Chapter 16

After not having slept together in three months, it was a welcome reprise for Rachael to finally be able to surrender herself to Daryl Garcia.

They had been slowly building up to this for the last two weeks. As the investigation into the murder of Felipe Picano, the Butcher victim killed two months ago, hit its customary dead end of leads, Daryl started to contact Rachael more. Before long they were both suggesting a date. Tonight that date had come.

Rachael sighed, rolled over on the king-sized bed in Daryl's bedroom and kissed him. His arms went around her back as he kissed her back, their tongues darting, doing their own dance. Rachael broke the kiss and looked down at Daryl, smiling. “I've been waiting all summer for this."

Daryl smiled. “Me, too."

“I need a drink,” Rachael said, sliding off the bed and standing barefoot on the floor. “Want a beer?"

“I'd love one.” Daryl propped himself up against the headboard as Rachael walked naked through the house to the kitchen to fetch the beers.

Rachael had come to Daryl's place after work around 6:30. After not seeing each other in nearly three months, Daryl had reacted like a man dying of thirst when he met her at the door to his home. He had taken her into his arms and held her, just held her tightly.

Rachael had been surprised at the level of emotions he displayed, but she welcomed it.

She had reacted pretty much the same way. When they finally kissed it was softly, tenderly. The passion in their ardor had been so great that they missed their 7:00 p.m.

reservation at Dominico's; they wound up making love on the floor of Daryl's living room.

Rachael opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of Rolling Rock. She opened them with the bottle opener Daryl had clipped to the cupboard, and headed back to the bedroom, still smiling from the evening's events; dressing hurriedly for a later dinner appointment at Dominico's, a long, languid dinner followed by a stroll through Burbank hand-in-hand, cappuccino's at a small sidewalk café, then back to Daryl's house where they had made love again. The only thing that had stopped their passion was the draining of their energy.

Handing Daryl his beer, Rachael returned to her side of the bed, sitting up, back propped up against the headboard. They took long, slow pulls from their drinks. The night outside was warm, the windows closed against the seasonally warm night air. The central air conditioning was activated and now it kicked in, creating a calm, relaxed feeling in both of them.

Rachael had been both surprised and pleased by Daryl's lovemaking. Every kiss, every caress, had been passionate, baring his soul completely. Rachael secretly applauded Daryl for letting go so much during their lovemaking—several times he had come so hard that it felt like he might pass out from the sheer emotion of it. It was a milestone for both of them, and Rachael felt that Daryl knew it.

He voiced it a moment latter after draining half his bottle of Rolling Rock. “I think this is it, babe."

“Think this is what?"

He looked at her. “I'm finally free. I feel more free from my ... from the past problems I told you about. I feel ... complete again."

Rachael smiled, then reached out and hugged him clumsily, still holding her beer.

“Oh baby, I know. I feel it, too."

She felt Daryl sigh heavily into her bare shoulder, then shudder, as if he was trying to hold back his emotions. She stroked the back of his head with her fingers and kissed the nape of his neck. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” he said.

They remained that way for quite some time.

They made love again, slowly, languidly.

They fell asleep in each other's arms with the cool air of the air conditioner drying the sweat off their bodies.

They slept soundlessly.

And for longer then either of them had known ... ?

...peacefully.

A week later, it was almost the same scenario. Only this time, they were at her place.

Daryl liked that.

He liked the fact that after cooling off of each other for nearly three months they were able to get back together as if nothing had ever happened. Nothing had, really. The time spent apart had worked wonders. Last week when they had made love finally, he had done so like a man possessed. He had wallowed in his lust for her and held nothing back.

And God, it had felt great.

They had spent the weekend together, and it had been the first weekend in almost a year when he hadn't worked. He hadn't thought about the case once.

It was a welcome break.

Now, sitting up in Rachael Pearce's bed, the euphoria from their lovemaking still creating a warm feeling through his limbs, he looked at her and smiled. Rachael smiled back. “This is starting to get habit forming,” she said.

“If it is, it's a habit I don't want to break."

She smiled and kissed him.

For the first time in three months they talked about how their week had gone. Last weekend it had been like they had just started dating: they had talked about food, politics, movies, books, places they had been. Anything other than their jobs and most importantly, the Butcher case. It was almost as if they were rediscovering each other again.

This time, it was different.

They started off talking about how things had been when they both staggered into work on Monday. Rachael had stayed at his place all last weekend, had woke up in his arms Monday morning. When the clock radio by his bed sounded its alarm, they both realized that it was going to be a whirl-wind morning if they were to shower and dress before work. All of Rachael's work clothes were still at her home.

