What slithers beneath the surface? Part 2
Amy Sykes walked out of the elevator ahead of Lieutenant Provenza, carrying a large pink box with pastries in her arms. Amy had insisted they stop by a bakery on the way to headquarters, as it was Sunday. Lieutenant Provenza had commenced the customary complaining; something to do with 'sugar' and 'fat' and 'coronary arteries', but once Amy had entered the bakery with the lieutenant, the man had been loud and adamant on what he wanted and how many icing-topped donuts he wanted. It was like working with her grandfather, though of course Amy would never tell Provenza that little detail.
The older detective was grumbling under his breath as they made their way down the hallway. Amy was certain the low mumbled words were something about 'Sundays' and 'work' and 'nonsense' with 'Flynn' thrown into the middle of it.
One day, Amy should introduce Provenza to her grandfather; surely the two old men could find something to grumble about collectively. Amy felt a smile tugging at her lips imagining them sitting on a porch and complaining about everything. She only listened with half an ear to Provenza's grumble.
They entered the squad room of Major Crimes, the office was empty but for a perturbed looking Emma Rios. The lawyer stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed and a worried look at the blank murder board. This day had the petulant lawyer in a black dress and a purple cardigan. Looking down, Amy noticed nude heels that appeared unsafe to walk in; the heels high and thin.
The lawyer spun around hurriedly when she heard them, her look hassled and exhausted.
Provenza shared a questioning look with Amy, one of his eyebrows raised.
"Oh good, you're finally here!" the lawyer shifted on her feet, "Chief Taylor said you would be in by eight," the woman looked at her watch, a furrow between her eyebrows, "and it's closer to nine."
"DDA Rios?" Provenza greeted her, his tone on the edge of annoyance, "To what do we owe this visit? We are just getting started on a case, and frankly, I don't see how much good an attorney will do at this point. We don't even have a clear cause of death yet for Mr Wilton."
Rios pursed her lips, a pronounced pout. She then held out a plastic bag with two fingers, the grasp delicate as if she would rather not touch the plastic bag. Inside the opaque bag was a single red rose.
"I don't care about your case," Rios told them with pique in her tone, "I've gotten another threat from Philip Stroh. Chief Taylor said this was your jurisdiction."
Provenza grimaced, his eyes on the red rose.
Amy sighed.
It had been close to a month now without Philip Stroh rearing his ugly head. She had begun to think that the roses were a gesture of farewell and the serial killer had disappeared for good. Apparently not.
Amy found black gloves in the top drawer by her desk and put them on. Then she went to Rios and took the offered plastic bag. The single rose was unblemished and fresh, it's scent still heavy and wet. The half folded white paper alongside the rose was attached with a small white knotted string to the stem, it was square and appeared new. Rios pursed her mouth further, her expression annoyed and disinterested. Amy figured it was a charade, the woman had telltale signs of nervousness; she shifted her weight from one foot to the other constantly, and her eyes were slightly larger than usual.
Amy took out the rose, turning the flower around, her eyes narrowed on the petals.
"It's a short note this time," Rios commented with a glance over Amy's shoulder, glaring at the offending rose.
There was a small smile on the lawyer's mouth; like a gesture meant to relax the atmosphere but all it did was outlining the distress on the woman's face to Amy.
Provenza joined in, his eyes on the rose and note, "What's it say, Sykes?"
Amy read the note out aloud; "Do you ever wonder how much blood you contain, Emma?"
Provenza made a face at the words and then he huffed, "Short and to the point, not prancing around like in the previous notes."
Amy nodded, agreeing. Then she added, her eyes on Rios, "It's a bit different from the first notes we received." Amy had reread the notes the Captain, herself and Rios had gotten a month back till her eyes became bleary. She knew all three notes by heart.
"There was a lyrical disposition in the first notes. They were almost poetic. This is, as you said sir, short and to the point."
Provenza nodded, but then with a pointed look at the lawyer he commented, "Threat assessment will still show there is not enough of an explicit threat in the note to warrant a full, emergent investigation."
Rios compressed her lips and crossed her arms again, "I beg to differ. It feels explicit enough to me, lieutenant Provenza."
Provenza threw a wary glance at Rios, uncertain how to proceed with this case.
Amy interceded, "It is escalating, DDA Rios. We are not disputing that, but from a police point of view, we need more to fund a full investigation."
"Of course," Rios pursed her mouth, eyes dark, "Philip Stroh is smart enough not to phrase his little notes as outright threats."
"Maybe we will find more than a print this time," Provenza stated.
Amy nodded though she was hesitant on that; last time they had found a well-placed thumb print on all three notes of paper as if put there deliberately to remind them Stroh was free to send them threats.
Rios put her hands on her hips, "So you can't do anything, is that what you're saying?"
Amy shook her head, "No. We will send the note and rose off to analysis, and we can up the security protocol around you."
Rios sighed and sarcastically replied, "Certainly, I do so love having bodyguards following me around. It's very assuring for all my clients."
