JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (46 page)

He had probably blacked out during the actual act, probably wasn't even aware of sitting on the bedroom floor of the house cradling her head in his lap when Daryl, Bernie, Espãna and Douglas entered the house.

The knife found on the floor matched the wounds in the other victims, thus linking Charley to all eighteen murders. Charley's fingerprints were found all over the place; in his room, on the suitcase and knife, all over the back house, in the S&M

dungeon and the items found within it, in the back room with the freezer. Also found in both suitcases were two dozen pornography tapes, most of it fetish videos of the bizarre or violent side; some appeared to be practically snuff films. There was no mainstream porn, straight or gay. Bernie Haskins told Daryl this morning that he had fast-forwarded through four of the tapes himself and there wasn't one in which one of the participants wasn't hurt from being bitten, cut with a knife, burned, or violently penetrated. It had made Bernie sick. “Christ, I thought there were laws against people making this kind of shit."

A team of detectives was currently combing through Charley's pick-up truck for physical evidence. Another team was at the Glowacz house still going through it with a finetooth comb. And finally, there was the team currently at the vacant lot. Another team was out canvassing the streets talking to residents and possible witnesses regarding the two latest victims. The owner of Top's Fast Food had already been brought in for formal questioning, and he stuck with the story he'd told Rachael two nights ago. This helped tighten the noose around Charley's neck, and this morning Daryl had gotten the word that two of Carmen's co-workers were now echoing their boss's sentiments. Charley was bad news, they said. They had a feeling he might have had something to do with Carmen's disappearance. He was always offering her rides home from work.

Daryl leaned back in his chair, mulling this over. It was obvious from looking at pictures of the dead woman and talking to her friends and family, that Charley was far from the kind of man she would have been interested in. She had obviously paid attention to Charley out of kindness; it was her personality to smile at people and treat them nicely, no matter who they were. And yeah, she probably had flirted a little bit with Charley to make him feel good. It was an incredible boost to any man's ego when a beautiful woman smiles at him, or pays attention to him. Despite the innocuous kindness in which the gestures had been intended, Charley had taken them literally. And had started coming to the burger joint like a lovesick puppy dog.

Charley Glowacz hadn't said a word since his arrest for the murder of his mother.

He was incarcerated in isolation at the men's central jail in downtown Los Angeles, awaiting arraignment on that charge while the task force scrambled to try to connect him with the eighteen Butcher killings. So far the physical evidence was overwhelming: the butcher knife found at the house, the eight human heads found in his possession as he was getting ready to flee, the newspaper clippings on the murders he had kept for preservation, and his fingerprints all over the place. Just an hour ago one of the task force members called to confirm that a pair of shoes found in Charley's closet matched the shoe prints found in the Echo Park vacant lot where Rosie Williams’ remains were found a year ago. The FBI crime lab in Virginia was currently trying to match up the one hair sample that had been found in the Melendez case with samples taken from Charley; Bernie Haskins told him privately that it looked like it was going to be a positive match.

The lone hair found with Chrissy Melendez was that of an auburn, wavy-haired male.

Charley's hair was short, brown and wavy. DNA testing would seal the verdict.

The clincher for Daryl was that prints lifted off the butcher knife found at the house, the same knife used to kill Evelyn Glowacz and linked to the other murders, had Charley's fingerprints all over it.

Daryl's mind tracked down these points he had made to himself over and over again. Charley Glowacz knew the East Los Angeles area like the back of his hand. He had a vehicle to transport the bodies in. He was physically tall and strong despite his soft appearance, making him perfectly capable of overpowering his victims, and in some cases carrying the bodies over incredibly rough terrain. He had the relative security of the back house of the Glowacz residence to commit the murders and keep the remains, which was ideal since he could simply enter the back house through the garage despite the adjoining driveway. According to the co-workers they were speaking to at Charley's place of employment, Charley was not only a nice guy, but was the kind of guy they all had liked.

He was quiet, kept to himself, and was friendly. Just like every other serial killer. This was echoed by the few friends he had, the ones he hung out with on Friday nights to watch movies. No wonder he had been able to claim such an impressive body count.

