Diana (4 page)

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It was late and Barbara was tired of working. The store was dead. She could have left two hours ago, but her boss was a worthless piece of shit. She hated being a cashier, she hated people, and more importantly, she hated her life. No boyfriend, crappy paycheck, no social life, and things were only getting worse.

When she left the suburbs with dreams of finding the perfect job in the biggest and brightest city in the world, she'd no idea what cruel obstacles lay ahead. Barbara thought she was determined enough to get through the rough times, but without a college diploma, she was forced to take a menial job that paid a bit above minimum wage. She worked whatever shifts she could get.

No one was there to encourage her, and if she headed back home to her immigrant, Ecuadorian parents, they would be sure to tell her how stupid she was, how important an education in America was, and that they didn't want her working like a dog in a restaurant, bar, or fast food joint.

Barbara took a deep breath. Life couldn't get any worse, so she might as well just continue to work as a cashier. Easier said than done.

People were obnoxious, demanding, and continually looked down at her. At first, she tried to fight it, but it was no use. The managers and more seasoned staff were just as bad. Soon, Barbara was taking shortcuts, punching in early but not actually opening her register until a manager came and ordered her to. Things like that.

Here it was a Sunday night, and work again tomorrow. Monday morning. Mondays were the worst.

He watched her just as he'd done a week before. Same schedule, same routine. This was going to be easy. The sight of her instantly brought back the rage, the anger.

Worthless bitch! Incompetent lowlife.

He recalled the way she slowly rung each item across the scanner. Taking her time, ignoring the huffs and puffs, complaints, and obvious dissatisfaction of the patrons who were waiting in line.

Not a care in the world, not in the job she was doing, or the way she performed it.

Line closed,
he remembered her saying, and his blood boiled. He sensed the pressure in his face, his eyes burned, and his heart began to pound faster, harder.

He was walking behind her, slow and carefully, in his old sneakers. She didn't look around her, didn't suspect anything, and walked the same way to and from work every day. Hadn't anyone ever told her about mixing up her routine? Taking a different route, walking with someone, checking behind her as she walked?

She did none of this, and she would learn too late the consequences of her failure to take precautions.

Her demise would be his success.

She turned the corner and was now a block from her apartment complex. She crossed the street and walked through the small park. There weren't too many people around, just stragglers here and there.

The air was cool, but the weather forecasters had predicted a heat wave this whole week, starting Monday morning.

She approached a long row of hedges just before the hill. She definitely heard something, because she turned to look behind her. Obviously startled, she jumped when she saw him walking so close.

"Sorry, Miss. You shouldn't be walking alone in this area this time of night. Someone was mugged just the other day."

"Yeah, I heard about that, but I'm broke, so they'd get nothing from me.” She continued to walk.

He walked with her. “Still, I'd feel better knowing that you were safely through the park. You live far from here?"

At first, she seemed not too sure of his intentions. After all, this was New York and there were plenty of creeps and plenty of angles.

"I'm sorry. Am I frightening you?” He used the sincerest tone he could muster.

"I'm fine. What are you, a cop?” She approached the final corner before the long stretch of darkness, then the main street.

"Something like that.” He smiled and winked.

She appeared confused. Did she think he flirted with her? She ran her fingers through her hair and smacked her lips together, perhaps to spread what little lipstick she had left on them.

He smirked as they entered the darkness. Two main light posts were out.

"Damn it. I hate when this happens. Why can't the damn park maintenance workers fix the freaking lights as soon as they blow out?” She huffed, full of attitude.

The pressure rushed to his face again.

He controlled his anger and was proud at his preparedness. He'd backtracked a half hour before and had knocked the lights out with some rocks. It was right after two cops on foot patrol walked through the area. The next scheduled patrol was due after midnight, so he had time.

"See what I mean. It's not safe. Anyone could come lurking out of a bush."

Barbara looked at him suspiciously. He wore black jeans and a black shirt. His sneakers were dirty, but other than that he looked clean, decent, and she wondered what he did for a living.

If he had a good job, he could support her. Maybe she wouldn't have to work at all. The thoughts put a smile on her face.

"What's the smile for?” he whispered, stepping a bit closer to her as they entered the darkness. She could sense the stranger's size and strength. Her thoughts were all twisted and she felt confusion. The scent of his cologne drifted to her nose.

She held onto the hope he was some sort of helper, a savior sent to make her life easier. What better form than an attractive, young, sexy male? She figured he had a good five years on her or more, but she didn't care. She was desperate to have more.

With thoughts of desperation came fear. It was sudden and slight and she ignored it.

Barbara looked at the stranger, his face now shadowed by the darkness. “Have we met before?"

He smiled once more, or at least she thought he did. It was hard to make out anything in the darkness. There was that uneasy feeling again. An instant later came thoughts of grandeur. What a story this would make. A man meets a woman in a city park. They fall in love, and she doesn't have to work another day in her life.

I hope he's filthy rich.

They continued to walk down the small hill lined with shrubbery. It was the deepest, most wooded, area of the park.

"Well?” She ran her fingers through her hair. She realized he hadn't answered her question.

"We may have."

"Was I working?” She picked up her pace a little.

"That's right. Busy store you work at. There's always a long line to wait on.” He clenched his teeth, before the last syllable escaped his lips.

His anger escalated, along with the flashbacks. He slowly took the black gloves from his pocket and pulled them onto his hands. He was in complete control of this idiot's destiny, and it felt amazing. More amazing than he could've imagined. He would do this, and it'd be so easy.

"The lines are long, but I don't care. When it is my turn for lunch, I just put up the ‘Line Closed’ sign and get my things. It's so great. It pisses people off all the time."

His large, gloved hands encircled her throat before she could scream. Her body jerked backward and she struggled, kicking her legs in midair.

