Night bait, page 4
Dignazio bolted upright in his seat. Deputy chief or not, it was time to get belligerent. "Oh, that's great, sir. That's just fucking great. I'm being dropped from the case."
Mullins remained calm despite Dignazio's outburst. "No, Captain, you're still on the case, and so are the rest of your people. You are no longer in charge of the case—I am. By orders from division, your homicide squad will be working under us, and you will be my subordinate. What I'm saying is that you are no longer the brains of this operation."
"Okay," Dignazio said. "What are the new SOI's."
"Now we're getting somewhere. Your orders, for now, are simply to sit tight. But first, you will pull out your remaining decoys at once."
Dignazio fought to keep control. "Sir, I need those decoys."
"Then you'll have to stop needing them."
"What the fuck am I suppose to do then?"
"Let me explain," Mullins said. "Basically, we will be working on two levels. My Major Case Squad is going to begin an exhaustive series of investigations on anyone who might even be remotely connected with the case. The goal here is to produce a list of possible suspects, and when we construct that list, we'll give it to you. That's where your team comes in, but until then, you are to sit tight, as I've said. There's no point in running around like a bunch of headless chickens. Just wait till we have something for you. We're going to conduct this case in a logical, controlled manner. I'm sorry about the decoys, but division doesn't want to risk losing another officer. Decoys are too vulnerable, and unfortunately, nothing brings a police department to the public eye faster than a police slaying. One is all we can tolerate. It's merely a matter of pursuing other options. After all, this is Washington, D.C., not New York or Los Angeles. We have a reputation to preserve. The McKeever girl was bad enough, and Detective Slezak, too. Allowing the decoys to remain on the street is asking for more embarrassment. That's all I have to say for the time being."
"Yes, sir," Dignazio mocked. Then he got up and left, hiding the rage on his face.
Chet Winslow and David Elliot were still waiting for him when he returned in his office. He closed the door behind him, then slumped down in his chair. "Division has called in a Major Case Squad," he said. "Until they come up with a list of suspects, we just sit on our asses. One thing, though. No more decoys."
"Who's in charge of this case?" Elliot asked.
"Mullins. That old fucker you talked to."
"He's out of his mind."
"I know. But hopefully his people will have some leads for us in a couple of days."
"Sure," Chet said. "And a few more days can mean a few more bodies."
"The brass is all uptight about losing an officer," Dignazio explained. "They don't want the department to look bad by losing another one. Those shitheads are more concerned with the force's reputation than the murder victims... But, I've got an idea." Dignazio began tapping his favorite pencil against the desk blotter. He paused for reflection. "I can't see sitting around waiting for those lunchbuckets upstairs to get us some suspects. There's got to be something we can do in the meantime... Chet, do you remember that hot shot case we had a year or so ago?"
"Sure. Some player snuffing junkies and hookers with laced smack. I'll never forget that one."
"And do your remember that ballsy little hooker who testified against the guy?"
Chet stroked his chin. "Vickie something. Vickie Anderson, I think."
"Yeah, that's her. She made the whole case. Without her testimony, we never would have nailed that pimp. Now I've heard that after they sent that player to the pen, Vickie Anderson turned straight; she quit whoring and got a clean job somewhere on 10th Street."
"What's the big deal?" Chet said, perplexed.
"That girl had a lot of spunk in her," Dignazio continued. "She stuck her neck out to help us. Maybe she'll help us now. Go see if the records room is open. If it is. get her file and bring it to me."
"What do you-"
"Don't argue. Just get the file."
Chet stood up, his long brown undercover hair dancing at his shoulders. "Okay." He whisked out the door.
"What are you driving at, Captain?" Elliot asked, polishing his glasses with his tie.
"You'll see. Just toying with an idea. And right now, that's all we've got."
"But what possible help could a whore be?"
"She's not a whore; she used to be. Now she's straight. I remember her determination on that hot shot case. She testified against her own pimp, knowing that if she didn't pull it off, she'd get killed herself. That's what we need: a person with some guts, someone who's not afraid to take a chance."
