The Devil's Water: Scenic City Murder Series #1 Page 4

  “Nothing suspicious, though?” Clutch asked.

  “Nah, not really. Thing I can’t figure is why anybody would be down there knowing what happened. I mean, it’s dangerous and people just don’t seem to care.”

  “Well Jeff, they think it can’t happen to them and you know what?”

  “What boss?”

  “That’s what makes it so damn dangerous.”

  Several hours later, the sun was setting behind the mountains as Clutch settled into the drivers’ seat of his brand new Volvo S80. The vehicle had cost Clutch over 40 grand but it was his absolute pride and joy. Though it was really an extravagance, Clutch figured with no wife or kids to worry about, he could afford it. The S80 was virtually noiseless as it moved northward along I75. The engine purred as Clutch cruised in behind a tractor trailer and stayed there until he reached East Brainerd Road. Within 10 minutes he pulled into his driveway in the Shady Valley subdivision. The air conditioner felt superb as he entered his house. He glanced down the hall toward the kitchen and saw a huge white ball of fur. “Hey Happy! You glad to see daddy?” Clutch smiled at his cat. Instead of a response, Happy seemed to hear something in the kitchen and left to investigate. Walking with purpose, the cat suddenly stopped in mid-stride and began to groom himself. Once that task was completed, Happy turned toward Clutch and began to walk slowly toward him for a head scratch. Apparently the noise in the kitchen could wait, Clutch mused.

  Clutch threw his keys in a basket beside the front door and locked up for the night. He would begin the evenings activities as he usually did. Clutch popped a Lean Cuisine in the microwave and turned on the evening news. A familiar face was on the screen. Mclutcheon was dismayed to see Hank Gamblin giving a report on what the news had now termed the Devils Water killings. His dismay turned to anger as he heard Gamblin report that the perp had genitally mutilated at least one of his victims. “What the fuck!” he yelled. Clutch’s jaw muscles tightened and he made a beeline to the phone. The first call was to Ryan Skopic who wasn’t available. As the police chiefs’ voicemail droned on, Clutch hit the off button on the phone receiver and called Tasha.

  “Hello?”

  “Have you seen the news?” Clutch asked with no greeting.

  “Uh, yeah. You’ve got a serious leakage problem.”

  “Yeah, no shit. I’d like to know who the hell has been tipping off that bastard Gamblin.”

  “Well, who all in the department knows that kind of information? There shouldn’t be many should there?”

  Suddenly, Clutch remembered telling Vicelli and Wilder about it that afternoon. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed and his face flushed hot thinking about it.

  “Well, not too many.” He answered. He knew that he was fudging the truth a little bit. The fact of the matter was that, though he trusted Wilder implicitly, he wasn’t sure who might’ve gotten the information from Vicelli. He thought about it for a moment. Yep. Vicelli just might’ve told half of East Tennessee by now. Damn.

  “Look, you’ve definitely got a problem. What are you gonna do about it?” Tasha asked.

  “I have no friggin’ clue yet. By the way, Fentanyl was found in Balzer’s blood work.”

  “Well, we still know nothing on Carol Shipley do we?”

  “Nope.” Clutch answered and let out a deep breath. “It looks like we just have to keep on until this son of a bitch plays another card.”

  “Hey, are you sober tonight?” Clutch asked. It had just occurred to him that Tasha answered the phone promptly and hadn’t been slurring her speech.

  “Yes, ass hole. I’m not always drunk you know.”

  “Okay. Just checkin’.”

  “Well, listen. If you hear anything else, gimme a buzz. OK?”

  “Will do.” Clutch signed off.

