The Tipsy Gull, page 8
part #1 of Danny Barbosa Series
She followed him and stopped at the door. “You already remodeled?”
Danny stood in the middle of the floor—a miniature replica of the USC Trojans home field, complete with hash marks. A custom bed, with pull out drawers was built into one end of the room with a TV mounted overhead. The room had been painted in the recognizable USC Cardinal and Gold.
Stanley walked in. “Charlie loved the Trojans. Of course, you could tear all this out and decorate it your own way.”
Tala laughed. “No, we’ll just make him get used to this.”
“Check this out.” Danny led her to the opposite side where a custom desk was built into the wall. A framed jersey encased in a glass frame hung on the wall. Tala took a deep breath and stared speechless.
He put his arm around her and smiled at the vintage USC jersey. The back bore the name Barbosa with his number 55 stenciled underneath. The jersey was signed with a message. Chuck, it was cool meeting you today. You are a great kid and I can’t wait to play football with you some day.
Your pal,
Danny Barbosa #55.
Sixteen years ago, the USC football team had visited a local children’s hospital. Danny had told her how that day broke his heart, seeing so many sick kids. Next to the autographed jersey, an article depicted a picture of seven-year-old Charlie, smiling from ear to ear. He wore a jersey that fit him like a dress. Squatting next to him was a jersey-less Danny. The caption read: USC star linebacker leaves his jersey behind while visiting Saint Luke’s children’s hospital.
“Oh, Danny. I remembered that article in the Fresno Bee. I looked it up when we started dating.” She looked up at him. “It was another reason I fell in love with, your tenderness toward children.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as he put his arm around her. “Its fate, this house was meant for us.”
She nodded and, in the kitchen, explained to Stanley and Marge that Danny was the football player from the article.
Stanley looked confused for a moment and Tala took his hand. “Remember us? We took Charlie and you guys to USC’s season opener the next year.”
Stanley’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, yes. Holy cow, boy, how’d you find us?”
Tears filled Marge’s eyes and she reverently touched Danny’s cheek. “You’re Barbosa? My grandson never stopped talking about you. Oh, I’m sorry you missed Charlie.”
The five of them sat around the kitchen table looking through photo albums. Danny had become Charlie’s big brother and took him to a few football games. The two had exchanged letters and every single one Danny had sent was in the albums, along with every article ever printed about his football playing days.
Danny’s eyes watered, and Tala held his hand. “I can’t believe I had that big an impact on anyone.”
They discussed the house for a while. Stanley agreed to come down on the price and meet them in the middle, but only if his son was okay with it, for he’d put in a lot of money and time remodeling. Tala said they would try and get approved for the higher amount they would need.
At the front door, the Barbosa family exchanged hugs with Stanley and Marge. There wasn’t a dry eye left in the house.
CHAPTER 10
Claire strolled through campus. A banner strung over a walk-way read, Welcome students. The campus was abuzz as excited students bustled about, gossiping about the latest murder. She held her head up with pride. Not even an actress yet, and she was famous. Well, anonymously infamous at the very least. A student asked her where the freshman registration was, and Claire pointed her in the right direction as she headed toward her first class of the Fall Semester.
She hung out at Las Gatos Mexican Grill because they had great food and ice-cold beer. Not to mention, a bartender named Rudy. Who am I kidding? I like him. She blushed. She’d met him a year ago when Carmelita had picked up the third victim, Frankie Tolliver. Over the last month, Claire had gone there a handful of times. She enjoyed Rudy’s company, and as she thought about him, contemplated whether she could have a normal relationship. Even if she couldn’t, a boyfriend would give her an alibi if ever needed.
Claire’s Subaru BRZ had been a gift from her adoptive father when she graduated as valedictorian of her high school. Although the police had a description of her car, she wasn’t too worried. There were a lot of red cars in San Diego. Plus, she purposely drove through dirt roads, covering the car with a film of dust to make it appear older than it was. Before killing anyone, she’d take it to the carwash where a wash and wax made it shiny and new looking. Anyway, if she ever got pulled over, they’d be looking for a tall blonde or an older Hispanic, not plain brown-haired Claire.
