Blood Work (1998) Read online

  "That's okay. I'm in. Whose car?"

  "We take yours, I pay for gas. We take my Cherokee, I sit in the back. It's got a passenger side air bag. You decide. Either way is fine with me."

  Driving had been forbidden for McCaleb by Bonnie Fox until at least his ninth month. His chest was still closing. The skin was healed but beneath the scarred exterior the sternum was still open. An impact on a steering wheel or from an air bag could be fatal, even in a low-speed accident.

  "Well, I like the Cherokee but let's take mine," Buddy said. "I'd feel like too much of a chauffeur with you in the back."

  9

  IN THE SUMMER of 1993 the body of a woman had been found in a large outcropping of sandstone known as Vasquez Rocks in the Antelope Valley in northern Los Angeles County. The body had been there several days. Decomposition prevented determination of sexual assault but it was assumed. The body was clothed but the panties were inside out and the blouse misbuttoned-a clear indication that the woman had not dressed herself or had done so only under severe duress. Cause of death was manual strangulation, the means of death in most sexual homicides.

  Sheriff's detective Jaye Winston drew the Vasquez Rocks killing as lead investigator. When the case didn't break quickly with an arrest, Winston settled in for the long haul. Ambitious but not burdened by an unchecked ego, she contacted the FBI for help as one of her first moves. Her request was relayed to the serial killer unit and she eventually filled out a case survey for the unit's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program.

  The VICAP survey was the means by which McCaleb first became acquainted with Winston. The case package she had sent to Quantico was forwarded to McCaleb's storage room office at the Los Angeles FO. In typical bureaucratic fashion, the package had gone all the way across the country only to be sent back nearly to its origin for follow-up.

  Through the VICAP data base computer-which compares an eighty-question survey about an individual killing with those on file-and study of the crime scene and autopsy photos, McCaleb matched the Vasquez Rocks case to another killing a year earlier in the Sepulveda Pass area of Los Angeles. A similar killing method, the dumping of the clothed body on an embankment, other small details and nuances-all matched up. McCaleb believed they had another serial killer working the L.A. basin. In both of the cases it was determined that the woman had been missing two or three days longer than she had been dead. This meant the killer had held her captive and alive during that period, probably to serve in his ghastly fantasies.

  Connecting the cases was only one step. Identifying and capturing the killer were the obvious following steps. However, there was nothing to go on. McCaleb was curious about the lengthy interval between the two murders. The Unknown Subject, as the killer was formally called in FBI documents, had gone eleven months before the urges overtook him and he acted out on his fantasies by abducting the second woman. To McCaleb, this meant that the event was so strongly implanted in the killer's mind that his fantasy life could essentially live off it or be fueled by it for almost a year. The bureau's serial killer profiling program showed that this interval would grow shorter and shorter each time and the killer would have to seek fresh prey sooner.

  McCaleb worked up a profile for Winston but it wasn't much help and they both knew it. White male, twenty to thirty, with a menial job and existence, the Unknown Subject would also have a prior history of sexual crimes or aberrational behavior. If this history included incarceration for any lengthy periods, it could skew the profiled age span of the subject.

  It was the same old story. The VICAP profiles were usually dead-on accurate but they rarely led to the acquisition of a suspect. The profile given to Winston could match hundreds, maybe thousands of men in the Los Angeles area. So after all investigative leads were played out, there was nothing to do but wait. McCaleb made a note of the case on his calendar and went on to other cases.

  In March of the following year-eight months from the last murder-McCaleb came across the note, reread the file and gave Winston a call. Nothing much had changed. There still were no leads or suspects. McCaleb urged the sheriff's investigator to begin a surveillance of the two body disposal sites and the graves of the two victims. He explained that the killer was near the end of his cycle. His fantasies would be running dry. The urge to freshly recreate the sensation of power and control over another human would be growing and increasingly hard to control. The fact that the Unknown Subject had apparently dressed the bodies after each of the first two murders was a clear sign of the battle raging inside his mind. One part of him was ashamed of what he had done-he sought in a subconscious way to cover it up by replacing each victim's clothes. This suggested that eight months into the cycle the killer would be engulfed in tremendous psychological turmoil. The urge to act out his fantasy again and the shame the act would bring were the two sides in a battle for control. One way to temporarily placate the urge to kill would be to revisit the sites of his previous crimes in an effort to bring new fuel to the fantasy. McCaleb's hunch was that the killer would return to one of the disposal spots or visit the graves. It would bring him closer to his victims and help him stave off the need to kill again.

  Winston was reluctant to instigate a multiple point surveillance operation on the basis of an FBI agent's hunch. But McCaleb had already received approval for himself and two other agents for stake-out duty. He also played upon Winston's professionalism, telling her that if she didn't do it, she would always wonder if the stake-out would have been successful, especially if the Unknown Subject hit again. With that kind of threat to her conscience, Winston went to her lieutenant and counterparts on the LAPD case and a surveillance squad was assembled from all three agencies. While planning the surveillance, Winston learned that by coincidence both of the victims were buried in the same Glendale cemetery, about one hundred yards apart. Hearing that, McCaleb predicted that if the Unknown Subject was going to show, it would be in the cemetery.