"But she's a civilian. You can't mean—"
Just then, Chet came back into the room with a brown folder in his hand. "Here it is."
He set it down on the desk, and Dignazio thumbed through the various papers. "Yeah, Vickie Anderson, she's the one all right. She's the one we need. It says here that she took a job at Lee's Brothers Typewriters and Office Supplies on 10th and Η. I want to talk to her tomorrow."
"Why?" Chet and Elliot asked at the same time.
"To see if she'll work for us."
"Wait a minute, Captain," said Chet. "If she's not whoring anymore, how would she know anything about our killer?"
Dignazio frowned. "You two guys are thick. Listen, here's my plan. Who would know the streets better than anyone else in the whole wide world? Someone who's worked the streets, right? Right. Now, three of The Electrocutionist's victims so far have been girls he's picked up in the red light district. That's our best lead—he likes hookers. So here's what we do: We get this Vickie Anderson to put on her old whore's clothes and jiggle her ass around on 14th Street where the killer can see her. Meanwhile, Chet will be hiding in the shadows. Sooner or later, The Electrocutionist is going to run into her. She's the right type; the killer likes slim girls, and the last time I saw Vickie Anderson, she looked like a fucking cigarette with tits, just the killer's cup of tea."
There was an amused smile on Elliot's face. "Be realistic, Captain. No girl in her right mind's going to agree to do that. She'd never go for it."
"She did on the hot shot case. You never know; she might do it this time too."
"Oh, so she's just going to be killer fodder for free, huh?"
"No, shithead. We'll pay her; we'll pay her more than she's making at the fucking typewriter store. About a year back, the Chicago PD paid a bunch of hookers to set up a dope ring. And it worked. So why can't we do the same thing?"
"You think the brass will allow a former prostitute to be on the payroll?" Elliot argued.
Dignazio spread out his palms like some police messiah with all the answers. His voice was quiet, assuring. "The brass will never know, because her pay will never be recorded. We'll pay her with overflow cash; fuck, we'll even confiscate money if we have to. No problem."
"But didn't Mullins say no more decoys?" Elliot contested.
"Yes, but she won't be a decoy; she's a civilian. We're just using her for bait, that's all. Chet will be with her all the time."
"Sure," Chet said, "and when Mullins finds out what we're doing, we all lose our jobs."
Dignazio's face turned stern. "That's one thing about this business, Chet. Mullins won't find out. Nobody will. Because nobody's going to know about it. Strictly under the table."
"What if something goes wrong, and she gets torched up like those other girls? Someone will find out."
"No they won't, because if she gets snuffed, it will look like she's just another hooker. No one will give a shit. And since she'll be getting paid overflow cash, there will be no record of her working for us, no way to connect her with the department."
"Sounds pretty shifty to me, Captain," Chet offered. "You're talking about human shark bait."
"Afraid so. But if she gets killed, it'll be your fault, because you will be her tail. Mullins wants this shit over with quick. This is the only way."
"She'll never go for it, Captain," Elliot said in a confident tone.
"Well if she doesn't, then we'll find someone who will. We won't be able to get this killer without a pigeon, so that's what we're going to do ... unless you two geniuses have a better idea."
Silence.
Dignazio smiled. "Okay, boys, we'll pack it up for tonight. I'll contact Rita and have her pull the rest of the decoys out; they'll be back on vice tomorrow. And in the morning, we'll talk to Vickie Anderson. Any questions?"
"Nope. You're the boss."
"Good. Then get the hell out here and get some sleep. Be in early tomorrow."
Chet and Elliot got up and headed for the door.
"Oh, and boys," Dignazio added, "remember, Not a word of anything we've discussed, you hear? No one. Just between the three of us. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, this conversation never happened."
"Ten-four."
Dignazio bade them a mock salute, and they left.