She pulled into the parking lot, strolled through the restaurant, and sat at the corner stool in the bar. Rudy smiled at her. “Hey there, how are you?”
“I’m good. Just finished class and thought I’d grab a beer...” She raised her eyebrows. “And complimentary chips and salsa?”
Rudy chuckled, and with a nod, signaled for one of the busboys to bring her some. “I’m sorry…I forgot your name.”
That was a dagger to her heart, but who was she trying to fool, anyway? Guys didn’t remember average girls like her. They wanted girls like Naomi. “It’s Claire. You’re Ray right?”
“Uh, it’s Rudy.” He bit his upper lip and stepped away to grab her Corona. When he returned, he said. “Claire. You’re a drama student, right?”
“Yeah, you remembered.” She took a swallow of the ice-cold Corona and all was well again.
***
Danny walked into the bar and stood at the far end. He glanced in the mirror and saw the bartender serving a girl at the other end. Then his eyes fell upon the bottle of Jack Daniels on the shelf and he licked his lips. The bartender headed over and Danny introduced himself and explained they were re-interviewing everyone from the previous murders and if he remembered that night.
“Are you kidding? I remember like it was yesterday. I mean how often I get to wait on a serial killer, right?” Rudy’s face lit up.
Danny took out his notebook with a smile.
Rudy leaned on the bar top with one arm while wiping the bar top with his free hand. “Business in the bar was slow. After two murders in this area, people were afraid to go out and drink. Luckily, the restaurant still had some customers, so I stayed busy. The woman came in and sat at the opposite end, where that girl’s at.” He pointed.
Danny tracked Rudy’s finger toward the brown-haired girl sitting at the opposite end.
“She asked me if I spoke Spanish and I said yes. Then she ordered a beer and shot of tequila.” Rudy looked sheepish. “I know I’m supposed to, but I didn’t card her because she looked about thirty.”
Danny waved it off. He wasn’t with the Alcohol and Beverage Control. “Do you recall what brand of beer or shot?”
“Uh, it’s been so long. I want to say it was a Mexican beer like Tecate or Dos Equis. And I’m pretty sure the shot was just our house brand Tequila.”
“Okay, what else you got?” Danny asked. He had hoped that she ordered blue moon and Patron which would have matched Naomi’s order according to the Moonshine Flats bartender.
“She said her name was Carmelita. Maybe ten minutes later, Frankie, one of our regulars, came in and sat around the middle of the bar. They kept looking at each other. I think it was Frankie that hit on her first, but I can’t say for certain.” Rudy excused himself, and after making drinks for one of the waitresses, continued, “Now that I think about it I’m pretty sure Frankie did head her way with a couple of shots. They chatted in Spanish, but I did hear her speak broken English to another customer before that. They only stayed another fifteen minutes before walking out together.”
Danny asked a few more questions until “Bad Boys” boomed from his cell phone. He excused himself and turned his back to take the call from Ben.
After the call, he turned the volume down on his cell. The poor girl at the other end had practically fallen out of her seat when his phone rang. He glanced over, she was gone now. He turned back to Rudy to finish the interview.
# # #
Claire set her beer down and her heart raced. What the hell was Detective Barbosa doing here? She recognized him from TV and her internet research—tall, muscular, impeccably dressed, with dark curly hair and amazing blue eyes. He looked like an actor.
He and Rudy were talking at the other end. How had he found her? Were the front and back exits covered? Her brow beaded with sweat so she wiped it with her napkin and resisted the impulse to run. Deep breaths helped calm her and forced her to analyze the situation. If he’d known who she was he’d have drawn his gun on her, yelling like they do on Cops.
She sipped her beer, pretending to ignore him. All the while, she watched him in the mirror out of the corner of her eye. Rudy pointed in her direction and Barbosa looked right at her. Claire knew some day she’d be caught, despite how careful she was. She carried a snub nosed .38 in her purse in case she was ever cornered. Reaching in, she gripped the gun, but didn’t pull it out yet.
