JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (41 page)

When they came together again it was with a locking struggle as each one fought to gain the upper hand. Charley had the heel of us hand pressed up against her throat.

Christ, she's strong
, he thought.
Jesus, she's
—

He drove his fist into her solar plexus and felt her hold on him crumple a little bit, and then time became a blur as they fought an almost silent dance of survival His hands shook as he took her out of the freezer, piece by piece. He laid her out gently on the floor until she was all there, and then he started rooting around in the workroom for that old patchwork quilt he had picked up the other day. He would bundle her up in that; it would keep her nice and cozy.

Trembling with anticipation, he picked up Carmen's torso and cradled it lovingly to his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, taking deep breaths that threatened to spill out into sobs. He held it in. He couldn't cry now. There was no room for crying. He had to be strong and face these next few steps like a man. He had to get through this if he ever wanted to attempt to try to get help. But first he had to deal with Carmen and the young man that he had gotten around Christmas—what was his name? Miguel something kept coming to his mind. Another young gang member. This one a drug dealer as well as a pimp, but also a man who had a more sophisticated sense of criminal sensibilities. Miguel Something had been one of the higher ups in the Eighteenth Street gang, a young man in his mid-twenties who called the shots to the younger street thugs who routinely shot each other up on L.A.'s streets. Miguel Something had been befriended quite easily. After all, Latino gang members, even from warring gangs, all had one thing in common.

Once he had gotten control of his emotions, he held Carmen's torso out from his body, admiring his handiwork. Unlike the others, he'd kept her torso more or less intact; he had only separated the limbs and head from her body. The portions he hadn't sampled he had kept in the freezer for future use and she had kept quite fresh, unlike Miguel who just seemed to rot no matter what he did to retard decomposition. He ran his left hand along Carmen's frozen, hard body, his thumb tracing around one full breast. He brought the torso up to his face and kissed each breast, pausing to suckle the cold, frozen meat of the nipples, before he set the torso down on the patchwork quilt. He held the tears in as he rapidly worked, wrapping the torso quickly and expertly in the patchwork quilt. The urge to fuck her one last time came and he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. If he fucked her one last time he would keep her, and he couldn't keep her anymore so he continued wrapping her up in the quilt. When he was finished the patchwork quilt covered Carmen completely. Now for the rest of her.

He turned his attention to the arms and legs, which he had left on the floor. Taking a large piece of butcher's paper, which he had gotten from the house, he put a limb in each section of paper and wrapped it up expertly, fastening it with rubber bands that he got from a coffee can on the workbench. He wrapped each limb this way, and when he was done he placed them in a makeshift cardboard box he had constructed from two smaller boxes, the small box fitting into the larger one to create one awkward container.

He put the limbs inside the box and pushed the two together, closing their contents up. He picked up the now one awkward box and shook the contents. Carmen's arms and legs jumbled around inside.

Picking up the patchwork quilt, he carried it outside to the truck and put it in the front seat.

Now it was Miguel Something's turn. The wet smell of decay and rotting flesh rose up to him and he breathed it in, reveling in the smell. He had lost himself in Miguel for awhile, but now it was time to get rid of him, too. He wrapped what was left of Miguel's arms and legs in pieces of newspaper. Then he turned his attention to what remained of his still intact vertebrae, pelvis and ribcage. He had gotten some good mileage out of Miguel.

The only thing that had disappointed him was when Miguel ran out of edible parts. He
had
been rather tasty.

He put Miguel in the car then checked his watch. There was an empty field five blocks from here. It would take less than two minutes to drive over, dump Carmen and Miguel, and drive back. He considered leaving them in the freezer, but he really had to get rid of them. For one, he couldn't be caught red-handed. And two, dumping them would go along with his plans; it would only serve to confuse the police even more.

He went back inside the house and checked on things real quick. Satisfied, he darted back out, got into the van, started it up and backed it down the driveway.

The drive to the dump spot took less than a minute.

