The Crucifix Killer Part 11

George's only p.o.r.n experience had been in high school. One of his friends had managed to get his hands on an old VHS movie and some adult magazines during a weekend when his parents were away. George had never forgotten it, but this was no movie, this was no acting. In one clean swoop George was introduced to BDSM, partner swapping, gloryholes, spanking, s.e.x slavery, golden showers things he'd never even dreamed of. He discovered a world he'd never thought existed outside adult books and sleazy films. Free s.e.x, free drugs a place where all his fantasies could come true, where his darkest s.e.xual desires could be exposed with no guilt. It was there, inside the dungeon room of the luxurious mansion that George had had his first s.e.xual experience with another man, and he'd loved it. After that, he couldn't get enough of his new-found underground life. He loved the parties, the people, and the secrecy of it all.

George dried himself slowly before wrapping the towel around his waist. The antic.i.p.ation of seeing Rafael again turned him on. In the kitchen he grabbed another beer and checked the wall clock 8:45, not long now. He toyed with the idea of getting dressed again, but he enjoyed the excitement of greeting his lover with nothing on but a towel.

One thing they both enjoyed doing was role-playing and George had a story all worked out for tonight. In the bedroom he slid open one of the mirrored wardrobe doors to reveal an amazing variety of BDSM props whips, chains, ropes, gags, leather straps, handcuffs, anything his imagination could come up with.

He carefully chose the toys he needed for his scenario and placed them on the bed, his excitement starting to show through his bath towel, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. He checked his watch 8:53. He is early, George thought, maybe he's as eager as I am.

George couldn't conceal the satisfied smile that came to his lips as he opened the door.

'Who're you?' His smile evaporated into a worried frown.

The answer came as a punch to the stomach, powerful and precise. George contorted in pain as the air drained from his lungs, his eyes wide open and terrified. Gasping for oxygen, he took one step back, but it wasn't enough to avoid the second blow. This time a kick straight between his legs. As the intruder's foot made contact with George's genitals, he fell backwards, his bath towel dropping to the floor. George wanted to speak, to fight back, but he had no strength left.

The intruder calmly closed the apartment's door and approached George's contorted body on the floor. George couldn't make any sense of what was happening. He gurgled, unable to breathe and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the syringe. With a quick arm movement the intruder plunged it into George's neck and all of a sudden there was no more pain, no more struggle. Only darkness.

Seventeen.

Chris Melrose had been working for the County Department of Coroner for the last three years. From a very young age Chris had been fascinated with death, with everything morbid. His initial plan was to become a forensic scientist, but his poor school grades kept him from getting a place at university.

Chris's first job was as a jack-of-all-trades in a mortuary. His duties ranged from funeral arrangements to lining the inside of coffins and preparing bodies, but that just wasn't enough. Chris wanted the life he'd always dreamed of. He wanted the blood-stained rags, the stainless-steel tables, the stinging and intoxicating smell of death. He wanted to work with bodies in their raw state, before they were cleaned up and made ready for the funeral. After applying for almost every lower-level position with the County Department of Coroner he was finally offered a job as a lab porter. His new duties included cleaning autopsy rooms, moving bodies to and from the cooling chambers and making sure that all equipment was clean and ready to be used. The medical examiners in the Coroner's office had never seen anyone take so much pride in his work. Chris was in everyone's good books. What he loved doing more than anything else was sitting in on autopsies. None of the examiners minded.

Chris's night s.h.i.+ft went from 7:30 p.m. to 7:30 a.m. He liked to take his first break just before midnight; it gave him a chance to light up a cigarette and have a quick banana, peanut-b.u.t.ter and honey sandwich.

Chris took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the b.u.t.t in the air and watched it produce a dim, yellow arc. He got up from the small bench he'd been sitting on, folded his empty plastic sandwich bag and started walking back towards the Coroner's building. A cold hand grabbed his left shoulder.

'Hi there, Chris!'

'Jesus Christ!' Chris jumped and turned to face the figure standing behind him, his heart halfway up his throat. 'Are you crazy? You scared the f.u.c.k out of me.'

Mark Culhane gave Chris a rehea.r.s.ed yellow smile.

'If I had a gun, you could be dead right now. How do you get off on sneaking up on people like that?' Chris asked placing a hand over his chest, his heart pounding against it.