His church activities were documented and were still being investigated. Daryl had an appointment with Father John Glowacz in two hours, and he hoped the priest would give in to the matter of justice and cooperate. He knew how family members could be when they found out a loved one was accused in some sort of crime. They would sometimes spill the beans during an interview, telling detectives everything they needed to know, and then when trial came they would deny ever admitting anything, suddenly

“forgetting” those crucial points. Daryl hoped Father Glowacz wouldn't give him any trouble. He liked the priest and his sympathy went out to him. The poor man was not only going through the turmoil of seeing his brother being arrested for murder, but he had lost his mother to a brutal murder, a murder his brother was being charged with committing.

And worse yet, his brother was being accused of the Butcher killings. All that bad news hitting somebody once was enough to put anybody on the defensive.

Daryl closed the manila file folder on the Butcher case. A smile cracked across his features. They had him. They had caught the man responsible for the Butcher murders, and nothing was going to keep Daryl from letting this one slip between his fingers.

They were almost home when Rachael started telling him what happened. Or what she remembered of it.

After being questioned by Bernie Haskins at length, Rachael had emerged from the interrogation room and gone straight to Daryl's desk. She was still tired and wanted to go home. Daryl had grabbed his keys and glanced at the overhead clock. He had plenty of time to whisk Rachael home and be back in time to question Father Glowacz. He told Bernie Haskins that he would be back in an hour and escorted Rachael out of the building.

He asked how the interrogation went. “Fine,” Rachael said. She remained silent as they got in the car and drove out onto Main street. Daryl decided not to press the issue further. She would tell him when she was ready. He was simply glad that she was here with him. Daryl's only concern now was for her mind. He had hoped the questioning would help her confront those issues and deal with them.

So when she started talking, Daryl was pleasantly surprised and glad. “I told Bernie all I know, Daryl, which isn't much. I hope he doesn't think I'm a fool."

“He's not going to think you're a fool,” Daryl said, getting off the freeway at Central. He headed up the street toward Magnolia.

“He seemed rather disappointed that I didn't see Charley actually kill his mother,”

Rachael said, her features wan and tired. “I was ... locked in that bathroom during much of that..."

“And thank God you were,” Daryl murmured, eyes on the road. “What did you tell him?"

Rachael paused, as if collecting her thoughts. Then she told a simplified version of her story of how she went to the house, how Charley invited her inside and ushered her to his room because he didn't want to disturb his mother. “Even then I didn't feel right about it,” she said. “I got a creepy feeling about him. I can't explain it, but if you were a woman you would understand. There are just some guys that just radiate this ... weirdness about them that is akin to your skin feeling like worms are crawling all over it."

Daryl nodded. He had heard the feeling described to him before by other women of guys that just didn't feel right to them. Mainly rape victims. It was a sixth sense that was often ignored when it should have been heeded.

“We sat on the couch and I started questioning him and then he started to get really weird,” Rachael resumed. “He started going on about how he didn't kill those people—and I hadn't even
asked
him about the Butcher murders. It was as if he had already made up his mind that I knew he was involved in the murders and he was denying it. Then he grabbed me and I tried to get away from him, tried to tell him to calm down, and that's when he attacked me.” She stopped, took a deep breath and continued. “I kneed him in the groin and we both went down. He ... had his hands around my throat and was strangling me.” Her hands went up to her throat where the bruises were still evident. She had been complaining of a sore throat since last night and at times she talked with hoarseness in her voice.

“We both got up,” she continued. “And he came at me and I tried to disable him with a straight punch, but I didn't even see the knife. He jabbed it into my side. I gave him a forward chop in the Adam's apple, but he got me again. He was just about to stab me again when I grabbed his wrist and disarmed him. I was able to elbow him in the solar plexus, and that's when I used that opportunity to run. Only I was so disoriented, so overtaken by everything, that the first place I ran to was the bathroom. The moment I got in the bathroom I could tell he had recovered and was coming after me, so I slammed and locked the door.” She was breathing heavily, remembering it. “He pounded on the door and yelled at me for what seemed like hours, and I just screamed and screamed at him. I was barely aware I was bleeding. Finally I heard him move away from the door, and that's when I heard his mother out in the hall. Then...” She took a deep breath and paused.

“Then I guess he attacked her. I couldn't bear to hear it, so I covered my ears with my hands. I was just ... so out of it."

