Culture Shock (14 page)

At the very back of the roll call room, she took a moment to run the toes of Alex's boots against the back of his pant legs before she slid into a chair. She had heard that the Captain often tried to make an example of anyone slacking off on their appearance. That wasn't the person she wanted to be. The lower her profile, the better. As she straightened her tie, the Captain stepped up to the podium, and the murmuring of voices silenced.

She leaned on her elbow and listened to the daily updates. Mike, sitting right in front of her, glanced over his shoulder. "I wondered if you were going to make it," he whispered.

"Shhh. I want to hear this." She didn't want to miss out on any vital information.

Mike flashed a sneer and turned back around.

After roll call, she met him in the hallway. Mike eyed her suspiciously. "Are you all right? Before you shushed me in there I was just—"

"Sorry about that. I guess I'm just jumpy…with…everything that's happening."

"I get it." He looked past her and pointed toward two approaching men clad in suits. "There they are."

"There…who are?" Lord, she hoped she wasn't supposed to know.

"The two dicks we've been assigned to help. We met them briefly a few weeks back, don't you remember? God, you must be getting senile, Alex. Come on, I'll reintroduce you."

Perp
, Dicks ... where did they get such words? Thank goodness for all the cop shows on TV or she'd be totally lost. She pretended to remember the detectives as they exchanged handshakes and Mike revealed their names.

The balding, plainclothes detective pulled a small notebook from his pocket and thumbed through it. "One of the victims was found alive yesterday, although just barely. Mike, you and Alex head over to the hospital. If the victim regains consciousness, I want you to be there to ask some questions. We have a uniform stationed outside her door just in case. Make sure she isn't left unguarded. We haven't let it be known that she survived, but she may be our only chance to catch the
perp and finding the other two women alive."

“You mean he nabbed another one?”  Mike’s eyes went wide.

“Yep, last night right off the BART platform.  We questioned a few people who were there, but no one remembers seeing anything unusual.  At least we’ll have a good lead…if she lives.”

A lump grew in Cynthia's throat. "W-where did they find her?"

His lips thinned. "Off Arguello Street. In an alley, just like the other two. Luckily, he didn't pull the electrical wiring quite tight enough to kill her. Same M.O., though. He left a friggin' doll again ...wrapped in a blue cloth. I wish to hell I knew what it meant."

Her brain whirred. M.O….modus operandi. She nodded. "Alex," she almost slipped, "I mean...I wish I knew, too. Clearly the doll has a special meaning and figuring that out is key to the case."

***

Cynthia fidgeted in the passenger seat as Mike drove to the hospital. She stole a glance at him and wondered if he thought it strange when she insisted he take a turn behind the wheel. She had no idea where the hospital was located, and hoped her excuse about having blurred vision because of "allergy" eyes would buy her some time. She continued to amaze herself with creative white lies.

Turning onto Hyde Street, Mike pulled into the parking lot behind Saint Francis Memorial. She tagged alongside him as they entered the building and stood quietly as he asked for directions to the appropriate floor.

They had no idea if the victim had regained consciousness or not, but their instructions were to remain with her until she did.

Cynthia's heart raced with excitement and fear as they entered the elevator. Her panic muted Mike's casual conversation about his weekend outing with his wife. Nerves frayed, she forced herself to take slow and even breaths.  Once they reached the victim’s side, she’d focus on her partner’s conduct and mimic him. Visiting and questioning a real victim of the serial killer was nothing she ever pictured herself doing.  Following Mike’s lead was her best bet.

When the elevator doors opened, she followed Mike down the hall and past the nurse's station, stopping in front of a row of cubicles. Cynthia peered through the glass separating her and Mike from the victim's intensive care room, and her stomach roiled. A uniformed officer sat in a chair across the way, and nodded. His face was familiar but his name escaped her. She returned his nod and focused her attention back on the victim.

A paralyzing shiver passed through Cynthia. She might be sporting a macho body, but her nerves were her own, and the similarity between the patient and Cynthia was remarkable, at least when
Cyn had her own body. She could only imagine the fear the woman had felt, staring death in the face.

Without realizing, Cynthia heaved a loud sigh.

Mike glanced over at her. "What?"

"Nothing really." She rubbed Alex's whiskered chin. "I just can't believe what this poor creature has been through."

"I know. Turns my stomach to think the creep is still out there. He must be one sick son of a bitch." A line of tension ran along his jaw.

Cynthia spied Alex's reflection in the glass. For the moment, seeing his manly face staring back at her gave her some security. She looked at Mike and swallowed her fear. "It doesn't look like she's going to wake up anytime soon. I'll go check at the nurse's station and see if I can get an update on her condition."

"Good. While you do that, I'll get us some coffee," he volunteered.

Cynthia waited until Mike was out of sight, then hurried down the long corridor and found a secluded hallway. Reaching for Alex's cell phone, she dialed her home number. No signal. "Damn!"

She turned the phone off and walked back into the main hallway in search of a payphone, inserted a coin and dialed.

"Hello?" Alex answered.

"Hi, it's me,
Cyn. They found another victim."

"Dead?"

"No. Not yet anyhow. I'm here at the hospital with Mike. We're waiting to see if she regains consciousness."

"Have you talked to the doctor? Do they think she's going to make it?" His voice showed true concern.

"They aren't sure..." Her emotion choked off Alex's voice. "S-she was strangled like the others, but he didn't quite finish the job this time."

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"I hate this, Alex. I want my own body back. I don't like being you."

"I know, I know. I'm not crazy about your cramps either." He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "We'll think of something. Just hang in there."

"Okay. I'll try." She squared her shoulders. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. I downed a couple of those pills you have and took a nap."