  He was right. On the fifth night of the surveillance, McCaleb, Winston and two other detectives hiding in a mausoleum with a view of both grave sites watched a man drive into the cemetery in a van, get out and climb over the locked gate. Carrying something under his arm, he walked to the grave of the first victim, stood motionless in front of it for ten minutes and then headed to the grave of the second victim. His actions showed a prior knowledge of the location of the graves. At the second grave, he unrolled what turned out to be a sleeping bag on top of the grave, sat down on it and leaned back against the headstone. The detectives did not disturb the man. They were recording his visit with a night-vision video camera. Before long he opened his pants and began masturbating.

  Before he returned to the van, the man had already been identified through its license plates as Luther Hatch, a thirty-eight-year-old gardener from North Hollywood released four years earlier from a nine-year Folsom Prison term for a rape conviction.

  The subject was no longer unknown. Hatch became a working suspect. When his years in prison were subtracted from his age, he fit the VICAP profile perfectly. He was watched around the clock for three weeks-including during two more visits to the Glendale cemetery-until finally one night the detectives moved in as he attempted to force a young woman leaving the Sherman Oaks Galleria into his van. In the van, the arresting officers found duct tape and clothesline cut into four-foot lengths. After receiving a search warrant, the investigators tore apart the interior of the van as well as Hatch's apartment. They recovered hair, thread and dried fluid evidence that was later linked through DNA and other scientific analysis to the two murder victims. Quickly dubbed "The Cemetery Man" by the local media, Hatch took his place in the pantheon of multiple murderers who fascinate the public.

  McCaleb's expertise and hunches had helped Winston break the case. It was one of the successes they still talked about in Los Angeles and Quantico. On the night they arrested Hatch, the surveillance team went out to celebrate. During a lull in the din, Jaye Winston turned to McCaleb at the bar and said, "I owe you o
ne. We all do."

  Buddy Lockridge had dressed for his job as Terry McCaleb's driver as if he were going to a nightclub on the Sunset Strip. Head to toe, he was clad in black. He also carried a black leather briefcase. Standing on the dock next to the Double-Down, McCaleb stared at the ensemble without speaking for a long moment.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing, let's go."

  "Is this all right?"

  "It's fine but I didn't think you'd get so dressed up for just sitting in a car all day. You going to be comfortable?"

  "Sure."

  "Then let's go."

  Lockridge's car was a seven-year-old silver Ford Taurus that was well maintained. On the way out to Whittier, he tried three different times to find out what it was McCaleb was investigating but each time the questions were unanswered. Finally, McCaleb was able to deflect the line of questioning by bringing up their old debate over the merits of sailboats versus power boats. They got to the Sheriff's Department Star Center in a little over an hour. Lockridge slid the Taurus into a spot in the visitor's lot and turned off the ignition.

  "I don't know how long I'll be," McCaleb said. "I hope you brought something to read or you've got one of your harmonicas on you."

  "You sure you don't want me to go in with you?"

  "Look, Bud, this might have been a mistake. I'm not looking for a partner. All I need is somebody to drive me. I spent more than a hundred bucks yesterday on cabs. I figured maybe you could use the money instead, but if you're going to be asking me questions and-"

  "Okay, okay," Lockridge said, cutting in. He held his hands up in surrender. "I'll just sit here and read my book. No more questions."

  "Good. I'll see you."

  McCaleb entered the homicide squad offices on time for his appointment and Jaye Winston was hovering around the reception area waiting for him. She was an attractive woman a few years older than McCaleb. She had blond hair that was straight and kept midlength. She had a slim build and was dressed in a blue suit with a white blouse. McCaleb had not seen her in almost five years, since the night they had celebrated the arrest of Luther Hatch. They shook hands and Winston led McCaleb to a conference room that had an oval table surrounded by six chairs. There was a smaller table against one wall with a double-pot coffeemaker on it. The room was empty. A thick stack of documents and four videocassettes were sitting on the table.

  "You want some coffee?" Winston asked.

  "Nah, I'm fine."

  "Then let's get started. I've got twenty minutes."

  They took chairs across the table from each other. Winston pointed at the paper stack and the videos.

  "This is all yours. I copied everything after you called this morning."

  "Jeez, you kidding? Thanks."

  With two hands McCaleb pulled the pile toward his chest like a man raking in the pot at the poker table.

  "I called Arrango over at L.A.," Winston said. "He told me not to work with you but I told him you were the best agent I ever dealt with and that I owed you one. He's pissed but he'll get over it."

  "Is this L.A.'s stuff, too?"

  "Yeah, we've copied each other back and forth. I haven't gotten anything from Arrango in a couple weeks but that's probably because there hasn't been anything. I think it's all up to date. Problem is, it's a lot of paper and video and it all adds up to nothing so far."

