RATED M DUE TO: Graphic Violence, Graphic Sexuality, Strong Profanity, Racism
DEXTER
"Fifth one in the span of 3 weeks, fifth one!" said Batista. "This guy's a fucking animal!"
It was about 7am on a Wednesday, the air hot and humid, and I received a page to head out to Las Sirenas Park in the Hialeah neighborhood. I stood over what was left of the latest victim of "The Cuisinart Killer", as the Miami Herald had dubbed him, or her, as the majority of the killer's victims were so mutilated, and in such a random fashion, they looked like they'd been put through a blender. Cuisinart however, found the nickname quite unamusing, and damaging to their brand, and promptly filed suit against the Herald.
As I'd been finding with a lot of these cases, there wasn't much blood to be had, but with Vince Masuka out recovering from surgery, all the lab duties fell to me for the time being. Thank God for Jamie Batista! If it hadn't been for Angel introducing me to her, I don't know how I'd balance work and watching Harrison.
I examined the body of 23-year-old Juno Gregory, a recent college graduate hired as an office assistant for a local law firm. Out of college, and into the twisted blender, it seemed. The others began to flash in my mind; Cindy Tillman, Katherine Foster, Blanca Del Cruz, Andrea Garcia, Juno had been hacked to pieces just like the rest of them. The blades sometimes varied, but the MO was always the same, making limb salad out of the victims.
"Not much blood to speak of." I said to Batista. "As I suspected, just like the rest, she wasn't killed here. The blood I do see is dried, and a lot of it looks out of place, as if she were brought here in a garbage bag and dumped."
"Yeah, figures." said Batista. "Man I can't wait until we catch this guy! It takes a certain type of sicko to perform this kind of depraved shit on a person."
'I hate to burst your bubble, but you'll never find him.' I replied in my mind to Batista. 'Because he's headed for my table first.'
I looked over the cuts made to the victim, noting any details.
"The cuts were made from a blade no doubt." I explained to Batista. "Something with a smooth, straight edge, like a lawnmower blade, machete, axe or similar. He probably let her bleed out when he hit the major arteries."
I then examined, and took samples, from the orifices of the victim; mouth, anus, what was left of the vagina, and this was the telltale connection, as I could even smell. The killer had swabbed all three out with bleach, in an effort to conceal any DNA evidence, and so far it had been successful.
"Probably a rape/sexual assault, then murder, per the previous cases." I told Batista. "I'm going to analyze these samples back at the lab, but I don't expect them to turn up anything too incriminating. They each share that same characteristic we've been talking about."
I purposely didn't elaborate on what that characteristic was, because I could see LaGuerta fending off the press from the sidelines as we did our work. We did not yet release the part about the bleach to the public, one of those details we wanted to see if the killer would trip up about first.
My sister Debbie was also on the scene, doing her part in the investigation.
"And this particular victim had it pretty horrific." I said, feigning a gulp to give the illusion of empathy. "Whatever he used as the murder weapon….he also used, to perform vaginal intercourse."
Both Batista and Debbie looked stunned and disgusted.
"You've gotta be shitting me!" said Batista.
"Fuck me!" said Deb.
"Trust me, you wouldn't want him to." I told Debs.
"This douchebag needs his fucking balls put in a Cuisinart Blender!" said Debs. "Fucking sick motherfucker!"
"OK Debs." said Batista. "Well this definitely sounds like our guy then. Let's pack it up and head in to the station."
We concluded our investigation at the crime scene, took the necessary parts with us, and headed back to Miami Metro.
LaGuerta put the pressure on me to have the samples analyzed ASAP, and to bring my full report on this latest victim to her once I'd done all the digging I could. I ran everything through the lab, and as I suspected, nothing. No DNA samples, no prints, nothing. Whoever this guy was, he knew exactly what he was doing, and probably had been doing this for a very long time. He used latex gloves to conceal fingerprints, and never killed his victims in the same place he dumped them. He would kill them at another location, and choose the worst neighborhoods in Miami as his disposal grounds.
"This guy certainly knows how to make a clean kill." I said.
"How do you know it's not just some local gang or drug cartel kill?" Harry, my dead father, asked me. "Hialeah is big in drugs and sex trafficking."
"That's precisely what this guy wants us to think." I said. "And that's how he can keep getting away with it."
"If that's true, you best be on your highest guard Dexter." said Harry. "This could very well be another Arthur Mitchell you're dealing with."
"I know what I'm doing." I said quickly.
The events in my recent past still stung with me like no pain I'd ever felt before. Rita, the love of my life, had been murdered by the Trinity Killer, in retaliation for me hunting him down intent on killing him, which I eventually did, at the cost of almost everything a monster like me holds dear.
I went over the evidence one more time, and something nagged at me, something I felt I had to go back to.
The footprint indentations taken from the crime scene, I hadn't truly given them too deep of a look. So I put them through the computer to get a closer look.
Size 9.5, mens shoes, nothing super special there. The indentations were on wet sand, so it was difficult to see much. However, upon further inspection, there appeared to be a couple indentations, and I could barely make out either. Enhancing the image, the imprints became slightly clearer, and I could make out one of them, located mid-sole, better upon enhancing the image.
"TR…AM..ZA" Tramaza?
The second indentation, down towards the heel, was too blurred for me to get much out of, other than it seemed to be two words, and the second word began with a cursive "F".
I typed in "tramaza shoes" into Google, to see what kind of results I would get.
Instead of a brand for "tramaza" shoes, Google instead replied with "Did you mean 'tramezza shoes'?"