She sighed in relief when he turned his back to her to talk on the phone. Even if he wasn’t there for her, maybe it would be a good time to leave. She stood as Rudy walked over.
“Hey, sorry about the interruption, you want another beer?”
Claire shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “Who’s that guy, and how come you pointed at me?” She was acting too defensive. With a smile, she arched an eyebrow. “Is he an actor or producer?”
Rudy laughed. “No, some detective working on that serial killer case. I pointed at your barstool, that’s where the Slayer had been sitting.” He glanced toward Barbosa, then back to her and pursed his lips together. He frowned. “So you’re taking off? I’ll be done in a minute.”
Now she was torn. Rudy seemed interested in her and she wanted to stay but the detective’s presence had rattled her. “Yeah, actually I better go. I’m not feeling great.”
“You do look pale. Take care and I’ll catch you next time.” He winked at her.
Claire blushed, left a two-dollar tip on the bar, and walked out. Her heart pounded with every step. She knew it was irrational, but she still held her breath, anticipating the gunshot to the back of her head.
# # #
After the interview with Rudy, Danny headed back to headquarters. After having told Ben the other day he recognized the face of the victims after being shown the black and white photos, Ben had offered to go over Danny’s old reports to see what came up.
Danny grabbed a coke out of the mini-fridge. His mind fluttered to the Jack Daniels at the bar. He shook it off. “Rudy didn’t have anything new to add, and the bartender at the Liquor Cabinet doesn’t work their anymore. I ran a driver’s license check on him for his new address. I’ll get to that interview tomorrow.”
“Okay, no problem.” Ben scratched his cheek. “I finished checking all your reports from the last six months and I’ve a couple of possible matches. The first one is Kevin Stallworth.”
“I remember that guy. I interviewed him as a possible witness to a hold up when I was assigned to Robbery.” Danny held up the copy of the license. There was a vague resemblance to the other victims. “That’s not who I was thinking.”
Ben handed him the second photo. “This is Aaron Kaufman. You interviewed him three months ago. He was a witness to a stabbing at Ivy Continuation School.”
“Oh yeah, I remember Kaufman. He was more pissed off because blood had splashed on his brand-new Lincoln than the fact that one of his students had stabbed another.” Aaron had the same narrow eyes, wide nose, and sneer as the others but wasn’t who he’d been thinking of either.
Danny’s fist came down on the desk. “Shit, I know that face from somewhere. I just can’t place it. Maybe it wasn’t work related.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll come to you,” Ben said. “And at least we know what’s triggering our killer.”
“Which one? Naomi or Carmelita?”
"What if there are two killers?” Ben raised a brow.
Danny pondered that. "Wouldn’t be the first time. Fred and Rosemary West,”
Ben nodded. "Lucas and Toole, 1983.”
"What are the chances?"
“Slim. The condition of the body reflects a manic attack and the physical evidence points to one person.”
“That’s true. So how about this.” Danny tapped his pen on his desk. “A cult leader brainwashes woman to lure the victim in. Then he enters the apartment and goes berserk on the victim.” He tossed the pen down. “Case solved, now we have to find the cult leader—The Chameleon.”
“I know you’re joking, but that’s not a bad theory.” Ben smiled and glanced at the white board. Three columns: Stevenson/Tolliver=Carmelita. Miles=Unknown. Wilson=Naomi. He stood and wrote: girl in elevator?
Danny leaned forward and rubbed his lower back. “We need something more concrete.”
“I hear ya, partner. But be patient, something always breaks through eventually.”
They continued working on the case. Danny checked custody records but couldn’t find a match for anyone incarcerated during the period between the murders who matched their suspect descriptions. Ben checked NCIC records for similar homicides in other locations, but nothing panned out.
When shown a picture of the bag from the Jewelers’ security camera, witnesses from Moonshine Flats had identified it as being similar to the one Naomi carried that night. Blanche had also confirmed the woman in the photo was the one from the elevator, as well as the purse.
