Also, I claim no knowlegde of our legal system. I look up what I can, and the research is done, but I do not back up what I have written from a legal stand point. However, just because something is wrong does not mean I want it to stay that way. If you catch a boo-boo, please LET ME KNOW!! I will do what I can to [hopefully] fix it, or warn people of the mistake.
Chapter One: Who's the Blonde?
"Detectives Munch and Tutuola."
The five-foot two, black woman stood with her arms crossed in mock defiance, glowering up at the two detectives. The fact that she was still in her pajamas made her no less intimidating.
"I know who you are. And you ain't coming in here. Uh-uh. You were on the case last time and what happened? The motherfucker left another dead whore in my goddamn trashcan. Uh-uh. You get the hell out of here and send me some real police officers."
Munch smiled at the woman, and knew Fin behind him was doing the same. Despite, or maybe because of, her vinegar-and-salt-in-your-wounds attitude, she had endeared themselves to them.
"Nice to see you, too, Ms. Gerson." He walked in past her, noting the lack of resistance.
All bark, no bite.
"Same place?"
"Of course."
She followed the two detectives to the kitchen, and watched as Munch talked the photographer into holding off for a moment.
"Don't suppose we could have more of that exquisite tea you gave us last time?" Fin asked.
"That was when you was helpin me. Now you all just in my way. I have to get some sleep before my next shift."
"Not even a sip?"
"Maybe if you catch this asshole then I'll give you some tea."
Munch turned around, finished with the photographer. "Why do you think we left the case open? We hoped he'd do it again so we could have the pleasure of your company."
Yvonne smiled in spite of herself, but it was as brief as they come. "Get that dead girl out of my garbage, Detective."
"Yes, ma'am." Fin followed Munch out on to the patio, and towards the ME. She was bent over examining the body, now free from its plastic confines.
"So, what's on the murder menu this morning?" asked Munch.
"Have you two had breakfast?" asked the ME, standing up to greet the two men.
"Not yet."
"Then you're not gonna want to look farther than her face."
"How long?"
"Guessing? 36 to 48 hours."
"Age in her early twenties?" asked Fin.
She nodded.
"Condition?"
"She's definitely one for you guys. Been raped, but with what I'm not sure. We've got deep strangulation marks with Christmas lights, but I can't determine the cause of death now."
"Right. Anything else?"
"Well," she said bending down. "There's this."
Munch and Fin bent down, following the ME's lead. The girl was light, almost white blonde with a sweet face and startling light green eyes.
The ME lifted the girl's outdated bangs to reveal the word's "dirty blonde" carved into shallow caps in the middle of her forehead.
Fin stood, followed by his partner. "Just like the last time."
Munch nodded, then looked to the ME. "If you find any traces of lubricant or metal-"
"Gotcha."
Munch motioned the photographer the he could wrap up, then turned to his partner. "Didn't expect to be back here again."
Fin smiled. "Hoping this guy was a one hit wonder?"
"More than the Backstreet Boys."
"They've got the plastic bag already, but if it's like last time, we're not gonna get any prints off it."
Munch nodded and looked around at the surrounding houses. "Ready to case the joint?"
* * * * *
"Nobody saw anything. Again." Munch walked into the squadroom and was met immediately by an expectant Captain.
"This is the same guy from four months ago?"
"Without a doubt." Fin walked to his desk and picked up the phone.
Cregan turned to Munch. "What've we got?"
"Working girl with no ID. If this is like the other, she'll have been raped with various instruments of unknown origin. She was really light blonde like the last girl with the words 'Dirty Blonde' carved into her forehead."
Fin covered the mouthpiece. "She was in her early twenties, but other than that and the hair, she was completely different than Ross."
"The last pro this guy hit?"
Fin nodded. "Right. Cheryl Ross was around the same age, but looked older, liked she been working from childhood-"
The person on the other end of the phone interrupted him.
Munch took over for his partner. "She had visible track marks, and a coke addiction. Her hair was dyed, teeth were really nasty. The new girl looked innocent, like a country girl. Hair was out of style and looked like it's natural color, good complexion, very little make-up."