Rachael chuckled at the memories of that morning. She had finally arrived at the office at ten-thirty, and after work had run a bunch of errands she hadn't been able to do that weekend—grocery shopping, feed Nanka, clean the house, do the laundry. She didn't start to fully recover until Thursday.

It had been the same for Daryl.

He started talking about the case, telling her about the latest murder. He stopped midway through and cocked a questioning glance at her. “I'm sorry. Is it okay to talk about this?"

“Of course."

Daryl relaxed and went on. It felt better talking about the case now, more so than before. For one, he no longer had that claustrophobic feeling he had when he was dealing with the stress and trying to sort out his feelings about Rachael and the old feelings about Shirley. The time spent apart had really helped; it had helped him put things in perspective. For once, he felt ready to live in the present rather than mourn the past. For another, Dickinson had informed he and Steve two weeks ago that the DA was not going to press charges against them for the police brutality charge. “But I'm gonna be watching your ass from now on, Garcia,” Dickinson had said. “I'm keeping you on this Butcher case indefinitely so you'll stay out of trouble. If you can stay out of trouble for a year or so and I don't hear any complaints about you in that time, that will be a good thing."

That had taken a lot of the weight off his shoulders. Now that Rachael was back in his life he felt more relaxed, more positive about the way things were going.

“We've run into the same dead end as before,” Daryl said, sipping a beer, his right hand holding hers. “Felipe Picano was a Tortilla Flats gang member, a gang veteran. In fact, he used to be buddies with Danny Hernandez, that counselor at Our Lady of Guadalupe. Danny is pretty torn up about it. It's that classic case of one friend making it out of the barrio and the other remaining a bad boy, finally succumbing to the lifestyle.

Only this time Felipe hadn't just succumbed to the lifestyle, he had been waylaid by something far more evil."

“The Butcher,” Rachael said.

“That's right,” Daryl said. He took a sip of beer. “Danny saw Felipe that night, an hour or so before he disappeared. Some younger gang members saw him as well around the same time. He had apparently been on his way to the grocery store. He went out and never came back."

“So he was taken by surprise,” Rachael said.

“Maybe.” Daryl paused, collecting his thoughts. It was such a complex issue. “By all the accounts from our investigation, Felipe left his home around ten-thirty. While the gang members we interviewed wouldn't admit it, there is a strong chance Felipe left the house to score some heroin. The coroner found traces of it in Felipe's remains. Danny didn't know much either, although I did find it a bit odd that he was hanging out with a hard user and a hard-core gang member."

Rachael shrugged her shoulders. “What's so odd about it? He works with gang members at the church, doesn't he?"

“Yes, but that's different. He works with them, counsels them, acts as a big brother to the younger ones. But he doesn't associate his off-hours with them. At least not in the way he normally does. The young gang members we interviewed stated that Danny actually paid a visit to Felipe earlier in the evening. He actually stayed at the house and socialized for an hour or so. Then he left about fifteen minutes before Felipe took off for wherever it was he went."

“You don't think Danny has anything to do with this, do you?” Rachael asked, concerned.

Daryl shrugged. “No ... but the coincidence is odd. Danny knew three of the victims, two of them rather personally. The others all came from the area with the exception of two. And Danny has a car, which theoretically makes it possible for him to have driven to Riverside and the San Gabriel Mountains to make those other two killings.

As for the local ones, he surely knows the area like the back of his hand. The only thing missing is that he doesn't fit the profile at all."

Rachael took a sip of beer. “I was just thinking the same thing."

“Danny is bright, and I'm sure if he were capable of it he very well could have carried out these crimes. But the forensic evidence clearly shows that the perpetrator has a definite knowledge of human anatomy, maybe even some medical training, which Danny surely doesn't have."

“Could he qualify as an accomplice?"

Daryl shook his head. It was an intriguing possibility. “Much as I'd hate to admit it, I'd say yes."

“But you have reservations?"

Daryl sighed and took another swig off his bottle. “Maybe I do. I don't know how else to explain it, but the best way would be that it's a gut feeling. And it tells me that Danny Hernandez has nothing to do with the Butcher murders."

“You think the person responsible might also have killed those people in Indiana?” Rachael asked.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I think so. So far not much has been done in checking that angle out. Me, Bernie Haskins and another FBI agent flew out to South Bend a year ago to check out that angle and basically came to the conclusion that there is a possibility that our killer started there. But since then the focus has been on Los Angeles."

“Nobody has tried doing more work in Indiana?"

