Corktown (2 page)

“That’s the downside of being into kink,” the stranger said, startling her. “You never know if the other person will forget the
safe
word.”

The blond man sat casually on the chaise lounge in the corner of the bedroom. She was surprised to see him and thought for second she had smoked too much whacky weed, but the bindings holding her legs open were a firm indication that she was wrong.

Her legs were tied in a way that she could not close them. She felt exposed as he stared between them. He noticed the toy still inside her and waved a finger. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?”

He stood up, fixed his brown corduroy blazer, and straightened his khaki pants before walking around the bed toward her walk-in closet. “You have such fun toys. Many I’ve never seen before.” He disappeared for a moment and then reappeared holding something in his hand. “This one is my favorite. It’s genius.”

Marian’s eyes widened when she saw what he had returned with.

He walked toward her and sat near the edge of the bed. His eyes soaked up her nakedness, paying extra attention to the details between her legs. He breathed in, chest expanding. “I can smell your scent.” He breathed deeply again. “Fear. It excites you.”

Tears flowed as she shook her head from side to side. The straps dug deeper into her wrists and ankles. He held the gift Paul had bought her last month—the only one she refused to use. The one she even considered throwing away.

He moved closer as she desperately tried to scoot away, her legs flailing hopelessly. Marian let out more muffled cries for help. Her eyes, wide and wet, begged for him not to.

“You haven’t tried this, have you?” he said.

Marian shook her head, hoping he would understand.

He did. The stranger reached up between her legs.

Marian screamed at the unthinkable. Her body, now rigid, shook uncontrollably. Her face drained itself to an ashen white. Her fists tightened into balls and her nails cut into her palms. As much as she tried, as much as she wanted to, she could not tear her eyes away from his hand, from what he held.

And in an instant, before she could gasp, she watched his hand thrust forward.

4

“It’s a fist.”

Detective Vince Solis had bent down near the bed and looked straight up between Marian Ward’s legs. The life-like piece of rubber was still lodged inside her vagina.

“A what?”

Solis motioned with his hand. “You know. A rubber fist.”

Detective Ray Madero stepped forward for a closer look and saw an object sticking out of her. “How can you tell?”

“Played with one in a porn shop once,” he said while standing up and fixing his jacket. “It’s like a dildo only in the shape of a real arm, and the part inside of her, it’s shaped into a balled fist. Except I think this one is a double fist.”

Madero crinkled his eyebrows. “Why buy a fake one? What’s wrong with the one she’s already got at the end of her arm?”

“Why buy a fake cock or a pussy? People get off on it.” Solis knelt again next to the body.

Madero shook his head. “I’ll tell you why; women don’t have cocks, so it makes sense to buy one. But she,” he pointed at her, “she’s already got a hand.”

Solis looked back up at his partner. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she can’t reach with her own fist?”

Madero’s fat head pondered the conundrum for a few seconds before he waived off Solis. “If she can wipe her own ass, she can reach.”

• • •

“Reach what?” I asked as Wilkinson and I entered the bedroom. The two detectives turned toward us. They both had ignorance scrawled across their face. The one standing showed his intelligence first. “Miss, this is a crime scene.”

They always do that, assume I couldn’t possible be there for the crime. I didn’t get it. We were dressed in suits, though I thought I looked cuter in mine than Wilkinson did in his. We made it past all the uniforms downstairs but still the idiot couldn’t connect the dots that I might be somebody.

Unbelievable.
I whipped my badge out. “FBI. I’m Agent Abby Kane. This is my partner, Agent Trey Wilkinson.”

The detective who had spoken sauntered toward me with a stupid smirk on his face. He looked roughly six feet tall and probably had about three hundred pounds on me. I may have been short, but I had a powerful upper cut that was perfectly aligned with what had to be his tiny set of balls.
Before my father left Ireland, he was the best bare-knuckle brawler to ever come out of his town. Did I mention that?

“Look. This is our case,” he said. “We appreciate your help, but it’s not needed.”