  All of the sudden, he felt very tired. He figured the day’s events and all of its stressors had affected him. He tapped the sofa cushion beside him and Happy jumped up on it and onto his lap. The cat began purring loudly and kneading his paws on Clutch’s pants leg. You love to make biscuits, don’t you boy? Clutch thought as he stroked Happy’s back. He laid his feet on the coffee table and noticed a bag of strawberry filled hard candy laying there. He always had bags and bags of them. Ever since he got sober, his body craved them. He knew from time in the program that it was the sugar, which he used to get from the alcohol, that he really craved. He would probably eat those damn things until the day he died. It had already been decades. As his eyelids began to slowly droop, John Lennon suddenly entered his mind. Strawberry Filleds forever. He laughed at his own joke and glanced down at his cat. Happy was sound asleep on his lap and, within five minutes, Daniel A. Mclutcheon joined him.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was 1AM. A full moon shined from the heavens on downtown Chattanooga like a celestial nightlight. It made any of God’s children who were afraid of the dark, feel safe and sound. Flo Jenson was one of those children but she was hardly doing God’s work. Flo had just finished with a john and was settling up with her pimp. In certain circles Flo was known as “The Mouth”. She had worked the streets a long time and had grown quite proficient at her trade. Rossville Boulevard traffic was dying down for the night but some of the bars on the street were still open for business. Sober men would wander into the establishments and then stagger out hours later drunk and looking for a good time. Indeed, this was peak time in a prostitutes’ line of work. Her pimp, Rico Savoy, held the money she handed him in his dark chocolate colored hand. Rico spread his mouth wide in a grin and revealed two gold teeth, one with the initial R and the other with the initial S engraved on them. Rico was the main pimp on Rossville Boulevard and if anybody messed with his turf or his girls, they were bound to get hurt.

  “OK, sistah. Go make us some more money.” He said as he slapped Flo on the behind.

  Flo Jenson headed off down the sidewalk back to her corner of the street. She was a very tall woman so she made good time as she hustled. She figured she probably had about another hour. Then, she would go home and crash. Flo looked up at the dazzling stars overhead. There were constellations all over the place. Flo was interested in space back when she was young. Her sixth grade teacher had urged her to pick a career in science since she really had a knack for it. That was a very, very long time ago. As the years went by, options became unavailable and the lure of drugs crept in. Now, all this time later, Flo was a woman in her late 30’s who looked 60. She bowed her head and looked at the cracks in the sidewalk. Time wasn’t on her side anymore. Suddenly, headlights entered her periphery and she glanced up to see what was coming down the road. The car was moving very slowly. Flo knew by her many years working the street that the driver was trolling. A group of young streetwalkers tried to get his attention but he kept moving slowly onward. He was perhaps 40 yards away and Flo held up her long arm to motion him over. “Hey baby!” she yelled and placed two fingers inside her mouth to let out a shrill wolf whistle. The car kept creeping along until it finally came to a stop where Flo was standing. The electric car window was lowered and Flo approached. He leaned over to where she could see him. He had a scruffy, unshaven face and a John Deere ball cap propped on his head. “You sellin’?” he asked.

  “Depends…you buyin’?” she said seductively.

  “How much?”

  “Fifty for what I do best.”

  He paused a moment and then grinned. “Get in.”

  Flo smiled back at him and lifted up on the door handle. She climbed into the dark blue Ford sedan. As the car pulled away from the curb, Flo noticed the driver’s left hand on the wheel. No wedding band. “Hey, you married?” she asked, though she really didn’t care one way or the other.

  “Nope.”

  She glanced at his hand again. There wasn’t even a tan line on his finger. She decided to believe him. “There’s an alleyway around the next corner. Pull in there.”

  He followed her direction and within a minute they were working their way down a very dark side st
reet. He cut the engine and looked over at her. “OK. Showtime.” He said and leaned over toward her touching her shoulder.

  “No, honey. I need to see the money first.” She said pulling away.

  He retracted his arm and reached for his wallet. In seconds she was looking at a fresh, crisp Ulysses S. Grant. “That’ll do.” She smiled as she tucked the money in her brassiere. “Now sweetie, what’s your first name?” she asked as she leaned over to unbuckle his belt. “Gary.”

  “Okay Gary. You ready to have a good time?” She asked as she unbuttoned his pants and pulled his zipper down. He was watching her as she opened her mouth and ran her tongue across her glossy lips. “Oh yeah.”

