Another Way to Die Page 2

  The victim was found by housekeeping just after eleven one morning. She was naked apart from bright red pantyhose, and was face down on the bed. She had been strangled.

  Semen glows under ultraviolet light, and a quick sweep of Quinn’s UV flashlight showed a streak of it up the dead woman’s back. A sample of the now dried semen was taken: there would have been some degradation by now, but hopefully not enough to prevent a DNA test.

  Semen DNA analysis follows a specific routine. Back in the lab, the sample from the victim’s back is dissolved in a solution. Through a microscope, the technicians will look for sperm cells. Dr Russell Hobson, one of the MEs, and one of Leroy’s best friends, once referred to the sperm cells as ‘just like little tadpoles’.

  If any ‘little tadpoles’ are found, a mild detergent is applied. The detergent bursts any cells not containing sperm. These broken cells are rinsed away with water. Then a stronger detergent is used to burst the sperm cells and obtain the DNA.

  In spite of the comment of ‘impressive’ from one of the uniformed officers on the scene, the sample only recovered a minute amount of DNA. When this is the case, a process based on the polymerase chain reaction, or PCR, is put to use to make millions of copies of certain strands of the DNA. It does not change the DNA, but extrapolates the quantity.

  Once this process is complete, the DNA can then be compared to the suspect’s, which is normally taken with a buccal swab. In this case, there was no suspect, but there is a database to which the sample can be checked.

  CODIS, or Combined DNA Index Systems, is a computer program containing local, state and national databases of DNA profiles collected from convicted offenders, from crime scene evidence, and of missing persons. The state of California maintains the third largest DNA database in the world. The program comprises two indexes: the convicted offender index, which contains the DNA profiles of those convicted of certain crimes; the second index is the forensic index, which contains profiles from crime scene evidence.

  In this case, there was also evidence of penetrative sex. This was not surprising as the victim was a hooker. A general sample was taken, although by the time she had seen her killer and had lain undiscovered, degradation would have set in. If DNA could be taken from these samples, then it would help, if only for elimination. It was likely that the sample on her back would be the only evidence from the killer.

  If the convicted offender index search drew a blank, then the DNA sample would be added to the database in the forensic index, in the hope a match would arise in the future.

  When the results of the DNA analyses finally came through, and this was ten days after the body was discovered, the results were mixed. DNA was extracted from the sample taken from inside the victim, but there was no match on CODIS. Hardly a surprise there. However, from the sample taken from her back there was a match.

  And so, thirty-seven year-old Alexander Barouov, a twice divorced father of three was picked up. He was in the database on account of two previous convictions for assault, the first on his ex-partner, the second on another hooker. Traces of his semen were found on the other hooker’s back also; however, that one he only beat up.

  This would be his third strike.

  After two hours of denials, he eventually took his lawyer’s advice and changed his plea, hoping his apparent sudden remorse would help in court.

  Once the paperwork was done and Barouov was returned to the holding cells, it was time for celebration. Not because of the confession, but today saw the retirement of Sergeant Mike Paige, who was due to reach fifty-five the following week and was now retiring.

  Leroy had known Mike Paige from almost his first day in Los Angeles. He had never been part of the detective squad, remaining in uniform since he joined the Department. He was injured in a shootout at a liquor store five years earlier, but had refused early retirement, insisting on a desk job. Since the shooting, he had served as a supervisor to the team of clerical civilian employees.

  After the speeches, and the presentation and opening of gifts, the crowd of officers going off duty at the end of the shift, and those wishing Paige well and beginning their own shift, began to disperse, leaving only a few hanging around. Leroy and Quinn poured themselves a glass of Prosecco each and walked over to Paige, who was by now gathering up his items.

  ‘Here’s to you, Mike,’ Leroy said, holding up his glass. ‘To a long and happy retirement.’

  ‘Appreciate that, Sam,’ Paige replied. His eyes darted around the squad room as he added, ‘To tell the truth, I’m glad I’m going now.’

  ‘Mike, you could have gone after the shooting.’

  ‘I know. Eloise wanted me to, but I wanted to go out on a high. I didn’t want to end God knows how many years with the Department just because of some low-life son of a bitch holding up a store.’

