing down hard.

“Thanks, Reggie. Smells like that gumbo is just the ticket to get my juices flowing again.”

“Seems to work for most folks. Be along with yo’ plate shortly.”

After my tasty meal, I dictated the rest of my report for Barney Schultz on the portable tape recorder I carry in my briefcase. Instead of dropping off the cassette at the office, I headed for home.

I rent a turn-of-the-century cottage from Al Johnson, a political science professor at the university. Al lives in a gingerbread Victorian that faces the street and my cottage is tucked into the rear of the large lot on the north side of campus. We share the large backyard that separates the two dwellings.

I’d planned to take a shower, call my girlfriend, Rita, a graduating senior in psychology at U.C., Davis, and then climb in the sack with a good mystery story to keep my mind off the new case. I debated whether to ignore the blinking red light on my answering machine. I’m rarely in the mood to answer the phone after fending calls and clients all day at the office. Since I hadn’t spoken to Rita in a few days, I assumed the call was from her.

“Hi, R.C. It’s Mary. I think I’ve found something important on the Rohnert case. Give me a call at home as soon as you get in.” Instead of calling Rita first, I let my curiosity get the best of me and dialed Mary’s number.

“It’s R.C. here, what did you find?”

“I thought you weren’t going to call. I can’t talk here. My roommate’s got big ears and a loose tongue. Meet me at the Wharf in twenty minutes and I’ll brief you on what I think is an important lead in the Rohnert case.”

I was glad she couldn’t see the look on my face. I was taken back both by her assertiveness and choice of a meeting place. The Wharf is an upscale restaurant on the Berkeley Marina. It’s also a singles pickup place for the thirty-something crowd who are trying to stay a step ahead of the Generation X-ers who are fast on their heels. The Wharf was the last place I would have suggested to exchange information from confidential police files.

I was torn about what to do about Rita. She’d be mad if I rushed our phone conversation because I needed to meet someone, and upset if I called her much later. She’d be mad as a hornet reacting to smoke in the nest if she knew I was meeting a single, attractive cop for drinks at a notorious pickup spot. It was damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Bottom line was I’d need to make my meeting short, get home at a reasonable hour and make amends for the late call.

I did a double take when I spotted Mary sitting at a bistro table for two in a far corner of the bar.

She’d shed her police uniform for a mod skirt and short sleeve spandex mock turtleneck body suit that emphasized her ample curves. The skirt was short, metallic and flirty. She’d undone her braid and brushed out her thick, shiny black mane which now tumbled in shimmering, springy ringlets down her back. She looked like she’d just walked in from a photo shoot advertising an upscale women’s clothing store.

One guy was bending over her table trying out his line and two others were ogling the scene waiting for their chance to hit on her. She caught my eye and waved me over. She blew off her suitor as I approached. He didn’t look too happy about being dismissed in favor of a casually dressed competitor with frizzy hair and pale chocolate skin. I smiled my smile and dared him to make a scene. I didn’t have anything to lose knowing Mary had a badge and her piece in her purse if he got out of line. He muttered the “N” word as he backed off, but I chose to ignore it. Why spoil the evening with a nasty confrontation and blow Mary’s cover. She’d picked the spot for our rendezvous, so I was on her turf. She could be a regular here for all I knew.

I took a seat with a view of the room. Mary’s smile was bemused at my surprise and confusion to see her dressed like a good-time girl on the prowl. “They teach you to dress like that at the Police Academy?” I asked tongue-in-cheek.

“Actually, they did give me some pointers. I was assigned to Vice when I first joined the Berkeley PD. There are lots of bars around town where I couldn’t go in alone now,” she said coyly.

“Might meet some of the Johns you busted, right?” I said with a chuckle.

“It’s hard being a single, woman cop. If I date guys on the force, they peg me for a kiss ass or an easy lay. If they hit on me and I don’t respond, they get hostile and think I’m trying to be uppity. I don’t get to meet many interesting men in my line of work. There’s something about the lady being a cop that scares a lot of guys off.”

I was about to add, “And that’s why you dress to kill and strut your stuff at the Wharf,” but I kept my thought to myself. We were getting off on the wrong foot. I wanted information and help on my case, but I wasn’t looking for a new relationship or a one night stand. Mary had thrown me for a loop. I recalled the way the attorneys and cops had eyed her when I’d met her in the bar after her shift. I had to change the subject and avoid discussing our personal lives. If I told her about my steady girlfriend, Rita, she’d probably blow me off and refuse to give me the help she’d promised.