  McCaleb broke the stack of reports in half and started sorting through them. It became clear that about two-thirds of the work had been generated by sheriff's investigators and the rest by the LAPD. He gestured to the videotapes.

  "What are these?"

  "You've got both crime scenes there and both shoots. Arrango told me he showed you the market robbery already."

  "Yeah."

  "Well, on ours you get even less. The shooter enters the frame for only a few seconds. Just enough for us to see he was wearing a mask. But anyway, it's there for you to look at if you want."

  "On yours, did the guy take the money from the machine or the victim?"

  "The machine, why?"

  "I might be able to use that to get some help from the bureau, if I need it. Technically, it means the money was taken from the bank, not the victim. That's a federal offense."

  Winston nodded that she understood.

  "So how did you connect these, ballistics?" McCaleb asked, mindful that her time was limited and he wanted as much from her as he could get.

  She nodded.

  "I was working my case already and then a few weeks later I'm reading the paper and see a story about the other one. Sounded the same. I called L.A. and we got together. When you watch the videos, Terry, you'll see. There's no doubt. Same MO, same gun, same guy. The ballistics only underlined what we already knew."

  McCaleb nodded.

  "I wonder why the guy picked up the brass if he knew the lead would be there. What was he using?"

  "Nine-millimeter hardballs. Federals. Full metal jacket. Picking up the shells is just good practice. On my case, the shot was through and through and we dug the slug out of a concrete wall. He probably was guessing-maybe hoping-it was too mashed up for a ballistics comparison. So like a good little shooter, he picked up the brass."

  McCaleb nodded, noting the disdain in her voice for her quarry.

  "Anyway, it doesn't really matter," she said. "Like I said, watch the tapes. We're dealing with one guy here. You don't need ballistics to know it."

  "Did you or the LAPD take it any further than that?"

  "What do you mean, Firearms and Ballistics?"

  "Yeah. Who has the evidence?"

  "We do. The L.A. caseload's a little heavier than over here. We agreed, since our case was first, to hold all of the evidence. I had F and B do the regular routine, you know, look for similars, et cetera, but they drew a blank. Looks like just these two cases. For now."

  McCaleb thought about telling her about the bureau's DRUG-FIRE computer but decided the time wasn't right yet. He'd wait until he had reviewed the tapes and the murder books before he started suggesting what she should do.

  He noticed Winston check her watch.

  "You working this by yourself?" he asked.

  "I am now. I caught the lead and Dan Sistrunk partnered it with me. You know him?"

  "Uh, was he one of the guys in the mausoleum that night?"

  "Right, the Hatch surveillance. He was there. Anyway, we worked this one together and then other things happened. Other cases. It's all mine now. Lucky me."

  McCaleb nodded and smiled. He understood how it went. If a case wasn't solved by the team quickly, one player got stuck with it.

  "You going to get any flak for giving me this stuff?"

  "No. The captain knows what you did for us on Lisa Mondrian."

  Lisa Mondrian was the woman found in Vasquez Rocks. McCaleb thought it was unusual that Winston had referred to her by name. It was unusual because most cops he knew tried to depersonalize the victims. It made it easier to live with.

  "The captain was the lieutenant back then," Winston was saying. "He knows we owe you one. We talked and he said give you the stuff. I just wish we could pay you with something better than this. I don't know what you'll be able to do with this, Terry. We've just been waiting."

  Meaning they were waiting for the shooter to strike again and hopefully make a mistake. Unfortunately it often took fresh blood to solve old killings.

  "Well, I'll see what I can do with it. At least it's something to keep me busy. What was that you said on the phone about it being three-strikes stuff?"

  Winston frowned.

  "We're getting more and more like these. Ever since they put in the three-strikes law in Sacramento. I don't know since you've been out of the life if you've followed it. But the law says three felony convictions and you're out. Automatic life without parole."

  "Right. I know about it."

  "Well, with some of these assholes, all that did was make 'em more careful. Now they wipe out witnesses where before they'd just rob. Three
strikes was supposed to be some kind of deterrent. You ask me, it just got a lot of people killed like James Cordell and the two in that market."

  "So you think that's what this guy's doing?"

  "Looks it to me. You saw one of the tapes. There's no hesitation. This scumbag knew what he was going to do before he even went up to that ATM or into that store. He wanted no witnesses. So that's the hunch I've been following. In my spare time I've been going through the files, looking for stick-up men with two or more falls already under their belts. I think the man in the ski mask is one of them. He used to be a robber. Now he's a robbing murderer. Natural evolution."

  "And no luck yet?"

  "With the files, nope. But either I'll find him or he'll find me. He's not the type who's going to suddenly go square. And judging by the fact he's shooting people for a few hundred dollars, he's decided that under no circumstances is he going back to the cage. That's for sure. He's going to do this again. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet-it's been two months since the last one. But when he does, maybe he'll fuck up just a little and we'll get him. Sooner or later, we will. I guarantee it. My victim had a wife and two little daughters. I'm going to get the piece of shit who did this."