“It's okay,” Daryl said.

“At some point,” Rachael continued, “I saw that I was hurt and I got a towel to try to stop the bleeding. Then I just ... I don't know ... lost it I guess. I barely even remember hiding in the bathtub. I just remember things in bits in pieces. Like...” Her breath was starting to hitch again, as if she were going to cry.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't—” Daryl began.

“I want to finish,” Rachael said, looking at him. She looked tired and worn out, but she looked like she was ready to go back into battle again. Her eyes regained some of that spark that he found so attractive. Daryl nodded at her to continue. “I could hear him out there, muttering and crying. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I could tell that he was ... cutting her up. And then I heard him get up and leave the room—"

“Charley left the room?” Daryl asked.

Rachael nodded. “He left the house once I think. He was gone for like.... I don't know.... an hour maybe. I really don't remember. I think I blacked out a lot.” She paused.

“The next thing I remember, aside from that weird feeling you get when you think you're awake or half asleep and you're really just out of it, is waking up and everything was so quiet. And ... I knew he was out there somewhere, just ... waiting for me to come out."

They were almost at the house. Daryl was silent as he pulled the car into the driveway and turned it off. He turned to Rachael and touched her arm lightly. “Are you going to be okay?"

Rachael nodded. She mustered a smile. “I'll be fine. I'll probably need therapy for the next ten years, but I'm fine."

“Nothing wrong with therapy,” Daryl said. It sure could have helped Charley Glowacz, he thought. He felt more pity for Charley Glowacz now. It was slowly replacing the rage he had felt two days ago when he'd almost killed him. He was looking forward to talking to Charley's brother John; maybe he would be able to shed some light on Charley's sickness.

Daryl helped Rachael out of the car and they walked to the front door together. He unlocked the door and they went in. Petey greeted them at the door with a great swishing of his hindquarters. “Petey!” Rachael cried as the dog jumped on her, trying to smother her face in dog kisses. The central air conditioning had kicked in, and the house was fresh and cool. Rachael turned to him, holding onto Petey's front paws, still favoring her right side a little bit. She smiled. “I'll be fine. You go back and talk to Father Glowacz. Will you try to be home early tonight?"

“I'll be home early,” he said, kissing her. She hugged him and he held her; he was finding it hard to resist holding on to her whenever the opportunity arose. She had come so close to being taken away from him and holding her whenever possible, touching her, holding her hand, was his way of making sure the contact between them was unbroken, that she was still with him in the here and now. That she would never go away.

When Father John Glowacz showed up at Parker Center looking tired and haggard an hour later, Daryl Garcia offered his hand. “Father, please accept my condolences for your loss. I'm very sorry."

“Thank you,” Father Glowacz said. His face was pale, his cheekbones appeared sunken, as if he hadn't eaten in the last few days. His eyes were red with black circles under them. He managed a small smile. “It's been a tough forty-eight hours. I haven't gotten a bit of sleep and I'm supposed to say Mass tomorrow morning."

“I'll try to make this as quick as possible then,” Daryl said, leading the priest down the hall of the homicide division. He stopped at a door on the right and opened it. He stood aside and motioned for Father Glowacz to enter. “Go on in and have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

“Water would be fine,” Father Glowacz said, stepping into the bare interrogation room. “I've had so much coffee that I'm afraid when I get back to the rectory I won't be able to sleep."

“Okay. Be right back.” Daryl went to the break room and got two glasses of water from the Sparklets dispenser. He carried the Styrofoam cups back to the interrogation room, handed Father Glowacz his, set his own cup down on the scarred wooden table that sat in the middle of the room, and closed the door. Father Glowacz had already seated himself in one of the stiff wooden chairs and Daryl Garcia took a seat opposite him. A tape recorder sat on the table. Daryl's hands traced the tape recorder's buttons. “So you don't want to have an attorney present with you during questioning?” Daryl asked. Father John Glowacz wasn't a suspect in the least, but he had given the priest the option of having an attorney present during questioning when he spoke to him on the phone this morning. He had told him that in his brother's best interest it might be best if he spoke to one before he came to Parker Center this evening. Father Glowacz said he didn't think he would need one.