Amy shrugged. The woman was a civilian; she needed some form of protection. Even if the notes were not explicit enough to warrant a full on investigation, they did reach a level high enough to demand caution. The Captain and Amy could protect themselves, and the security detail for Rusty did not change much; a couple of hidden bodyguards, assigned from SWAT and SIS interchangeably, tracked the boy when he went outside. The detail had been installed the days following Stroh's escape, and Amy was sure the boy knew but he had yet to comment it.
Provenza waved at Rios, "Yeah, count yourself lucky the DA's office have the budget for your protection. Now, where was the rose this time? Taped to your front door again?"
The air went out of the lawyer. She sat down with a heavy sigh on Provenza's desk, her expression exasperated. Amy waited for the older man to tell the lawyer to go sit elsewhere; it didn't happen. He must have taken pity on Rios.
Amy felt bad as well. She could deal with threats like these – it was a mental exercise to not let it get to you. You needed all your focus on yourself and your surroundings, not on fear. Fear often stood in the way in cases like this; it would only be a hindrance. From the awkward firsthand impressions Rios had presented two years back when she had first showed up, to the unfortunate way the woman had of stuffing her foot in her mouth repeatedly, the lawyer had started to grow on Amy. To a point. No one deserved to be harassed like this.
"No - it was taped to the outside of my bedroom window," Rios answered, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth, her eyes on the desk.
Sykes narrowed her eyes, her mouth compressing as she fought an urge to curse. The invasion of such an action was nauseating and exactly something Stroh would do to heighten the lawyer's fear. Amy gently touched the woman's shoulder, a quick squeeze meant to be comforting. The woman looked up, eyes wide and almost brimming with water.
"Creepy," Provenza mumbled, his own gaze darkening.
Rios sniffed in agreement.
Amy leaned in and caught her eyes, "You can stay here for now, once the rest of the team get in, we'll update them. And then we will figure out what we do from here. Okay?"
The woman nodded slowly, half unconvincing.
Amy leaned backwards and grabbed the pink box. She opened it and offered Rios a pastry, her smile encouraging. Rios sniffed a couple of times, her mouth even more pursed, but in the end she leaned in and found a donut to her liking.
After a few silent minutes the rest of the team walked in. Their expressions changed from slightly annoyed to puzzled when they caught sight of Rios.
Julio raised his eyebrow at Amy, silently asking what Rios was doing in their squad room. Amy nodded her head at the plastic bag in Provenza's hands and the rose on her desk.
The group gathered around the older lieutenant, looking at the note. Flynn put a tray with coffee cups down next to the pastry box.
The Captain was on the phone and only briefly gave the rose and Rios a look, before she turned her back to the group and walked a few meters away. Amy caught her expression; there was a line to her mouth that Amy took to mean she was being told something that left a bad taste in her mouth.
Amy turned her eyes back on the group; Flynn had offered Rios a coffee and was reading the note.
"Son of a -," he commented with a quick look to Rios, gauging her reaction.
"It was taped to the outside of DDA Rios's bedroom window," Provenza told the rest, his tone somber.
Mike narrowed his eyes and Julio looked like thunder made flesh.
Flynn shook his head, disgust in his voice, "What about you Amy? You haven't gotten a new one, have you? Sharon hasn't."
She shook her head.
Mike wondered "What about security cameras in your neighborhood, Rios? Maybe we can find Stroh on one of them. When did the note appear?"
Rios shrugged, "I don't think I've seen a security camera anywhere near my apartment complex. I'm on the first floor – my window is at ground level. It was there when I woke up this morning." The woman swallowed her nervous smile, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her cardigan.
Amy took a bite out of a donut, the filling warm in her mouth, "It's worth looking into security cameras. Or maybe we can find the florist who sold the roses," Amy said, still chewing.
At that moment, the Captain turned around. She had ended her phone call and the look in her eyes read 'danger' to Amy.
"I have bad news," the Captain told them as she joined them.
The Captain crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on Emma Rios before she continued, "Linda Rothman was reported missing this Friday, Hollywood sent out a patrol unit after the obligatory 72 hours to check on her house. They found a forced entry in the back of her house, and Rothman was found dead in her bedroom."
"Linda Rothman is dead!" Rios exclaimed with sudden frenzy in her eyes. She crossed her arms even more rigidly and nearly crushed her cup of coffee, "The woman was Stroh's lawyer; she had privilege about him. Surely this is not a coincidence. I mean, the man is threatening me and now he kills the one woman who knew more about him than anyone else?"
The Captain nodded, a grave look, "Yes, Stroh is a likely suspect. We are taking on the case as well," she turned her head to regard the team, "Which means we will be breaking up into two teams. I need someone to get headway on Linda Rothman, and to find out if there are any definite links to Stroh in her murder. If we can link the threats to DDA Rios, Amy, and myself, and the murder of Linda Rothman to Stroh, that would be ideal. But first off, we need to know everything about Ms. Rothman and her life. We need to weed out likely suspects besides Philip Stroh so it will stand in court as well."
Lieutenant Provenza nodded in agreement.
The Captain sighed, "And the rest of us will focus on Daniel Wilton and our other, still unknown, serial killer. We need to find our sixth victim, or, very unlikely so, the intended victim. He, or she, may still be alive."