  ‘So why now?’

  ‘Because I’ve reached the mandatory retirement age, that’s why.’

  ‘No, I mean why are you cool about leaving now, and weren’t what, five years ago?’

  ‘Four years, ten months, eight days, you mean?’ Paige sighed. ‘It’s all the bullshit, the politics, the cost-cutting. The whole kit and caboodle.’

  Leroy nodded and finished his drink.

  ‘And of course,’ Paige continued, ‘ever since I got shot, Eloise has been busting my chops about leaving. So I gave in.’

  Leroy looked around. ‘Where is the fine Mrs Paige, anyway? Thought she’d be here to make sure you’re really leaving.’

  Paige shook his head. ‘Would you believe it? We’re having a celebratory dinner tonight; you know, to celebrate my retirement. Only with two friends. But she’s insisting on having her hair done.’

  ‘Ray and I are going off shift now. Can one of us give you a ride home? I forget where you live.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, buddy, but Eloise is coming by to pick me up.’ He checked his watch. ‘Any time now.’

  At that moment Lieutenant Perez arrived. ‘You still here?’ he asked.

  ‘Just about to go,’ Leroy replied.

  ‘No, I mean Mike here. I thought Eloise was coming by.’

  ‘Like I told Sam, any time now.’

  Perez turned to Leroy and Quinn. ‘I hear you got a confession this afternoon. Good result, guys.’

  ‘Thanks, Lieutenant,’ they both replied in unison. Leroy added, ‘We’re both off now.’

  ‘So am I, soon. You have a good one, now.’

  Perez shook Paige’s hand and turned to leave. As he did so, a uniformed officer called out to him.

  ‘Call for you, Lieutenant. Shall I patch it through to your office?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll take it here.’

  Perez took the call while Leroy and Quinn said their final goodbyes to Paige. As they were leaving, Leroy noticed the look on Perez’s face. He was standing with the telephone to his ear. Saying nothing, just listening. He had gone pale, and the look on his face was one which Leroy had not seen for a long time.

  ‘Roman?’ he said quietly.

  Perez motioned for Leroy to stay. He continued to listen, uttering a few words now and again. ‘I understand. You’re sure? Yes, he’s here. I will.’

  The call ended and Perez slowly put the phone down.

  ‘Cogeme,’ he muttered.

  Puzzled, Leroy looked over to Quinn, then back to Perez. ‘What is it?’

  Lieutenant Perez looked up.

  ‘Sam, you’re going to need to sit down.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘Let’s do this in my office,’ Perez said brusquely. Leroy shot Quinn a puzzled look and followed. ‘You too, Ray,’ the lieutenant added. Leroy shrugged at his partner as they both followed the lieutenant upstairs. Once inside his office, Perez closed the door and indicated for the two detectives to sit down. He remained standing himself and walked over to the window. Stared out as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve had a call,’ he said. ‘It’s another murder.’

  Leroy said nothing; just flashed a lo
ok at Quinn, who was sitting looking perplexed.

  ‘The victim’s a woman, thirties or forties. She was found in Chinatown.’

  ‘Chinatown? So why did you get the call?’ Leroy asked.

  Perez held up a hand. ‘Hear me out, Sam. The victim was a woman, late thirties, early forties. Caucasian. No wedding band.’

  ‘In Chinatown?’

  ‘U-huh. In the trunk of a Ford Ecosport.’

  ‘I’m guessing the vehicle had been stolen?’

  ‘Reported early this morning. The body was discovered early this afternoon.’

  ‘How had she been killed?’ Quinn asked.

  Perez looked over at them. ‘She’d been stabbed. Multiple stab wounds to the chest. Twenty in all. Frenzied. By the wounds it looks like with a hunting knife.’

  ‘Was she killed in the car?’ Leroy asked.

  Perez shook his head. ‘There was hardly any blood in the trunk; so, no. Her wrists were bound behind her back, tied with electrical wire. Grey electrical wire.’

  ‘Neutral,’ mattered Quinn.

  ‘What?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘The grey wire is neutral. Neutral, as in hot, or ground.’

