12 Days (22 page)

“Very likely. We know he killed Alice Edwards because she knew too much. Milt Adams was the guy who connected the murders on WNN. I’m now convinced that Marty is able to adjust his kills on the fly. And then there is this.”

“
Silence of the Lambs
.”

“Sorry, Captain. Marty probably wanted to eliminate Milt for exposing his plan, but couldn’t wait for day eleven. So he kills him and then covers him in plastic with quicklime, so that he won’t be discovered until later on, ideally – in Marty’s mind, anyway – like on the eleventh day. It’s not perfect, but it does work in a twisted sort of logic.”

“Fine. What does that have to do with
Silence of the Lambs
?”

“The villain, Buffalo Bill, killed his first victim, but wanted her body to be discovered third. We covet what we see, that’s what Hannibal Lecter said. Marty saw Milt Adams and coveted him. He tried to make Milt fit into his musical killing scheme.”

“And this Milt Adams cameraman guy was a drummer?”

Jim thought back to the day he saw Milt spinning wildly in his chair in the editing bay at KVTM News, air drumming like a madman.

“The cut is on the left side of Swanza’s neck. That would mean that if Lord was looking at him, he would need to use his right hand.”

Jim thought for a moment then began miming the thoughts he was having about the encounter.

“Swanza was fairly certain that Marty could not use his right hand. What if Marty was sitting down? Remember, he does have a bad hip. What if he was in front of Swanza and he stabbed upward with his left hand? That could be consistent with the injury and what Swanza saw.”

“Could be,” agreed the Captain. “I can ask one of my friends over at Cedars what would cause someone to lose control of his arm, see if that could help.”

“Not yet, could be a lot of things. Breast-feeding single moms, women who work on dairy farms outside the city, I don’t know. I’ll talk it over with the team and give you a call.”

Day 7: 1:33 p.m.

New Year’s Eve was always a profitable night for exotic dancers in Los Angeles. On a normal night, all the girls would get a cut from the cover charge of $10 per head in any of the more established clubs. On New Year’s Eve, the cover went up to $50 and the cops looked the other way as the owners broke out the hard alcohol for customers. It was illegal for strip clubs to serve alcohol in L.A., except on New Year’s Eve, and the girls got a piece of the liquor take as well. Toni Richardson was never really excited about leaving her kids and going to work, but tonight was an exception. If she could clear a couple of thousand tonight, she would have almost enough to start the summer session at Cal State Dominguez Hills. Toni had high hopes for the coming year; hopes that might actually come to fruition, as long as nothing went wrong. She shuddered, thinking about it. Why did something always seem to go wrong, unexpectedly?

Day 7: 3:06 p.m.

“I know that this is going to make me sound like I’m an old lady, but can we just stay in? I’m tired with worrying over the job thing and now Milt, I really don’t feel like partying.”

Jim was pleased.

“I am perfectly okay with that. I’ll pick up some champagne and a couple of salmon steaks on my way home and we’ll chill. How does that sound?”

“Tomorrow is Day 8, which is ‘Maids a milking’. I need to determine who the next target could be and no one seems to be able to get into Marty Lord’s head like you.”

They hung up simultaneously, both happy. Jim found himself feeling… content. Who knew that something good could come from a string of murders at the turn of the year. It was…sick.

Day 7: 3:25 p.m.

Captain Jones was looking at his notes. He had spoken to a golfing buddy who also happened to be the Chief of Neurosurgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Jones told the doctor about Marty Lord and about the claim that the killer could not use his right arm. The doctor gave Jones a differential diagnosis for arm weakness that began with carpal tunnel syndrome, passed through a labral tear in the shoulder, briefly touched upon brachial plexus trauma before becoming a herniated disk in the cervical spine, and finally a mass lesion in the brain. As the doctor was a nerve specialist, most of the conversation centered on disorders of the brain and spinal cord. If the patient had a lesion in the left hemisphere of his brain, either a tumor or a bleed, he could easily lose function of an entire extremity, like an arm. The patient might have difficulty with speech and/or with his gait.

When Captain Jones asked his friend if a patient with a brain lesion could exhibit violent homicidal behavior, the answer was a resounding yes – he would suffer excruciating pain and might seek to share it in a violent manner.

The Captain thanked the neurosurgeon for his time and pored over the notes.
Okay, Marty
, thought Jones,
we know you have a bad hip and a useless arm, probably the result of something going on in your head. We know so much about you; why can’t I find you? Where are you, Marty Lord? Where the fuck are you?

Day 7: 4:35 p.m.

Phyllis Crenshaw put out a saucer of milk for Ms. Kitty and checked the casserole in the oven.
Just a few more minutes so the cheese browns and gets nice and crispy
, she thought. Phyllis had grown accustomed to being alone on New Year’s Eve, since it was no different than any other lonely night in the world. She was not burdened by her situation; she wore it as a badge of honor. For as much as Phyllis would have loved to have a man in her life, she was content, just her and the cat. She was a middle-aged single woman with a big heart who delivered milk door-to-door and that was just fine. There were other people like her in the neighborhood; other people who were alone. Alice Edwards had lived alone, but Alice was dead now. Mickey Deus lived alone.
Oh, he was so sad
, Phyllis thought.
He was sick and all alone.
And suddenly, Phyllis wanted to make a difference that night. As she pulled her tuna casserole out of the oven, she decided to bring it over to Mickey so that they could be alone together. She’d also take over some of the cottage cheese that he liked so much.
This will be nice
, Phyllis mused.
This will be nice, indeed
.

Day 7: 6:06 p.m.

Lisa opened the bottle of champagne while Jim cooked the salmon. He had been brought up to believe that it was good luck to eat fish on New Year’s Eve, so on the way home, in addition to the salmon steaks, he picked up a squid salad in lemon juice and some pickled herring. Despite the fact that these delicacies from the sea were dietary staples in Judaic households, Lisa was not a big fan of seafood and was really in the mood for baby back ribs. Luckily, Jim had some in the freezer. As they prepared the meal, she handed Jim a flute of White Star champagne and they toasted the future.

“As a matter of fact, I have thought about it. I started with the personal numbers in the phone book and looked up any name that might come close to Milk or Milking.”

“We did that, too. There were no Milks or Milkings but there were several Millikens.”

“Right,” agreed Lisa. “Like that guy who went to jail for selling junk bonds in the eighties. But I looked further and realized that all the Millikens in the phone book were men and we’re looking for a single woman.”

“Because the victim has to be a maid…” added Jim.

“Or a maiden. It has to be a woman. So that didn’t work. I then looked in the yellow pages at the business listings at all the maid services, of which there are a lot.”

He noticed that Lisa flinched when he asked his last question. There was a distinct possibility that he might have been a bit too aggressive with his tone of voice.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that if it weren’t for you, we would still be a day behind Marty. You saved David Swanza, you almost saved Giselle An. I just really believe in you.”