The field was situated at the end of a lonely cul-de-sac, nestled in the valley right behind Dodger Stadium. The other side of the lot sat on a fairly busy intersection, but the back end of it rested against a lower class residential street. A quiet street. Nobody had seen him pull up and nobody would see him drive out. At one-thirty a.m., the area was dead quiet. He put the truck in park, rolled down the window, and began throwing Carmen and Miguel out the window as far as he could. Their various body parts landed well within the field, and that satisfied him just fine. The way people were so oblivious to things, that might go overlooked for quite some time.

When he finished he pulled away from the curb and drove away slowly. He couldn't attract unwanted attention.

It had been a hellish night. The urge to do another one had been so strong with him that he had succumbed to it earlier. But it was his decision to end it all tonight, which had prompted him to make some important decisions; he knew they would be investigating Carmen's disappearance more thoroughly very soon, and Miguel was starting to smell really rank. Besides, that old bitch would start getting suspicious with Miguel's stench seeping through the walls.

He had almost been derailed when that Rachael Pearce bitch starting nosing around. And look where
that
led to? He'd had to take extreme measures, but he did take care of the problem. He had even gotten rid of that old bitch, too; mother surely wouldn't be bugging him anymore.

He turned the radio on and turned it to a classic rock station. The Cars were singing about how they needed Candy-O. He hummed along as he drove home, pushing everything he had been worrying about out of his mind, knowing that he had gotten over the worst of it.

Besides, he had other matters to attend at home.

He smiled as he drew closer to home, the plan falling into place.

It was going to work just perfectly.

From now on, things were going to work out just
fine
.

Two a.m.

Daryl Garcia was worried.

He was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. He had brewed a pot forty minutes ago to counter-affect the remaining fifth of bourbon he had killed. All the lights in the house were on, blazing bright in the stark white of the living room. Petey was sitting at Daryl's feet, looking up every once in a while with that sad-eyed look dogs sometimes get. Daryl wasn't paying attention to him. Today had been a tough day. He and Steve had been called in to participate in a raid in East Los Angeles on some gang members and he was still wearing the Level II Kevlar bullet-proof vest under his shirt. In fact, he'd only arrived home from the raid two hours ago. His eyes were red and his back hurt.

And he was worried sick because Rachael wasn't home yet.

He had tried calling her a hundred times on her cell phone but she never answered. He had just tried again fifteen minutes ago but all he got was the endless ringing. With rising dread he'd hung up the phone and sat at the kitchen table, staring out into the living room, wondering where the hell she was and coming up with all kinds of ways to verbally kick her ass when she walked in the door for worrying him so much.

She would have called me if she were going to be late, he thought. She would have
called me if there had been a change of plans. If she decided to head by the office, if she
had run into an accident, she would have found a way to call me. If she had been in an
accident somebody would have called me—she keeps our phone numbers with her at all
times and all one had to do would be to use the cell phone to alert me
. But try as he might come up with different scenarios to explain why none of these things had happened, a small part of Daryl told him that something more ominous had taken place. That the reason he hadn't heard from Rachael yet was because she was—

No! Don't think that, don't even
think
that
—

Fifteen minutes after getting her last phone call he had gotten a call from Bernie Haskins. Daryl had told Bernie what Rachael had just relayed to him—he could tell the agent this because Agent Haskins was the only investigator on the team that actually believed that Rachael helping out in the investigation through her research for the book was a good thing. Everybody else gave that sentiment lip service but they didn't mean it.

Bernie Haskins meant it. Bernie found the information interesting. “Highland Park, huh?

You know, she might be on to something there."

“I think she might be,” Daryl had agreed.

The signal on Bernie's cellular phone began to grow weak. Bernie told him he'd call him when he got home, and rang off.

Bernie called three and a half hours later.

“You're not going to believe this,” he'd said, sounding excited. “But I really think Rachael is on something."

“What?” Daryl had thought it had been Rachael calling, and that had been the beginning of his worry. Nevertheless, he listened to what Bernie had to say.

“I thought about what you told me, so I thought I would swing by the area our last victim was last seen,” Bernie said. “I headed out to Highland Park, did some poking around and guess what I found out?"

“What for Christsakes?” Bernie's excitement was getting on his nerves.

“Charley Glowacz,” Bernie said, letting the last name trill out of his tongue.

“Why's that name sound familiar?"