"Perp could have taken care of that."
Munch grabbed the file from his desk and handed it to his captain. "Last pro was left with the make up on. She still had eyeliner tracks from where she cried."
Cregan opened the file looking it over. "So we're sure this one's a prostitute?"
"Not entirely, but if her clothes were any indication, I'd say 'yeah'. It's becoming a pattern."
"It's already a pattern." Cregan gave the file back to Munch. "You said nobody saw anything?"
"Right. Yvonne Gerson was at work. Neighbors were either out or asleep when we knocked, and none of them had seen or heard anything. Yvonne said the trashcan was empty when she left for work, so it could have been anywhere in between 7:00 PM last night to around 7:30 AM when she got in this morning."
Fin hung up and smiled at his partner and captain. "We might have something. Gerson's neighbor, Philip Kip lives behind her and they share the backyard space. He said he saw a kid running through his backyard last night."
* * * * *
Otto's Auto
Corner of Harrison and Greenwich St
Tuesday, May 1st
"Yeah, at breakneck speed. I'm telling you, I thought he was running from a gang or something."
Philip Kip had his long ragged gray-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and under his work hat. He tightened something under the hood, then came up to look at the two detectives. He wiped his hands on his uniform, his gaze lingering on Fin, then went back to work under the hood.
Munch gave his partner a questioning glance, and got a shrug from the man in return. "We just need to ask you a few questions," he said.
"Mmm-hmm. Here or private?"
"Here'll do fine."
Fin pulled out a piece of paper. "You said you saw the kid at around eleven last night."
"Right," came the muffled reply. "I was doing the dishes. My sink faces the backyard. The old lady next door and I never really use it, so-"
"The old lady? You mean Ms. Gerson?"
"Is that her name?"
Munch smiled, mystified. "You've lived there how long?"
The man came from under the hood, and thought for a minute. "About twelve years."
"You don't know your neighbors after twelve years?"
Kip's eyes briefly passed over Odafin Tutuola and subtly conveyed his hate for the darker skinned detective. Munch's smile immediately disappeared, his stomach tightening out of disgust. "I don't know her. Or her family."
Fin glared at the man. "Don't you mean her type?"
Kip met his eyes again, this time solidly.
Munch put his hand gently on his partner's shoulder, hoping to calm him down. Fin's phone rang. He stood for a moment then walked off, answering the phone.
Munch turned back to the man and forced himself to continue as if nothing happened. "You said you don't use the backyard?"
"Not ever, actually. We both have the patios, too, but never really do much on them but cook out. She has her family whenever, and I've got some friends that come and party. But we never really use the space. That's why I haven't put up a fence. So, I was doing the dishes and I hear this noise. Not really a crash-" Kip ducked back under the hood, "-but more like a trashcan lid being dropped. I look up, and don't see anything. That spook next door never turns on her porch light at night."
He's a witness, Munch thought, breathing deeply. He despised racists, part of the filth in the world as far as he was concerned. Right up there with Commies and sex offenders.
He was also very possessive of his partners.
Keep it calm. Get everything from him first.
"So, I'm looking out the window, and I'm not seeing anything. It's just some stupid dog knocking over trashcans, right?" He bent down, putting the wrench on the edge of the toolbox, then stood up facing Munch. He was wiping his hands furiously on a rag. "Then I see this shape coming really fast. I squint into the darkness and I see this nigger kid, maybe 16 or 17, running from that house. He runs past mine."
"That's it?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Can you describe the kid?"
Kip sneered at Munch. "You mean they have distinguishing characteristics? They all look the same to me man."
Munch glared at him. "They all do to racist eyes."
Kip's suddenly burned with a sick passion. "You telling me that you like having that eggplant for a partner?"
"As a matter of fact: yes, I do. And I liked the eggplant before him. And the mick before her."
Kip smiled smugly. "Bullshit."
Munch smiled coolly, as he always did when rage was trying to get the best of him. Many years of his many ex-wives had taught him more than a few tricks to calm himself down. "Would that make it easier for you? Does it? To think that everyone in the world is as ignorant and asinine as yourself?"