Under the bleak light from room's only fluorescent, Dignazio remained alone in silence. He scanned his eyes back over the Vickie Anderson file, wondering if he was out of his head for getting his hopes up over a prospect so far-fetched, risky, and dangerous. The idea reeked of cruel surreptitiousness. Chet had hit it on the head: they would be using her for shark bait.
He examined the bold print of the file heading.
ANDERSON, VICTORIA, S. WT. 105 HT. 63" HAIR Br. EYES Br. AGE 25 LAST KNOWN WORKING ADDRESS Lee's Brothers, 10th Η St NE
"Perfect," Dignazio said aloud, still rapping his pencil on the desk. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
THREE
On Monday morning, Vickie Anderson was smoking a cigarette and reading the paper behind the counter. She felt mildly ill when she read that another girl had been murdered, a police officer this time, who was working on 14th Street.
The door swooshed open, and Vickie looked up and saw a thin, short-haired man walk boldly into the store. He was wearing a dark-brown suit, the pants a little tight in the crotch and legs. The way he's dressed, she thought, you'd think he was a gay menswear mannequin. She looked closer and noticed the clod-hopper black oxfords, the ridiculous horn-rimmed glasses, and the slight bulge under his arm—telltale signs of a dick. Christ, she said to herself, he might as well be wearing a big sign that says I AM A POLICE OFFICER.
She frowned at his approach.
"Are you Victoria Anderson?" he asked in a police voice.
She cocked her hips and leaned over the counter. "My friends call me Vickie, so you can call me Miss Anderson. What do you want?"
Here comes the ID.
The man pulled out a billfold and showed her a police badge. "I'm Detective David Elliot, Metropolitan Police. If you don't mind, I'd like you to come down to headquarters with me for a few minutes."
"Well I do mind, flatfoot," she said in a fierce whisper. "And who the hell do you think you are, stomping in here, flashing your badge and all! Shit, my boss is in the back room. If he saw that shit, he'd think I've done something wrong."
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," Elliot apologized. "But we'd like to talk to you."
"Who?"
"Captain Dignazio."
"Oh, man, what does he want?"
"Just a few questions. Look, it's very important. Go tell your boss you want to go get a cup of coffee. It won't take long. Really, it's urgent."
"All right," Vickie conceded. "Just get your police ass outside. I'll be with you in a second."
Elliot left and stood waiting on the sidewalk. A minute later, Vickie came through the door, slipping her arms through her coat. "All right. Let's go."
The two of them got into an unmarked LTD. Vickie slammed her door extra hard. "Now what's this all about?"
"Just a few questions," Elliot replied, looking into his rearview mirror and pulling out when there was a gap in the traffic.
"What have I done?" she said, face forward, almost pouting.
"Nothing. We just want to ask you a few things, that's all."
"About what?"
"You'll see in a minute."
She smirked. "I know. You want to ask me about those two hookers who got killed by that electrical nut."
"Something like that."
"Well, look, I didn't even know them, and I've been straight going on three years, so you might as well turn this car right back around. You're wasting your time."
"Don't get upset. It's not what you think."
Vickie didn't say anything for the rest of the ride. Five minutes later, Elliot was pulling into the reserved lot on Indiana Avenue. He shut the car off, then quickly ushered Vickie into the white stone building and up to the second floor. Vickie's arrogance disappeared once she stepped inside. More bad memories. She had been in this place before.
The hallway was strangely silent and ill lighted. She could smell stale cigarette smoke and new paint. Elliot led her into the cramped office.
"Well, Vickie," Dignazio greeted. "Good to see you."
"Yeah, great. Now what did you want to ask me?"
Dignazio nodded rigidly at Elliot, cuing him to leave the room. "Oh, just some things. But first, tell me, how have you been?"
"Just dandy," she said, and plopped down in the adjacent chair, "until your stuffed shirt hustled me away from my job."
"Keeping it clean?" Dignazio practically sang the words.