'I'm a detective, I love sneaking up on people,' Culhane said with a new smile. 'Besides, why the f.u.c.k would you carry a gun? Everyone you deal with is already dead.'

'Everybody packs these days, this is LA remember? Anyway, I haven't seen you for a while, what the h.e.l.l do you want?'

Chris was in his early thirties, a few pounds overweight with straight dark-brown hair that he kept quite short. He had strange cat-like brown eyes, a reddish complexion and a prominent nose.

'Oh, Chris, that's no way to greet an old friend.'

Chris didn't answer back. He simply raised his eyebrows waiting for Culhane to state his business.

'I need to check whatever new entries you've had in the past few days,' Culhane finally said.

'By entries, you mean bodies?'

'What else would I mean, smart a.s.s?'

'Why don't you just put in a request, you're a cop, aren't you?'

'This is a friend, not necessarily official business.'

'A friend?' Chris's voice took a dubious tone.

'Are you training to be a cop? What's with all the G.o.dd.a.m.n questions? Just show me the bodies, will you?'

'And if I told you I couldn't do that because it's against regulations?'

Culhane placed his right arm around Chris's neck and pulled him closer. 'Well, that would certainly p.i.s.s me off, and I don't think you'd wanna do that, do you?'

Silence.

Culhane tightened his grip.

'OK . . . OK, I was going back in anyway,' Chris said, lifting both hands.

'Adda boy,' Culhane said, letting go of the headlock.

They both walked back to the Coroner's building in silence. One of the advantages of visiting Chris at this hour was that Culhane wouldn't have to go in through the front door; the building would be a lot quieter, no badges needed to be shown, no papers to sign less suspicion.

They reached the staff entrance door on the south side of the building and Chris punched a six-digit code into the electronic keypad. The thick metal door buzzed open.

'Wait here, I'll be right back,' he said and quickly disappeared into the building leaving Culhane standing outside with a curious look on his face. Less than a minute later Chris re-emerged carrying a standard coroner's white overall. 'Put this on, it should fit. It's the largest one I could find.'

'Are you trying to be funny?'

The last thing Chris wanted was for anyone to find out he'd allowed a stranger into the building without signing in at the front desk, even if that stranger was a cop. He guided Culhane through the deserted lower-floor corridor, through a pair of heavy swing doors and up the staircase to the first floor. Culhane had walked these corridors more times than he cared to remember. It still made his stomach turn inside out. Culhane would never have admitted it, but he was glad he wasn't alone. They reached the last room at the end of the hall.

After every autopsy, the bodies were brought to the cold-storage room, or as everyone in the Coroner's office called it 'the big chill.' The room had enough freezer s.p.a.ce on its west wall to store over fifty bodies. Culhane and the other detectives from the Narcotics division had their own name for that room 'the honeycomb of death The room had enough freezer s.p.a.ce on its west wall to store over fifty bodies. Culhane and the other detectives from the Narcotics division had their own name for that room 'the honeycomb of death.'

Chris locked the door behind him so they wouldn't be interrupted and walked over to the computer desk at the far end of the room.

'OK, let's try an initial search . . . male or female?' he asked wasting no time. The faster he got rid of Culhane the better.

'Female.'

'Is she white, black . . .?'

'Caucasian, blond, blue eyes, slim and very attractive.'

Chris gave Culhane a coy smile. 'OK, from what date would you like me to search from?'

'Let's try from last Friday.'

Chris instinctively looked at his watch. 'That'd be . . . June 1st right?'

'Yeah, that's right.'

'OK.' Chris typed in the information and hit the enter key. It took less than five seconds for the computer to return an answer.

'Yep, we've got sixteen matches. Do you have a name?'

'Yes, Jenny Farnborough, but I'm sure she won't show up on your screen.'

Chris's eyes quickly searched the list. 'Nope, you're right, she's not on this list.'

'Any unidentified female bodies?'

Chris checked the list once again. 'Yep, we've got four.'

'Let's check them.'

After a few mouse clicks they had a printout. 'OK, let's go have a look,' Chris said, walking towards the freezers. They stopped in front of the door marked C11, the first one on his list. It took them a little more than five minutes to go through the four unidentified bodies. Jenny Farnborough's wasn't one of them.

'Are these all the bodies? I mean, is there another cold-storage room in the building?' Culhane asked.

'Yes, there's another one in the bas.e.m.e.nt, but I have no access to it,' Chris replied.

'What do you mean, why not?'