That’s when he tried to be funny and patted me on the head. I grabbed his hand and yanked down, forcing it back at the wrist. I had him immobilized and crying like a baby in just a few seconds. With him bent over and his face closer to my height, I leaned in. “I’m not a dog. Don’t ever pet me.”

“You fucking psycho bitch. Let go of me,” he yelped.

Wilkinson stepped in just as I winked at the crybaby and forced him off to the side. “Let’s all calm down here.”

“Tell that bitch—”

Wilkinson grabbed the detective by his suit and pushed him back into the wall. “Watch your mouth.”

“All right. Everybody calm down,” the other detective spoke up. “Relax, pal.” He stepped between Wilkinson and the other man and separated them. He then faced me with tired eyes. “I’m Detective Vince Solis,” he said with his hand extended. He seemed like the smarter of the two. He was evenly tanned and wore a mustache. “That’s my partner, Detective Ray Madero. Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”

I shook Solis’ hand and then walked over to the body. “What do you guys know so far?”

Solis joined me near the bed. “This woman had an appetite for kink. She’s got drawers filled with this stuff.”

“Besides her sexual tastes, got anything else?”

“As you can see from the sheets, she bled out. If you look closely, you’ll see there are three tiny incisions.” Solis pointed with a pen to her neck and then her legs. “One along the carotid artery in the neck and one on the femoral artery in each leg. She drained quickly.”

I bent down for a closer look. “And this rubber object?”

“It’s a fist. Doesn’t look like it played a role in her death. Below that is a butt plug. Killer might have been screwing around with her beforehand,” Solis said.

“Any idea who she is?” I asked as I stood up and faced him.

“She’s some big shot over at Chrysler, Marian Ward. Every once in a while she’s on TV or in the paper.”

I turned to the only uniform in the room. “Were you the first on the scene?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Agent Kane,” I said with a smile.

“Sorry. The pasty guy on the couch downstairs found her and called it in.”

“Anybody talk to him yet?”

“I talked to him a little just to get a sense of what happened.” The young officer took out his notebook. “His name is Paul Poole. He’s an engineer at Ford. Said they met at some automotive function. They had been seeing each other for about six months, though he says it was mostly booty calls. Oh, he admits to turning her on to the BDSM life. Anyway, he said she called him on his cell and invited him over tonight.”

“He took his time?” I asked.

“No. He was on his way back from Kalamazoo and had about three hours of drive time left.” He scanned his notes again. “Uh, he said when he got here, he followed her trail of clothes upstairs and found her like that.”

“He had a key to the house?”

The uniform shook his head. “He said the door was unlocked. He figured she had left it open for him.”

“Do us a favor; make sure Mr. BDSM doesn’t leave and no one talks to him before I do.”

The uniform nodded again and then hurried downstairs.

I turned to Solis. “What are you thinking?”

“No sign of breaking and entering. Whoever did this knew her or had access to the house.”

“Maybe she’s such a horn dog she decided to fit another guy in before her main squeeze got here,” Madero added.

Tiny ball man not helping.

“Forensics just arrived. We’ll know more once they’re able to give this place a sweep. They might find another print or something we overlooked,” Solis added. He then took a step closer to me. “Agent Kane, I gotta ask. Why is the FBI involved and
how
did you guys find out about this crime scene so fast?”

5

“I was hoping you could tell us,” I said. No point in holding back our agenda. “Our supervisor ordered us to fly to Detroit today. We knew coming out here had something to do with a potential serial killer. Our briefing isn’t until tomorrow morning, but when we landed we got instructions to head over to this address right away.”

Solis looked at Madero for a second and then back at me. “That’s all you know?”

Wilkinson and I nodded. Solis motioned for everyone to follow him out of the room. We huddled at the end of the hallway, away from the CSI crew that had just appeared.

“This is what we know,” Solis said. “Two months ago, a body pops up. Old homeless guy in an alley near Corktown—”

“Corktown?” I said

“Yeah, it’s a small neighborhood east of downtown Detroit. Anyway, this guy has the same M.O. as our vic here, minus the fist. A month later, another body pops up. Middle-aged guy, fishing on the shores of Lake St. Clair. Again, same M.O. minus the fist.”