An hour later, after having calmed DDA Rios further down and situated her in the break room with her computer, Amy was once again driving through Los Angeles. This time she and Lieutenant Provenza were on their way to Rothman's house and the new crime scene.
Rothman was unmarried with no children, and according to her secretary, she had not showed up for client appointments Thursday or Friday. The secretary had called several times, but to no avail. Eventually the secretary had reported the lawyer missing after she had visited the woman's house, and no one had answered the door. The lawyer usually always answered her phone, the secretary had said in the statement.
Linda Rothman lived in a beautiful, quiet neighborhood with tall palm trees and green grass on well-groomed lawns. A suburban area, Amy noted, on the expensive side of the fence.
Amy drove slowly down the street, mindful of the joggers and dog-walkers that were about. At the end of the street two cruisers from Hollywood division were parked in front of Rothman's house, they had gathered a bit of a crowd from curious neighbors. Next to the two cruisers was an unmarked car on the curb that, no doubt, belonged to Robbery/Homicide. Amy parked next to it.
They met Sergeant Renner and the responding officer by the front door. Both men were wearing plastic covers on their shoes, and the officer held out two pairs for Amy and Provenza. Amy fished out two pairs of black gloves and gave one pair to Provenza. After equipping themselves, Renner and the officer took them through the preliminary discoveries.
The first thing Amy noticed, when she stepped into the pristine home of the lawyer, was the clear glass vase on the kitchen table full of fresh red roses. Two dozen roses with long stems; neat and primly arranged in the vase on the wooden table. Amy sniffed at the water and the flowers; the water smelled fresh and not in any way sour.
The house was spacious with wide windows, high ceilings, and a big lawn that expanded from a wooden terrace to a tall green hedge in the back. The house was spick and span; the floor and walls pristine with cool colors. The furniture looked vintage rich; not the vintage you inherited from distant relatives, but the vintage you spent a disproportionate amount of money on from an up-and-coming fancy boutique that was as distantly related to a thrift shop as Amy was related to a Scandinavian Viking. The walls were decorated with various elaborate paintings and looked as if they had cost a small fortune to Amy. She saw a couple of photographs in the entrance hallway; Linda Rothman in black and white pictures with various people; mostly other lawyers dressed in suits and then a couple of casual-dressed people that looked to be family.
Linda Rothman had been prim about her house and the interior; it was spotless, stylish and very modern.
The sergeant showed them to the back of the house where the door had been forced open. There was glass on the floor from a broken door window. They then made their way to the bedroom.
Heavy curtains darkened the room completely; the only light came from the hallway windows, throwing a beam of sun into the room. The officer drew the curtains apart and sunlight flooded the room, and there, next to the pale hand of the woman, lay a single red rose. It was staged artfully. The rose lay on the woman's open palm as if that had been the last thing that had happened to her; immaculate and unmarked. The room would have looked serene if Amy detracted the dead woman. There was nothing broken, no shards of glass to indicate a fight had taken place. Everything seemed to be right where it belonged. Linda Rothman was the only factor of disturbance in the room.
The bed was a four poster, the quilt lying neatly folded on a chair. The sheets looked expensive. Rothman lay half on her side, twisted at her waist, thighs apart and one leg half bent. She was naked from the waist down, a single lace bra half ripped apart and not covering anything. The sheets were slightly tangled around her waist and Amy noted marks on the inner thighs.
Kendall came into the room with his equipment. He quietly greeted everyone before he went close to the bed, examining the body and the injuries. Provenza had an expression similar to stone and told Amy to stay put. He then made a round of the house with Sergeant Renner.
Amy stayed in the bedroom.
"There are clear marks on her throat," Kendall said over his shoulder to Amy.
Amy stepped closer to the bed and watched as the man pointed at the strangulation marks around her throat. There were two different lines that ran vertical across her throat, bluish and reddish. The marks were thin and had been deep enough to draw blood in places. The killer must have strangled her with some small, thin wire or a string.
Kendall lifted Rothman's eyelids with a gentle motion, his gloves on. The conjunctivas were bloodshot.
"Petechial hemorrhage," Kendall noted, "strangulation would be the likely cause of death."
Amy only nodded. She swallowed back a lump, her throat closing up. There was an underlying hate to the crime that had bile rising in her throat.
"Marks on her inner thighs," Kendall leaned closer, careful with the sheet. Buzz was on his way and would be ready to document the scene any moment now. "Could be human teeth marks? Or something else. They look pre-mortem. There are marks on her forearms, and on her knuckles, possible defensive wounds. She bit her lower lip and went through the skin. There's a slight swelling at her right brow; possibly from a blow to her head."
Kendall's examination reached her feet.
"She was bound at one point. See this," he pointed at the small red marks on the woman's ankles.
Amy narrowed her eyes. That Philip Stroh was behind this, there was no doubt. To Amy it was clear as day. This was a statement. Bold and nauseating, meticulously planned. Stroh had some plan or other, and this was merely the beginning, Amy was sure.
"The bastard left a note," Provenza stuck his head through the door. Amy went with him to the kitchen.
Attached to the bouquet of red roses was a single note, white paper folded.
"Tying up loose ends," it said.
…