"Good, because tomorrow you're going to work, or else."

"Are we going to start the threats again?" His chuckle was real and eased the tension between them. She hung up and returned to her appointed station.

Cynthia placed two chairs against the wall outside victim's room and took a seat.

Mike handed her a cup of steaming coffee. "Did you talk to the nurse?"

Her mind was still on Alex and how he would handle the questioning. "What?" She tilted her head and looked up at him.

"The nurs
e...did you ask them how long we might have to wait?"

"Oh...yes.” She lied.  “They don't know. We just have to hang around."

Cynthia had only taken her first taste of the hospital’s bitter brew when a nurse and doctor hurried into the victim's room. She set the coffee on a nearby table, stood and peered through the door. The doctor bent over the woman's bed, his ear to her lips.

Cynthia turned to her partner. "Looks like she might be awake."

Mike stood and joined her in the doorway. They continued to watch, but weren't able to overhear anything. Within a few seconds, the doctor passed by on his way out. Cynthia tugged on his sleeve. "Will we be able to ask her a few questions?"

His face void of expression, the white coat-clad physician shook his head. "Not right now. Let's make sure she's stable before we cause her anymore turmoil. I know it's important to talk to her, but I don't want to jeopardize her condition."

Cynthia nodded. "I understand, doctor. Just let us know when we can talk to her."

***

Cynthia rubbed the nape of her neck. "This hospital chair is like a rock. It's killing me."

Mike stood and shook one leg then the other. "My ass is asleep. Think I'll go for a walk and call home. Michelle will wonder what happened to me. Of course she'll love the overtime...means more shopping."

He sauntered down the hall, leaving Cynthia to enjoy the way his uniform fit his muscular buttocks. Recalling her predicament, she glanced from side to side. The last thing she needed was someone noticing her lustful looks at another man. She chuckled. How would Alex explain his sudden interest in Mike's butt to all his buddies? She needed levity at the moment and welcomed a cheery thought for a change.

The nurse must have summoned the doctor back. His long, hurrying strides into the room indicated a sense of urgency. Cynthia stood and peered inside, fearing the young woman had taken a turn for the worse. She released a breath at seeing the staff's concerned looks blossom into smiles. The victim was awake, and the nurse elevated the head of her bed. The doctor completed a perfunctory exam, then turned and saw Cynthia. He motioned her in. Her stomach lurched.

Where was Mike? Cynthia's heart leapt at the thought of dealing with this on her own.

On shaky legs, she walked to the victim's bedside. The young woman's blonde hair formed a matted mass on her pillow, and the deep blue of her eyes almost matched the bruises on the side of her neck.

Cynthia took a deep, calming breath. "Hello, my name is a...my name is Officer Carlyle. I'll try not to tire you, but I need to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to it?"

The victim's throat, marked with the angry red rings of an attempted strangulation, wobbled with a swallow. She nodded.

Cynthia pulled a notepad from her breast pocket and put pen tip to paper. "Did you recognize the person who did this to you, Miss Austin?"

Cynthia gazed on Alex's shaking hand and took another breath.

"No." The victim answered in a barely audible whisper. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Cynthia patted her hand. "Just a couple more questions, then I'll let you rest. I'm assuming your abductor was a man?"

"Yes," she croaked.

"Did he have any distinguishing marks or features that might help us identify him? What race?"

The woman's eyes widened. "White, I believe." She placed one hand on each side of her throat and grimaced.

"Don't talk if it hurts." Alex never would have made the suggestion, but Cynthia pitied the woman.

She smiled at Cynthia. "And, he had a tattoo," she muttered. "A large one on his arm."

"Can you describe it?" Cynthia urged.

The victim shook her head. "No, sorry... didn't see it clearly." She gulped down an obviously painful swallow. "I was fighting him as he ... he choked me. H-he covered my mouth." The terror of remembrance showed in her eyes, but she blinked back tears and edged higher up on her pillow. "When he clamped his hand over my mouth, I saw the tattoo on his upper arm ... left." The task proved too much. She coughed, covered her face and fell silent.

Cynthia again patted the woman's hand. "I'm sorry to make you relive the horrible nightmare. It must be very painful. You rest now, and don't worry. You're safe here."

When Cynthia turned, Mike stood in the doorway. "You heard?" she asked.

"Yes." His brow furrowed. "We have to catch the son of a bitch. He can't do this to anyone else. Did you ask her about the doll?"

"No, I didn't have a chance. We'll have to wait until she's up to it."

Mike rested his hand on the butt of his gun. "If you don’t mind, I’ll go back to the station and add the information on the tattoo to the all-points bulletin.  I‘ll be back for you in a bit, that way you‘ll be here if she‘s able to talk again.”

Cynthia frowned. "That’s fine with me, I guess.  I wish she could have described the tat for us this time, but at least we know it's big and on his left upper arm.  Don‘t be too long, I‘m beat."

Chapter Eleven

After picking up all the debris from the floor, Alex lifted the overflowing garbage bag and headed for the dumpster. As he'd recently learned, he no longer hoisted the sack over the shoulder; he had to grasp it like a lady and clutch it to his bosom. All Cynthia's rules made him want to scream. He should be with Mike, working on the case, not taking out garbage and suffering inside a woman's body.

He pushed aside his frustrations and opened the door. Hopefully, Cynthia wouldn't mind that he wore her slippers out of the apartment. In comparison to her other shoes...well, there was no comparison.

As he started down the stairs, he spied Thomas Carpenter coming in the front door. Alex quickly backed up two steps and hid in the stairwell. The last thing he needed in the midst of all his other dilemmas was more of Carpenter's crap.