  Leroy nodded his head slowly. He asked Perez, ‘Was she gagged?’

  Perez nodded. ‘Duct tape across her mouth.’

  Leroy put one hand across his mouth. ‘And on her back?’ he asked. Quinn looked over at him quizzically.

  ‘On her back, yes,’ replied the lieutenant.

  Leroy sat back and rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘Jesus.’ Perez sat down the other side of his desk.

  Quinn said, ‘I don’t get it. What’s all this about?’

  Leroy looked at Perez.

  Perez asked Quinn, ‘Ray, did you ever hear of the Pentagram murders?’

  Quinn shook his head.

  ‘It was before your time here, Ray,’ Leroy explained. He asked Perez,‘What was it – six or seven years ago?’

  ‘About that,’ Perez replied. ‘It was when Sam and I were partners. We were investigating a serial killer. A guy who had abducted and killed four women. All single, so we guessed he’s been stalking them for a while. All under forty-five, I think. They’d be found in the trunk of a stolen car. The cars had all been reported stolen previously and were found in various parts of the city: West Hollywood, Van Nuys... I forget where else.’

  Leroy continued, ‘They were found in the trunks, bound with grey electrical wire, and with duct tape over their mouths. They all had multiple stab wounds in the chest. Some kind of hunting knife, and like the lieutenant said, around twenty, although the stabbings didn’t occur in the car. They were naked, and on their backs, the guy had carved a pentagram.’

  ‘A what?’ asked Quinn.

  Perez had already made a sketch. He passed it over to Quinn. ‘A five-pointed shape.’

  Quinn studied the sketch. ‘Why?’

  Leroy shrugged.

  ‘We had several theories, but never got a chance to prove any of them.’

  ‘They had also been raped,’ Perez said. ‘But there was no DNA evidence to extract.’

  Quinn looked up, puzzled.

  ‘There was evidence of penetration, but no DNA present. We figured the guy either used an object, or wore a condom.’

  ‘The condom was a likely scenario,’ said Leroy, ‘as there were traces of lubricant on one of the victims.’

  ‘Did you get the guy?’ Quinn asked.

  ‘Sam killed him,’ said Perez, nodding in Leroy’s direction.

  ‘We’d had a tip off,’ explained Leroy. ‘When one of the cars was stolen, it was from a shopping center. The security cameras picked up a man acting suspiciously around the car. There was a bulletin on the TV news, and we had a call from a woman in Van Ness who said she thought he was one of her neighbours. We called on him, and he ran. I gave chase on foot, he pulled a gun, and I shot him.’

  ‘When we went through his house later,’ said Perez, ‘we found a collection of hunting knives, and duct tape, and pentagram drawings. With blown-up photographs of the women.’

  ‘So that was the end of the Pentagram Killer?’ asked Quinn.

  Leroy said nothing.

  Perez replied, ‘This woman in Chinatown was found in a stolen car, has multiple, frenzied stab wounds with a hunting knife, was gagged with duct tape, was tied with grey electrical wire. We don’t know about any sexual assault yet. And a pentagram was carved onto her back.’

  Leroy said nothing.

  Quinn asked, ‘So what do we have here? A copycat?’

  ‘After all this time?’ said Perez.

  Quinn shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s been something in a magazine or the papers. Or the murder’s been featured in one of those true crime TV shows. You know, and someone’s gotten inspired to copy the guy Sam killed. It’s happened before.’

  Perez replied, ‘Yes, but Cordell -’

  ‘Cordell?’ asked Quinn.

  Leroy answered. ‘Yeah. Harlan Cordell. He was the low-life we were looking for.’

  ‘What happened?’ Quinn asked. ‘You got him?’

  Leroy said nothing. Perez continued.

  ‘He also carved a smaller pentagram - about two inches by two inches - on the victims’ inner thigh. The woman up in Chinatown had a smaller pentagram, also about two by two on her inner thigh.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Quinn. ‘A copycat.’

  ‘At the time, he was known in the media as the Pentagram Killer. But we never released the fact of the second, smaller pentagram. Nobody knew about that. The public never knew.’ Perez looked over at Leroy. ‘You’re quiet, Sam. What do you think?’