  Suddenly, Flo felt a hand grab her around the neck and squeeze hard. She began to see stars and feel a little dizzy. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” She heard herself say as her mind started to slip away from her body. She brought her long arms up and tried in vain to scratch his face. She was fading fast as her eyes fluttered and finally closed for good. Flo Jenson was unconscious.

  CHAPTER 11

  Rico Savoy was standing on the corner chatting with some of his ladies. All in all it had been a good night in the trade. He could feel the wad of cash in his pocket. That, more than anything, made him happy. He laughed in a deep baritone boom and smiled, flashing his two gold front teeth. He was munching on a toothpick when it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Flo for awhile. He glanced over at Janese Dupri who happened to be Flo’s best friend and partner in crime. When a john needed the services of two women at the same time, he always wanted Janese and Flo.

  “Hey Janese, you seen Flo?” Rico asked as he took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it onto the sidewalk.

  “No baby. Ain’t seen her in hours.”

  Rico’s good mood dampened. He glanced down Rossville Boulevard to the spot where he last remembered seeing Flo. The lines in his forehead creased with concern. “Well, ain’t that a bitch.” He finally said as he reached in his pocket and pulled out another toothpick. It wasn’t like Flo to not check back in for the night. Rico decided to take a walk.

  “Janese, you hear from her…gimme a holla, know’m’sayin?”

  “Yeah.” She answered

  Rico walked the block or so until he reached Flo’s station. There, he saw several Kool cigarette butts lying on the ground crushed out. He knew that Flo smoked Kool. He glanced up and across the street to a darkened bar that had closed hours before. A white sign hung on the glass door that read “Sorry….We’re Closed.” Rico looked up and down Rossville Boulevard once more. There were no cars in sight and his prostitutes had all left to go home after a nights work. He twirled the toothpick in his mouth first one way and then the other. Something wasn’t right. Rico knew Flo usually took her johns to a back alley not far from where he was standing. He decided to strike out and walk the few blocks even though he was a little afraid of what he might find. Some of his girls had been beaten up so badly by their johns that a few of them had to go to the hospital. If one of his best girls had the shit beat out of her there would be hell to pay.

  Five minutes later, Rico came to the back alley. It was dark but the stars were providing some light as his eyes adjusted. He walked slowly, trying to catch a look at everything. He could see some movement off to his left and low to the ground. Rats. They were feeding on something beside a lone dumpster about 15 feet away. As Rico drew closer, he saw what was causing the commotion. A half eaten Big Mac lay on the ground beside a McDonalds bag. The rats scattered as he approached. This was the very spot Flo usually took her johns. Rico looked behind the dumpster. The only thing there was an empty Styrofoam cup. He wondered if he should climb up in the dumpster just to be sure. He came out from behind it and suddenly something caught his eye. There, taped to one its’ sides was a white envelope. He reached up and pulled the envelope off the dumpster. He saw the crude, big and bold letters written on it. It was a name that Rico Savoy recognized. Rico ripped the envelope open and unfolded the single piece of white paper that was inside. He studied the note for a couple of minutes before he finally looked straight up and into the night sky. “Oh Jesus.” He whispered.

  CHAPTER 12

  Three days later, Tasha Yoder strolled down the long corridor of the police department. It was 3 pm and she had just finished one of her classes. She was free for the rest of the day and that put a smile on her face. She was chewing a piece of pink bubblegum and snapping it between her teeth. As she reached Clutch’s office she blew a great big bubble and opened the door. The bubble popped just as Tasha entered the threshold. “Hey, what’s happenin’ hot stuff?”

  Her mood soured when she saw Clutch’s expression. “Close the door behind you.” Tasha did as he said and came over to take a seat in a chair beside his desk. “This is about the call last night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Normally, you know I wouldn’t have called you that late but I told you I had a lot of news come in yesterday.”

  “Yeah?”

  Clutch leaned over his desk and clasped his hands together. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Finally, he looked Tasha in the eye.