Philip got into Munch's face just as Fin walked up and stepped between them. He pulled his partner with him, walking away from Kip. "Thanks so much for your time." Fin called over his shoulder.
They walked outside. "Nice to get a breath of fresh air."
Fin laughed. "Fresh? New York air?"
"Compared to that contaminated atmosphere?"
Fin gave his partner a thoughtful look. "Thanks, John."
Munch, unsure of himself in situations involving even the slightest hint of strong emotion, particularly sentiment, nodded. "It's nothing. The guy's a jackass."
They turned and headed for the car. "Cregan called," Fin started. "Said that Missing Person's found a couple hits with photos. He sent Benson."
"That was quick."
"He also said the ME found something."
* * * * *
"This." She held up a screwdriver bit.
"It's the kind that goes on one of those interchangeable sockets, right?"
"Right. I found it in between the posterior and anterior ligaments of her uterus."
Munch glanced at his nauseated partner, then back to the medical examiner. "Means we've got one of the instruments he raped her with."
She nodded. "There were no traces of semen, but I did find the traces of metal, just like you asked. No lubricant, however."
"He's gettin crueler." Fin's voice wavered. Munch turned to see his partner looking away from the body. "You alright?"
Fin nodded slowly. "Just not partial to intestines."
Munch smiled a bit at one of his partner's more endearing qualities. How long did he spend undercover for Narcotics? Plus a little over a year with this unit and he's still squeamish.
Munch turned back to the ME. "What else?"
"57 lacerations on the chest, abdomen and back. All from a small knife, maybe pocket. Contusions all over from her thighs to her face. The pelvis is smashed and the sexual organs and pubic region are torn to shreds."
"I can tell rough sex is an understatement for this guy."
"She also has glove prints all over her lower back, buttocks and upper thighs."
Fin frowned, looking at the ME. "Glove prints?"
"You can see the brand name in places."
"Anything special?"
She shook her head. "Your basic variety garden gloves found in any gardening or grocery store. I didn't notice this at the crime scene, but-" she picked up one of the girl's arms. Munch moved towards the body, as did a reluctant Fin.
"She was wearing bangles this morning, but when we took them off there were these."
The showed the two detectives places on the dead woman's wrist that had been worn raw.
"Her wrists were bound, then."
"They're on her ankles as well. I know some rape victims struggle, but the wrists wouldn't be this raw if it was just while she was being raped."
Munch nodded and Fin picked up where she was headed. "Why would he tie her ankles together while he was raping her?"
"He wouldn't."
"Right."
The ME glanced back down to the dead woman on the table. "I don't think this is your basic kidnap-rape-and-wait-to-dump deal. I'd guess from this-" she pointed again at the abraised wrist, "-and the multitudes of the wounds and raw spots that she was kidnapped for a few days, then killed and kept around for a day or two after."
Fin looked up, his face creasing in disgust and queasiness. "Are any of the-"
"Yes. Many of the injuries and some of the internal damage are post-mortem. Some, but not most."
Munch looked at the young girl's face. His partner was not the only one who would go without lunch today.
Munch's phone rang. He took it out, but before he could even open it, his partner took it. "I got it." He left the room.
"How'd she die?"
"Asphyxia. He strangled with her Christmas lights." She pointed to the neck to show him the indents and bruises left by the wires and bulbs.
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but is there anything else?"
"Well, the girl's had no dentistry work. Didn't need it actually. Perfect teeth and the hands have no calluses. She's remarkably clean for a pro. No track marks, bruises, or evidence of drug usage. The hair's natural color, but she's had a nose job and breast implants more than three to five years ago."
"A hooker with plastic surgery?"
The ME turned and grabbed a bag from the counter, handing it to Munch. "Personal belongings. Very nice, personal belongings, by the way."
He looked at the bag as his partner came back into the room. The jewelry looked expensive but old, like she'd been wearing them for years.
Fin interrupted Munch's thoughts. "Benson got an ID on her."
Munch looked at the girl. "Her name?"
"Miranda Faulkner."