She took the defensive and snapped, "Yes; I'm straight. I haven't turned a trick since that bullshit with Cadillac."
"Ah, that's good. I always knew you were a good girl at heart."
"Cut the shit. What do you want?"
He curled his lips and nodded. "All right, I'll cut the shit. The reason I called you down here is because ... I need your help."
"Hey, I already told what's-his-face that I didn't know either of those hookers."
"I don't mean info, Vickie. I mean help."
"I helped you once before, and I didn't get jack shit out of it."
Dignazio turned off the charm. "Look, you priss. What did you want? A fucking cash bonus? When you put the finger on Cadillac, you put a creep killer away for keeps. You saved a lot of lives. If that's jack shit to you, then you have a gross set of values."
Vickie sank in her seat. That made her feel shitty; he was right. "All right, I'm sorry. But you still haven't answered my question."
"Okay, I'll level with you. We're in a jam with this Electrocutionist bit. And we're shit out of luck. How'd you like to come and work for us for a couple of weeks?"
"What, are you drunk?"
"Serious."
"But I've got a job."
"Come on, the typewriter business won't fold without you for a while. How much you making?"
"About one-fifty a week," she said, tacking on an extra twenty-five.
"That's not enough to make a living."
"I do all right. I live with a roomie; we split the rent and don't eat much."
"I'll pay you two-fifty per week, and it'll be in cash. You won't even have to report it on your income tax—we won't tell."
Vickie sat there with her mouth open for a few seconds thinking about how much she could use that extra money. Last month, she had almost missed her car payment. She had fearful visions of leaving her apartment one morning only to find Suburban Trust thugs jacking her brand-new Pinto up on the end of a tow truck.
"It'll give you a chance to make some extra dough," Dignazio continued to prod. "Every little bit helps."
Now he really had her thinking. With the extra money, she could get ahead on her car payments and maybe get some new clothes, something she hadn't done in a long time. "You say it's only for a few weeks? What happens when you don't need me anymore? I might not be able to get my old job back."
"We wouldn't bamboozle you, Vickie. We're the police, remember? We can pull strings you wouldn't believe. If your boss gives you a hard time, we'll give him a harder one. He'll think twice about not taking you back if he knows his merchant license is being revoked." He paused. "Three hundred a week."
His offer was sounding better and better. She fired up a cigarette. "All right, I'm thinking. What exactly would I have to do?"
"Just a little undercover work to help us get some leads on this killer."
"The Electrocutionist?"
"Yeah. I know it sounds dangerous, but it really isn't. There's no way any harm could come to you. We'll have a detective close by at all times."
"You still haven't told me what you want me to do."
"We want you to act as sort of a decoy."
"Stop with the jive. Exactly what do I do?"
Dignazio leaned closer. "Look, so far three of the killer's victims have been picked up on 14th Street."
"In other words, he only goes after hookers?"
"Well, not always. One of the four girls he picked up in a bar in Georgetown. And she just happened to be the daughter of a Congressman. That's what set everything off. Saturday night, we lost a decoy officer. She was dressed up like a prostitute. And the first two victims were real prostitutes. So, three out of four is a pretty good lead. The guy likes hookers. All you have to do is dress up like one and stand around on the block. We have an idea what the guy looks like, so if anyone matching his description tries to pick you up, our man on the scene will be right there to nab him."
All of a sudden, things weren't sounding so good anymore. "So you want to use me as a target for this guy?"
"Well, not really a target; just something to draw his attention. He doesn't use a knife or a gun; you'll be in no danger."
An inch of ash had accumulated on the end of her Salem. "You got an ashtray?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Dignazio said, and slid her a big glass ashtray with a police crest in the middle. "But you know smoking is bad for your health."
"So is playing fishfood for killers," she returned, flicking her ash. "I don't like the idea of drawing a murderer."
"You'd only be setting him up. Just hang around on the street and look pretty. Play the game; you know how to do that 'cause you used to do it for real."