He couldn't have waited any longer. The more she spoke, the more he'd wanted her dead.

She fought for freedom, grabbed his wrists with her hands, but it was no use. He was much stronger. He carried her, by her throat, off the trail and into the dark woods.

"I waited an hour on that line, bitch!” He squeezed tighter, and she blinked her eyes “You know me. You saw me before. I waited on that line for a half hour, and you had no consideration for that. You'll die now, and no one will give a shit."

The words were empowering. His grip on his prey helped alleviate the rage. It was intoxicating, and he didn't want the feeling to end. He wanted her to suffer, and he wished there were others around to share in the satisfaction of causing the cashier pain.

She fell to the ground, coughing, scratching at the dirt, the leaves, anything to help her crawl faster. Not a chance. He gracefully straddled one leg over her while the other he place against her back. He grabbed her neck in the well-practiced, strategic hold from behind. A twist and a
snap
and she was dead. The pleasure of killing her satisfied the hunger inside him.

The sensation of achievement traveled through his bloodstream. He wanted to cheer, to yell triumphantly, but he knew he couldn't. The celebration would have to wait until he got home. He gave a push against her limp body, confident he broke her spine and her neck, ensuring she would not survive.

Getting up, he walked toward the black, paved walkway, while placing his gloves into his pocket. He looked around the area. Not a soul in sight. Glancing at the tall apartment buildings across the way, he was certain no one had seen him walking with the woman.

He'd trained for this.

All the hard work and physical training for his job had come in handy. His fingers were like vice grips, his body rock solid and in perfect physical condition. He never felt so alive, and he relished in the thoughts of what had just taken place. The shaky, nervous feelings he'd had all day were a waste of time.

He stared at his hands as he approached the brightly lit street. Cars zoomed down the highway, pedestrians hurried home. He had the power to control his destiny, to control life itself. The chills ran through his body, along with feelings of being invincible.

The smile formed on his face. “This is only the beginning."

"Can you believe just a week ago I was sitting on the beach, down at the Jersey shore, enjoying my last day off?” Diana shook her head and watched the people gathering near the crime scene. Two patrol officers pushed people back and posted yellow crime scene tape around the area. Other cops placed traffic barricades.

Diana and Jerry just received the radio call and were in the area.

"Hold on to those happy thoughts. The Hawaiian Islands are calling you.” Her partner eased the unmarked police car between some pedestrians and a patrol car.

She and Jerry made their way through the crowd and found the first responding officer.

"Detectives, this is what I have so far.” The patrol officer gave a rundown of the victim and the person who reported the body. He filled them in on the time of the call, the location the call came from, and the steps taken by himself and the first officer on the scene.

"Good job, Officer Guido. Do you have a name of the person who reported the body?” Jerry said.

"No, sir. The dispatcher told us that the caller claimed to be the one responsible."

Diana's eyes widened.

"The person who killed her called it in?” Jerry said.

"That's what 911 Dispatch is stating the caller said."

"Let's see what we got.” Diana tilted her head toward the patrol officer, letting him know to lead the way through the crime scene. She wanted to be sure to enter using the same path as the responding officer had. Before they reached the cordoned-off area, she took out her digital camera to photograph the crime scene.

She described the temperature and the appearance of the area while Jerry took notes in the notebook. Diana knew they were the first detectives on the scene, forensics was on their way and would take plenty of pictures, but her experience proved that the initial photographs taken by first detectives could be quite valuable.

They started walking toward the body. She glanced back at the pathway, noting the arrival of the forensics team. The coroner's van pulled up.

The officer led them to a heavily wooded area just off the main pathway. Diana described the initial appearance of the victim while Jerry took notes.

"The body lay on its side, clothing remains on, blouse pushed up revealing the bruising and injuries on the spine and back muscles. Blue blouse, dark blue jeans, socks, one shoe, a white sneaker remains on. Dark hair, early twenties, medium, brown skin tone, petite. Strangulation marks visible. Maybe the cause of death. Rigor mortis has set in."

The massive bruising on the spine and back gave her an uneasy feeling. The tanned skin and dark hair stood out. Perhaps she was of Indian or Ecuadorian descent? Diana recalled an apartment complex right around the corner, two blocks from the park, where many Ecuadorian and Indian families lived, along with other ethnic denominations. The run-down apartment complexes were melting pots for all races.

She stood a few feet from the body, once again absorbing the scene. There was bruising on the victim's back and sides. Her face lay half down in the dirt. There was dirt embedded under the victim's fingernails, and Diana could see the trail marks on the ground around the body. She envisioned the young victim straining to crawl and free herself from her attacker.

Jerry made notes, as she pulled on a pair of disposable rubber gloves and continued her evaluation of the crime scene. The body was cold. Her initial identification of rigor mortis was validated.

She pushed up the victim's eyelids, noting the discoloration and redness around the white of her eyes.

"It doesn't look like she was sexually assaulted,” Jerry said.

"No. I don't think so, either. These rips and tears are from the struggle."

"Maybe he got spooked before he could finish the job? A lot of people walk this way at night, especially in the summer months."

"The two lights on the lamp posts were out. Most regulars see that and don't bother to cut through the park. They know better,” the patrol officer said

"Were the bulbs out or were they busted?” Diana asked.

"They were busted, Detective,” the officer said.

Diana exchanged glances with Jerry.

She rose from her position and removed the disposable gloves. She moved out of the way, along with Jerry and the patrol office, and they allowed the forensic team to do their job. They'd already begun taking pictures of the surrounding area.

She walked along the paved walkway, toward the broken glass from the light post.

"I guess this would indicate it was a planned attack. Maybe our killer knew the victim?” Jerry said.