  Leroy looked up at the lieutenant.

  ‘What do I think? I think I shot and killed the wrong man.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Leroy was silent as Quinn drove them to Chinatown. It was a sign that things were not right that he asked Quinn to drive; normally he would take the wheel. Quinn attempted to make some conversation, but it was clear Leroy did not want to talk, so most of the journey was made in silence.

  His arm leaning on the open window ledge, Leroy stared at the passing traffic, buildings, people.

  I shot and killed the wrong man.

  ‘You can’t think like that, Sam,’ Perez had said. ‘In any case, it wasn’t the wrong man. How could it have been?’ He looked over at Quinn. ‘When we returned to the house, the forensic team had already begun searching it. The guy had some kind of den. There were all kinds of weird stuff in there: all kinds of porn on his laptop, pictures of the victims: not photographs taken from newspapers, not even shots he’d taken from the TV bulletins, but originals he’d taken himself. He’d been stalking them. Somehow, he had selected them - don’t forget they were all of a specific profile - and stalked them. Took pictures of them getting into their cars, getting out of their cars; getting home, leaving home, at the market. Telephoto lens stuff. We even found the camera, for Christ’s sake. And the downloaded pictures on the laptop. Which included a woman who wasn’t on the list of victims.’ He turned to Leroy. ‘Remember, Sam? We traced that woman. If you hadn’t shot and killed Cordell, she would have been his next victim. You saved her life.’ He turned back to Quinn. ‘He had a workshop out back. And what did we find in there? We found grey electrical wire. We found two rolls of duct tape. And we found a hunting knife – a Bowie I think it was – which matched the wounds on the victims.’

  ‘No blood on the knife,’ Leroy said.

  ‘No,’ Perez conceded. ‘But think about it: all the planning which had gone into this, and the ability to carry out the killings without being captured sooner. He might have looked like a sack of shit, but he was no fool. Surely getting any blood off the knife would have been an obvious thing to do? And did we find blood or any trace of the victims anywhere? Did we find any trace of him, any prints or DNA, on the victims, or on any of the vehicles?’

  Leroy shook his head.

  ‘No, we didn’t. And after you shot him, were there any more killings?’

/>   ‘No.’

  ‘So, you got the right guy. And he was armed. It was a righteous kill, Sam.’

  ‘So what’s this all about in Chinatown?’ Leroy asked. ‘This pentagram on the woman’s leg: what’s that about? I’d buy the copycat angle, but nobody knew about that. It wasn’t released to the media, it wasn’t public knowledge. And why after all this time?’

  ‘That’s for you to find out,’ said Perez. ‘The guys at Central Community are more than happy for you two to take on the case. They said a serial killer is the last thing they need at this time. I’ve agreed with the lieutenant there that if you can establish without any shadow of a doubt that it’s not connected with the Pentagram murders, then they can have it back. The problem is, how to establish they’re not connected.’

  All logic, common sense, and rationality pointed to the fact that Perez was right, but as they headed Downtown, the same thought kept nagging at Leroy.

  I shot and killed the wrong man.

  *****

  The vehicle concerned was located in a small parking lot off West College Street, at the dead end of the street. A high stretch of chain-link fencing separated the lot from the 110 Freeway.

  Quinn pulled into the little parking lot, which was not so much a parking lot as half a dozen cramped spaces between two buildings. At the end of the lot, adjacent to the fence was a VW Beetle, painted light blue, but very rusty in places. The trunk, which was at the front of the vehicle, was open, with three figures fussing around.

  A uniformed officer walked over to Leroy’s Taurus, stopping at the sight of their badges. He introduced himself as Officer Jordan.

  ‘This is it over here,’ he said unnecessarily as he led Leroy and Quinn over to the Beetle.

  ‘How was she found?’ Leroy asked. Now he was standing a few feet away from the vehicle; behind the two figures in blue jumpsuits he could make out the victim’s body, still in the trunk.

  ‘This parking lot,’ Officer Jordan replied, ‘is attached to that apartment building there. One of the tenants arrived back here around four thirty. Saw the Beetle parked in his space, that space, and went apeshit. Tried the doors to see who owned the car.’