  “I got a letter yesterday. Rico Savoy brought it in. He’s a pimp who mostly works Rossville Boulevard. Anyway, he brought the letter to Vice. Couple of detectives over there know him real well. So, Rico tells the detectives that one of his girls went missing a few nights ago. Name’s Flo Jenson. She’d worked the street for years and years. On the night in question, Rico went to find her. He knew where she usually did her hooking. He found this envelope taped to the side of a dumpster.”

  Clutch picked up the torn envelope and handed it over to Tasha. She saw the bold letters scrawled on it. It was addressed to Lieutenant Daniel A. Mclutcheon. Tasha glanced back up at him. Clutch’s eyes were very dark and she couldn’t exactly tell what was going on behind them. “Shit” she muttered under her breath and reached into the envelope to remove the sheet of paper. She read slowly, trying to process every detail of the note.

  “I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now? I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games.”

  Dear Boss,

  I haven’t killed the tramp just yet…but I will. She will suffer in death as she lived in life, as a common whore.

  I have plans. Many, many plans and I shall see them all to fruition. Many more will die by my hand, Clutch. Give my regards to Gamblin! HA HA!

  Ciao

  “So he’s killing prostitutes now and he fashions himself, once again, as Jack the Ripper.” Tasha finally said as she looked back up and into Clutch’s eyes. “What does this tell you?” He asked as his eyebrows arched and deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

  “Intellectually or gut?”

  “Gimme both.” He answered, giving a weak smile.

  “Intellectually, I’m wondering if we’re dealing with a copycat. The last two letters have been notably different than the first two. This guy seems to be fixated on the Ripper and, I believe, he considers it a sense of duty to kill sinners…you know, hookers and drug addicts.”

  “On the other hand?”

  “On the other hand, my gut says this is the same killer. Firstly, a copycat wouldn’t have known about the case prior to Macy Garcia’s abduction. It hadn’t hit the news yet and it’s very clear this SOB watches the news.”

  “Yep. We got the first Jack the Ripper note with Macy.” Clutch agreed. “And the bastard couldn’t have known about the Sun apartment connection or any of that.”

  “Right.”

  “Anything else?” Clutch asked.

  Tasha sat back in her chair and looked at the note another minute. “Well…He obviously has a good vocabulary. Also, he’s studied this. Maybe for years. He’s plotted and planned a very long time in order to pull this off and he’s past getting a taste for it.”

  “What do
you mean?”

  “I mean that he isn’t a beginner anymore. He’s moved up several levels and he’s becoming so comfortable with it that it’s making him cocky. He enjoys thinking that he knows more than you or anyone else connected with this case. You might be looking at someone who wanted to go into law enforcement or work for the FBI. He might’ve been disappointed and angry that he couldn’t cut it and decided that he would play for the other team.”

  “Well, why the fuck is he calling me Clutch? I mean, only my close friends and co-workers do that.”

  “Because he is telling you that he knows more about you than you know about him. Again, it’s a show of arrogance and pomposity. This dude has an overinflated opinion of himself which, God willing, will be his downfall.”

  “Do you think he’s gonna start slashing his vics and removing body parts like the Ripper did?” Clutch asked.

  “Well, yes and no.” Tasha responded.

  “Yes in the sense that he’s already removed Monica Balzer’s interior labia. He might be capable of doing something like that again. No in the sense that he’s not a slasher. He’s a strangler, a rapist and his chosen MO is to give his vic enough Fentanyl to damn near kill a horse. I suspect that he’s taken her labia as a trophy.”

  “Jesus.” Clutch said under his breath.

  “Limmel found no sign of anything cut off Macy Garcia’s body.” He added.

  “Yeah but he didn’t take a lot of time with Macy. He killed her almost as soon as he abducted her.”

  They sat in silence for a moment or two before the phone rang. Clutch picked it up on the third ring. “Clutch here.” He said simply into the receiver.

  “Be down there in a minute.” Clutch hung up the phone and looked back over at Tasha. “I need to go. Flo’s best friend is in the interview room and the Vice folks are having a time with her. I don’t know her that well but I know she can be a pill.”