“Glowacz...” Daryl said, letting the name trip off his tongue.
Where the hell was
Rachael?
“Fuck if I know."

“Charley Glowacz is Father John Glowacz's older brother,” Bernie said, a grin in his voice. “I had to do some real poking around to get a last name, but luckily one of the strip club owners I talked to knew Charley's last name. He and his mother both attend services at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Charley occasionally volunteers for church activities like coaching weekend basketball games with the youth groups at the church. It's a wonder he wasn't questioned, but I can see why he wasn't. While he attends Our Lady of Guadalupe, his input at volunteering is sporadic. He's a very invisible parishioner at that parish."

Daryl was stunned. He couldn't focus on his thoughts. He was still worried about Rachael and getting more worried as the minutes ticked. The news that Charley was Father Glowacz's younger brother was a revelation.

“Like I said, I had a hunch,” Bernie continued. “So I went down to Highland Avenue, near Broadway and Fifty-fourth Street and I canvassed the strip area. I went into some of the bars there, the topless places, the X-rated video joints, and talked to as many of the proprietors and patrons that frequent the place that I could. I described Charley to them and asked if they had ever seen him around, and all of them unanimously said that he's a regular in the area. One of the people I questioned, a guy that runs Ken's Adult Video and Books Emporium, says that Charley comes in every other day. He looks through the magazines, buys a couple, then spends about twenty dollars or so in the coin operated video booths."

Daryl shrugged. “Nothing wrong to frequent an adult bookstore, Bernie."

“True. Only everybody I talked to that claimed they had seen Charley also told me they had funny feelings about him. That he was a weird character. The bouncers at the topless bars all said that they keep a close eye on him when he comes in; they say that he gives the girls the creeps."

Daryl was quiet for a moment. “Does anybody recall if they saw him around March 26 when Amanda Young was last seen in the area?"

“Absolutely,” Bernie said with bated breath. “Everybody I talked to at Ken's video, the guys that run it, the bouncers at the strip club across the street, even some of the hookers that work the area, all agreed that they saw Charley in the area earlier that evening.” He paused. “I think this is a fantastic lead, Daryl. All we need now is probable cause, an address where we can trace him to begin surveillance."

It was then that Daryl told Bernie that Rachael was following up on that now and that he was expecting her back any minute. He told him that as soon as he heard something he would call Bernie back. “I'll be home all night. Whatever time it is, I don't care if it's three in the morning, call me.” Daryl promised he would and hung up.

That had been two hours ago.

He picked up the phone again and dialed Rachael's cell phone number.

It rang fourteen times, fifteen, sixteen ... ?

After thirty rings he hung up.

The knot of tension in his stomach tightened. Something was very wrong.

He sat at the kitchen table in a dilemma, undecided at what to do. Part of him wanted to leave the house and look for her himself, start in Highland Park and drive around, hoping to find her somewhere. He could leave a note at the house in case she came home explaining where he went. He couldn't just sit here; he was edgy, his nerves demanding that he get up and do something. But the problem with that was that he had nowhere to go. It was two in the morning; Tops was closed, and most likely everything else. Without a lead to go by to find Charley Glowacz, he was at a dead end. He could go to headquarters and try typing Charley's name in the computers to see if a record popped up, but—

That's it
! He rose from the table and headed for the living room for his shoes and socks. Petey rose to his feet and followed Daryl into the living room, whimpering. Daryl donned his socks and shoes quickly, his mind on overdrive. He would check the computers for a criminal record, and if Charley was in the computer he would head to the Glowacz residence. He didn't give a rat fuck if he woke the man and his mommy up or not. He was worried about Rachael, dammit, and he didn't give a fuck about department protocol now. If Glowacz's address wasn't in the computer system, he would try tapping into the DMV computer database. He didn't know if any of the department's computer gurus were in this late, but it was worth a try. Petey stayed at his side the whole time, still making those whining noises. Daryl paused and patted the dog. “Everything's going to be okay, boy,” he said. “I'll be right back.” Checking to make sure he had his wallet and keys, he scrawled a quite note for Rachael, left it on the kitchen table, retrieved his department issued Glock and shield, and let himself out of the house.