“Was it a coincidence that the girl in the elevator had the same type of purse that Naomi did?” Danny asked.
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“What if Naomi ditched it in the stairwell or garbage can. Then this other girl found it and snagged it. That’d explain why she looked nervous to Blanche. She had someone else’s purse.”
“That’s a possibility. I still think we have to consider that the killer is disguising herself.” Ben said. “And that’s why she goes by The Chameleon.”
“A disguise that makes a five-four, thirty-year old Hispanic woman into a five-ten, twenty-one-year-old blond, southern girl.”
“Yeah I know. Plus, we already know Naomi wore tennis shoes, so it’s not like heels made her taller.” Ben sighed. “Not to mention, the witnesses said Naomi’s southern accent sounded realistic and Carmelita spoke only broken English, but fluent Spanish.”
“Yep, and then we have the five-four, twenty-year-old, brunette.” Danny handed Ben the photo that San Diego Jewelers had printed. “Who is she?”
CHAPTER 11
Danny sat at his desk, while Ben watered the plants in their office. Danny told him about the house Tala and he had found. They were making more small talk when the phone rang. After a brief conversation, Danny hung up, his smile a mile wide. The lab called to inform them the lab reports were done. Besides being excited about the potential for new evidence, Danny was looking forward to seeing Kelly. He hadn’t talked to her since that day at Broadway Lofts, but he vividly recalled the jolt up his arm when she touched him.
Ben drove their Crown Vic and they headed to the lab. Turning off Mt. Edna Drive, he parked in front of the unmarked two-story building. A flock of seagulls flew overhead, heading toward the ocean. Clouds started gathering, blocking out the sun. Danny shivered when a cool breeze coming in off the coast hit him.
After showing their credentials to the red-haired receptionist, she let them into a vacant office so they could review the report. She had a copy available for them, but said Lewis wanted to talk to them in person, and he was out at the moment.
Danny scooted his chair over as Ben opened the envelope. Danny ran his finger over the report, pointing to key evidence as he sped down the page. Two strands of long blond hair were found on the bed next to Wilson. Danny tapped the paper with his finger. “Do you see where it shows if it’s real hair or a wig?”
“I’m looking,” Ben muttered, then put his finger further down. “Yeah, right here. Real hair. But I think wigs are made of real hair, anyway, right?”
“I’m not sure.” Danny admitted. “We’ll check into that. It has to be Naomi.”
“Unless Carmelita planted it there,” Ben said.
Danny nodded and continued to scan the report. Time of death was estimated between 11 pm and 1 am. Like the other three crime scenes, the lab detected cat hair from a Siamese. The footprints were made from throw away type booties, size medium, same as the other crime scenes. A complete gloved hand print on the bathroom wall was found to be the exact size as one recovered at Mile’s murder scene. No evidence of sexual activity before the victim’s death. The suspect had showered in Wilson’s apartment, and oxygenated bleach had been poured down the drain. This rendered the DNA unidentifiable. The murder weapon was the same—a double-edged blade. The victim suffered between thirty to thirty-three stab wounds. Like the other victims, the autopsy couldn’t pinpoint the exact amount because of the tearing of tissue.
“So far, it looks like the strands of blond hair are the only major difference.” Danny rubbed his eyes. “I mean, we assumed it was the same suspect, but this supports it.”
Ben nodded and they continued to review the lab report. A hand-writing analysis confirmed the notes were written by the same person. He pointed to the page which showed no ketamine in the victim’s blood. “Here’s the second difference. How did the victim overpower him? There are no defensive wounds and he wasn’t tied up.”
“Good question.” Danny turned the page. “Look, the autopsy detected a half-inch scratch on Wilson’s right bicep.”
“Traces of a viscous, bluish, aqueous gel were found on his chest.” Ben read out loud.
Danny read the next part. “Batrachotoxin was found in the victim’s blood. Look, Lewis circled this and wrote, Call me–urgent.”
“That’s probably why the receptionist said he needed to talk to us.” Ben checked his watch. “I wonder what that is.”