“I must say I was floored when you came up with a lead on Mindy’s case so soon after we met.”

“I have to confess that her case has been bugging me, too. I always felt there was something sinister about what happened to her. It hit me hard when you said they infected her with the AIDS virus. If they knew they carried the virus when they set her up, then it’s like attempted murder in my book. I’m determined to find them and take them down.” Mary’s eyes were shooting sparks.

“I spent a frustrating day at the university trying to get a bead on those guys and have zip for my efforts. Hopefully, you’ve had better luck,” I said fishing for the new info she claimed to have.

“There’s another case that’s been bugging me, too. I got called in on it late, but I think there may be some parallels, at least some coincidences to check out.”

The waitress in a micro-mini and tee-shirt, tied off at the waist, appeared to take my order. I ordered a Hennessy straight up and Mary asked for another glass of chardonnay.

“Two college girls let themselves get picked up at a bar near campus by a couple of guys claiming they were grad students. The guys took the girls to an apartment and got them high on drugs and alcohol, then screwed them. What made me think there might be a connection was that one of the guys was black and the other one white. The girls admitted they put out for the guys willingly, but later, some other guys arrived, and after getting them high on crank and ecstasy, these new guys forced themselves on the girls. It could be the same M.O.”

“Was there anal intercourse like in Mindy’s case?”

“I think so, but I didn’t requisition the file from storage because I don’t want to leave a trail. My superiors wouldn’t be happy to know I’m providing information from confidential files or digging up cases that were closed.”

“Why wasn’t the case prosecuted?”

“The girls were stupid. They got picked up to party. They agreed to do drugs and have intercourse. They were so wiped out with the drugs and alcohol that it wasn’t possible to document any earnest resistance or threats if they didn’t put out for everyone that had them. There are lots of borderline cases that don’t get prosecuted because of time and money constraints. This one wasn’t even close. If the D.A. thinks a conviction is not a sure thing, he won’t prosecute. They get their promotions in part based on their conviction rates and everybody agreed this case looked like a loser.”

“So, if a young woman like Mindy gets set up by sexual predators with sexually transmitted viruses, the guys can get away with murder and the D.A. says, ‘Sorry, next case,’ right?” I was getting hot under the collar.

“Hey, I didn’t write the law. That’s the way the system works. Women have been getting the short end of the stick for a long time. It’s real tough to get a conviction in these cases where the women get loaded and agree to have sex with one or more of the men. Defense attorneys destroy their reputations and credibility in court, journalists gloat and publish all the sleazy details to titillate their readers and viewers, and the victim gets branded like in the “Scarlet Letter,” as a lowlife slut.”

“What happened to the two women?”

“They were both students and should be easy to locate and interview. Anita Parsons and Sherri Downs. They were pretty freaked out by the whole scene. The Parsons woman went bananas when I informed her that we were closing the investigation. From the names she called me, you’d think I was the person who set her up.”

“Did you get a make on the guys who picked them up?”

“No, it never got that far. Their descriptions were pretty sketchy except for the fact the black guy was clean cut and he looked and talked like the grad student he said he was. They described his buddy as a white, hunky, surfer type with sun-bleached blondish hair. That’s what rang a bell with what you said about Mindy’s attackers. The M.O. and physical descriptions are close. They could be the same pair that screwed Mindy.”

“I need to look at the investigation file. Can you get it for me?”

“Yeah, but it’s tricky. It might take me a few days. I have to get someone to pull it for me. Anything special you’re looking for?”

“For starters, I’d like to know the results of the rape kits if they were processed. Hopefully, the samples were saved. Maybe they could be compared to the semen samples in Mindy’s case. If the samples matched, we’d know we were dealing with the same guys who are probably HIV positive.”

“Yeah, that’s a creepy thought,” Mary gave me a funny look that caused me to blush. I had the feeling that she wanted to get the rapists as much as I did, but also wanted something more from me. Her way of looking at me made me uneasy. We both know how hard it is to know whether someone of the opposite sex is carrying a sexually transmitted disease, especially with the threat of AIDS hanging over our heads.

Mary passed me a note with the last known addresses and phone numbers of the two women involved in the gangbang. We spent the rest of the evening drinking and chatting. I needed to call Rita, but Mary needed to blow off steam about how hard it was to be a woman officer on the rape detail. She was risking her job to funnel me leads, so I felt I had no choice but to let her bend my ear.

By the time I got home, it was too late to call Rita. My sleep and dreams were troubled. I kept calling Rita and Mary kept answering the phone wanting to know who was Rita.