“Wait. You’re Birmingham police. Aren’t these other cases out of your jurisdiction?”

Solis nodded. “They are.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why are you keeping tabs on them?”

“We’re not,” Madero added.

“Here’s a little background for you.” Solis pointed at Madero and then himself. “We’re both new to the precinct. I’m from Jersey. Madero here is from Tampa. We’ve both been in the city maybe a year, so we have no history; no one knows us. But get this: we’re sharing old war stories with the desk sergeant when he starts to tell us about the original Corktown murders, took place maybe fifteen years ago. A couple was found dead—cut and bled out.”

“Like our vic here,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “But nobody was ever brought in. Seemed like the case was headed for the filing cabinet marked ‘unsolved’. Anyway, all was quiet for six months, and then bam—a few more bodies, same M.O.”

“In Corktown?” Wilkinson asks.

Solis nods. “Soon after, more bodies pop up. A couple in Detroit this time, same M.O. Next thing you know, Detroit’s got a massive serial killer problem. This guy is terrorizing the place, leaving bodies left and right. Male, female—all ages. All told, maybe forty to fifty victims over a five-to six-year period. All of them killed the same way, with an incision to the neck or legs and then left to bleed out. Of course, minus—”

“The fist. Yeah, I get it. So what happened to this killer?”

“They finally caught the guy trying to pull off a bank heist with his girlfriend. He killed fourteen people during the botched robbery.”

“So they caught the guy. Case solved, right?” I asked.

Solis shrugged. “Appears that way, except…”

“Bodies are starting to turn up with the same M.O.,” I said as I shifted my weight to one leg.

Solis nodded.

“It’s the higher-ups who connected the dots?” Wilkinson asked.

“That’s what we’re thinking. Had Madero and I not chatted with the desk sergeant, this M.O. wouldn’t have stood out to us. This is probably why you guys were called in.”

I turned to Wilkinson. “Why us? The Bureau has local agents here.”

“You know, I remember hearing about this case,” he said. “The press nicknamed the guy ‘The Doctor’. Anyway, I believe the local field office lent its support, and like Solis said, they ended up catching the guy. But why we’re investigating instead of them seems strange.”

“And they called us before this murder, the third, ever happened,” I added. “Seems like there’s more to this than what’s being said. Two murders shouldn’t spook them.”

Solis put his palms up in front of him. “Hey, don’t look at us. It’s clear we’re being kept out of the loop.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Any other connection between her, the guy fishing on a lake, or the homeless person?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Take away the incisions and these are three separate cases. Also the ‘serial’ word is forbidden for now. As far as the citizens of Detroit and the press are concerned, it’s a whacky copycat that we’re closing in on. Nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe the killer is checking off a bucket list—you know, a person from different categories.” Madero added.

Again, not helping.

I shook my head. “The killer seems educated. He must have had some sort of medical training, enough to know how the human body operates. These incisions are meant to drain a body as fast as possible.” I headed back into the room and took another long look at the victim. “There has to be a reason why he’s mimicking the original killer’s M.O.”

“We have yet to figure that one out,” Solis said as he came up behind me. “Perhaps that’s where you guys come in.”

I turned to the three men. “Most serial killers have a motive behind each kill they make. They hate women, or they’re ridding the world of jerks.”

“So what’s this guy’s beef?” Solis asked.

“Not sure, but I’m betting there’s an agenda. There’s a reason why this person choose to copy the M.O. of a known serial killer.”

“Maybe he’s paying homage,” Wilkinson said.

6

That same night.

“I’m home.”

“Daaaaddyyy!” The two young boys charged down the tiled hallway to the front door and were scooped up, one in each arm, by the tall man.

“Where were you?” the oldest boy asked.

“Daddy had business to take care of. Boring stuff, you wouldn’t want to know. But I’m home now,” said Preston Carter, looking at his watch. “It’s beyond your bedtimes.”

A woman wearing wire-framed glasses walked into the foyer. She had chestnut-brown hair that fell just below her shoulders, and her eyes were a shade darker than a blue lagoon. She had on form-fitting jeans and a sheer blouse, and her body showed no sign that she had borne any children at all.