The first "tramezza shoes" link entry on Google that I could see was a link the official website for Salvatore Ferragamo, a line of well-known luxury shoes. Scanning the products on the website, the soles and make of the shoes seemed to match perfectly with the indentations left by the killer. Whomever this guy was, and it likely was a guy, he had expensive taste, which would aid me in tracking him down.
I decided to keep this detail to myself for now. After all, not everyone had as keen as eye as I do when enhancing images, and the average person wouldn't be able to decipher much from the enhancement anyway. I planned to put in my report that there were indentations but I was unable to gather anything viable from enhancing them.
Putting my report together, I grabbed it, and walked down to LaGuerta's office. Being that she wanted the report ASAP, I simply gave a quick knock, and opened her door.
To my surprise, she was not alone in the office. Deputy Chief Matthews was there, sitting on the other side of the desk, and sitting where I would normally sit when speaking to LaGuerta, was a guy that I did not recognize.
"Um, hello Captain LaGuerta, Deputy Chief Matthews." I said surprisingly. "Sorry to disturb you."
The guy sitting in the chair turned to me with a smile. He was a late middle-aged man, with brown hair that was obviously colored, not containing a speck of gray, and it was immaculately combed. The guy had a pearly-white smile, deep brown eyes, high, pronounced cheekbones, and a tan that would rival even the most avid Miami tanner, making me wonder if he had his own tanning bed at home. His skin contained age lines, but virtually no wrinkles, and no doubt this guy probably used Botox on a regular basis. He wore a spotless, expensive Brioni Vanquish II suit, and gave me the impression he started off his morning with a hot cup of Kopi Luwak.
"No it's my fault Dexter, I told you to see me ASAP." replied Maria, then gesturing towards the guest in her chair. "Dexter, this is Patrick Bateman, he owns Bateman Securities next door. Mr. Bateman, this is Dexter Morgan from our Forensics Lab."
Bateman stood up, and extended his hand.
"Pleased to meet you Dexter." he said as he offered his hand.
I returned the gesture with a firm, strong shake. The guy was strong, and could deliver a nice crushing grip if need be.
"Likewise, Mr. Bateman." I replied.
"Please, call me Patrick." replied Bateman. "So Dexter, what is it you do here at Miami Metro?"
"Oh, a little bit of everything." I said. "But I'm primarily the Blood-Spatter Analyst."
Bateman's eyes seemed to light up at the sound of my title, and I wasn't sure if it was curiosity, or something else.
"Blood-Spatter Analyst?!" said Bateman excitedly, turning to LaGuerta and Matthews. "That is truly amazing! One of my guilty pleasures are crime novels, and I've always found blood-spatter analysis, or at least how they describe it, ultimately fascinating!"
"Yes, we're very lucky to have Dexter with us." said Deputy Chief Matthews. "He's been doing it for years, and he's the best at what he does."
"Well then, it is truly an honor to meet you then Dexter!" said Bateman. "I'm a big fan of the type of work you do. Think I could get a sneak peek at it sometime?"
It was rare that you come across a civilian who knows what a Blood-Spatter Analyst is, and even rarer that you come across a civilian who even has the slightest sense of what a Blood-Spatter Analyst does. Needless to say, Bateman had caught my attention, and I was not yet sure if he was simply the rare forensics groupie, or something else. For now, I decided to treat him as the appreciative fan he appeared to be.
"Um, as long as the department is OK with it, I don't mind." I replied.
"We might be able to arrange something." said LaGuerta.
"So, what brings you to Miami Metro?" I said, following up with a joke. "Should we be keeping an eye on you?"
Bateman chuckled at the idea, with what appeared to almost be a cocky laugh.
"That's good, I like that." said Bateman. "Actually, I've been setting up shop here the past month, and I'm just now getting around to my neighbors here in the area to say hello, maybe offer my services. I actually was just wrapping up a conversation with Captain LaGuerta and Deputy Chief Matthews about some investment options that might be good for the department's pension program."
Bateman turned back to LaGuerta and Deputy Chief Matthews.
"Well you've got all the information you need from me." said Bateman. "I'll let you get back to official police business. Thanks again for seeing me on such short notice, very much a pleasure meeting you both."
Bateman shook both their hands before turning back to me.
"The pleasure is all ours." said Deputy Chief Matthews. "Thanks for dropping by."
"Yes, thank you Patrick." said LaGuerta. "Bienvenidos a Miami."
Before going out the door, Bateman shook my hand one more time, and reached into a coat pocket with his other hand.
"Great meeting you again Dexter." said Bateman. "Listen, here's my card. If you need any financial advice, want to do any investing, anything like that at all, it's in my best interest to make you as filthy rich as possible. Call me anytime."
"Sure, thanks." I replied. "Have a great day."
I looked at the business card, which read "Patrick Bateman – President/CEO; Bateman Securities", with his contact information.
I'd never seen a guy who seemed so pristine about his appearance. Even the business card looked like it'd been carved from ivory from a freshly-killed elephant, and had a warmth to it, like it was fresh from the printing press. The ink had a watermark, and the letters were thin, yet elegant, and easy to read. Seemed like the card was trying to tell me "You can have it all…but you'll never have more than me."
"Dexter." said LaGuerta. "I assume you have the report on the Gregory Case."
"Yes, right here." I said, sitting down. "I'll go ahead and give you the summary."
I began explaining what findings I was willing to reveal to LaGuerta and Matthews. All the while, visions of Salvatore Ferragamo shoes danced in my head. When I finished my day at Miami Metro, my first order of business would be looking into those shoes.
Then all of the sudden, a question struck in my mind, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together.
"I wonder what kind of shoes Bateman wears?"