'It's a sealed-off area.'

'Why is there a sealed-off area in a Coroner's?'

Chris was glad to offer an explanation to something an LA detective didn't know. 'Certain cases can still be too dangerous radiation, poison victims, high risk of contamination cases like that. In those circ.u.mstances, the autopsy is conducted in the sealed-off area by the chief medical examiner.'

'And do you know if there's a body down there at the moment?'

'Doctor Winston was working on an autopsy in there until really late last night. The body has never come up to this room, so I'm pretty sure it's still down there.'

'But the body has to come up to the honeycomb right?'

'Honeycomb?' Chris frowned.

'This room . . . the fridge.' There was a hint of irritation in Culhane's voice.

'No, that room has its own storage area. The body can stay down there indefinitely.' Chris's answer added to the detective's irritation.

'Are you sure you can't get me in that room?'

'No chance, only Doctor Winston has the key and he keeps it on him at all times.'

'Isn't there a way around it?'

'Not really. The door is alarmed and there is a camera on the wall. If you ain't invited, you ain't getting in.'

'How many bodies are down there?'

'Only one that I know of.'

'Have you got a picture of the body or any records on your computer?'

'No, Doctor Winston keeps everything related to the cases that go into the sealed-off area in there. They don't even get added to the main database until they're cleared by the doctor himself. Anyway, even if I had a picture of the body I don't think it would help you.'

'And why's that?'

'Well, rumor has it the body's unrecognizable, something to do with it having no face.'

'What? Really?'

'That's what I've heard.'

'Decapitated?'

'I'm not sure, I just heard the body had no face. It could've been blown off by a shotgun. It's not unheard of,' Chris said shaking his head.

Mark Culhane took a moment to think about the situation he'd been presented with. In his mind, the odds of the only body in the sealed-off area being of Jenny Farnborough were quite skinny. He saw no point in pursuing it.

'Thanks, Chris. Do me a favor will you? Keep an eye out for any bodies matching the description I gave you, if anything comes in, give me a shout, it's important.' Culhane handed Chris one of his cards.

Chris regarded the card for a moment. 'Sure, anything for the LAPD.'

'I'd better get going. Do you mind if I get out through the same door we came in?'

'That's fine by me. I'll have to walk down with you, there's a code to the door.'

They left the cold-storage room and walked back in silence. As they reached the door, Culhane handed the overall back to Chris who punched the code into the metal keypad. Culhane was glad to see the outside world again.

Sitting inside his car, Culhane lit a cigarette. There were another two Coroner offices in Los Angeles, one in Santa Clarita and one in West Lancaster, but he wasn't sure if it was worth the trip. He finished his cigarette and decided he'd done all he could do to find this Jenny Farnborough girl; she was only another hooker anyway. In the morning he'd call Jerome and let him know. For now, he had more important things to do.

Eighteen West Sunset Boulevard is one of the most famous streets in Los Angeles, but its best-known portion is the mile and a half stretch between Hollywood and Beverly Hills that has been dubbed 'The Sunset Strip.' The Strip embraces a premier collection of rock clubs, restaurants, boutiques, and Hollywood nightspots. It's been known as 'the place to be seen in LA' since the early seventies. Every evening, the Strip becomes a vibrant slash of gaudy neon, with traffic almost coming to a standstill as huge numbers of cars cruise down a people-packed boulevard. From celebrities to celebrity wannabes, from tourists and people-watchers to sleazy s.e.x dealers, the Sunset Strip is definitely the place to be if you're looking for action in the City of Angels.

'Remind me again who're we here to see at this time?' Garcia asked as Hunter parked his car on Hilldale Avenue, just around the corner from the Strip.

'A sc.u.mbag called JJ,' Hunter replied getting out of the car and grabbing his jacket from the back seat.

Juan Jimenez, better known as JJ, was a low-life, small-time pimp who liked to conduct his business around Sunset Boulevard. He exploited his girls, all five of them. His trick was to keep them hooked on some sort of 'cla.s.s A' drug. JJ was a violent man, and every now and then one of his girls would turn up in hospital with cuts and bruises, sometimes even broken bones. 'I tripped and fell' was always the lame explanation. was always the lame explanation.

JJ had been arrested several times, but none of his girls had ever had the guts to press charges. His most powerful weapon fear. ' 'Cross me and I'll cut you open.'

'And he can help us?' Garcia asked.