“Nope.” Daryl shook his head. “Haskins and the rest of the agents heading the case feel we need to concentrate on LA. He's operating here now and the trail is fresher.

Besides, the budget is stretched so tight that I don't think it'll allow for anymore poking around in Indiana."

“How about if I did some?” Rachael brought this up with a trace of apprehension.

Daryl looked at her. “You?"

Rachael touched Daryl's arm. “I could do it off the record from my job. They won't need to know anything and I can use my press credentials to get information. It can just be to help you. Kind of like an independent investigator."

Daryl nodded. He liked the idea but he had concerns. He told her so. “But I'm behind you on it. In fact, I can even help. I can give you copies of the reports in the case files that might help."

“I would like that.” She placed her beer on the nightstand on her side of the bed and faced him. She looked excited and eager. “I can fly back to Indiana myself at some point using your files as a reference point. There's got to be something I can find back there that relates to all this."

“Like when?"

“You said yourself that two of the murders here don't fit in many ways. The Riverside victim and the unidentified man found in San Gabriel. And what about the black male from ‘89?"

Daryl nodded. He knew what Rachael was getting at, but wasn't sure if she could link them all together. “But the only thing that ties them all together is MO. And even then, the San Gabriel victim doesn't fit. He was killed where he was found."

“That's right,” Rachael said. She reached for her beer. “Damn, I forgot about that."

“I don't want to stay so narrowly focused in LA, which the FBI wants to do right now,” Daryl said. “I want to keep an open mind to this case. If he's killing in other jurisdictions we need to know about it."

“I agree. And I think if I were to go to Indiana and at least investigate those murders, I might find something."

“Like what?"

Rachael shrugged. “Anything. Background on the victims always helps. Weren't two of them prostitutes?"

Daryl nodded.

“And the local police investigations didn't get very far?"

Daryl sighed and drained the rest of his beer. “I'm afraid not. It's a sad fact of life in cases like this."

“I'd like to see those autopsy reports and the original crime reports. I would bet the answer lies there."

“But honey, the FBI has already opened those cases up again."

“And?"

“And what?"

“Where has it gotten them?"

“Well...” Daryl didn't really know. He remembered making the trip out to South Bend himself and being positive that those three unsolved homicides were related to what was currently going on in Los Angeles. But the beaucracy of the case bogged down any further investigation in that avenue. He had left it to the FBI to find some answers. And so far none had been found.

“Nowhere, right?” Rachael asked.

Goddamn but Rachael could be a persistent woman. That's what spelled a good reporter. And a good detective. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have her poke around.

“Listen,” he said, speaking carefully. “I would love for you to help. But only if you want to."

“I do."

He looked at her, trying to convey the seriousness and caring he felt in his tone and gaze. “I want you to know that I appreciate it. I really do. But I want you to not only be extremely careful, which I know you will, but extremely discreet. More discreet than you would normally be. Because if somebody finds out about you and me and sees you poking around, it might mean trouble. I could not only get fired, but my career might be at stake."

Rachael's features deflated a little. “Damn, you're right. Christ, why does everything have to be so goddamned political?"

“I don't know.” He took Rachael in his arms and they held each other for awhile, content to bask in the peacefulness of their embrace.

After a moment Daryl broke the silence. “I do think if you find something on the Indiana angle that it might help."

“I think so, too."

“The victims in Indiana were two prostitutes and a vagrant,” Daryl said, softly rubbing Rachael's shoulders. “If we believe the common thread, he didn't strike again until 1989 when he killed Leroy Brown in LA, a black gang member. Then a five year gap before the Lady of the Ocean turns up. Since then it's been a pretty steady stream of bodies, most springing from the same geographical location and sociological background.

The question is, why the long gaps in the early years? And he's established such a strong pattern with gang members here in LA, why a vagrant and two whores in Indiana?"

“Maybe they don't have gangs in South Bend,” Rachael said.

Daryl chuckled. Rachael laughed with him.

“I think he made his first kill in Indiana,” Daryl said. “I think his first kill was one of the hookers, and he did the other two soon after. I think he was ashamed at what he did and buried the bodies so they wouldn't be discovered."

“I think he's from Indiana,” Rachael said. “Quite possibly South Bend itself."

“I think that's a possibility."

“Why would he come here, though?"

“Why does anybody come to LA?"

“To be a movie star."

Daryl laughed. “I can see it now. Headline: ‘Eastside Butcher captured. Is found to be a burgeoning actor in Hollywood'!"

“Or a major actor,” Rachael laughed, getting in on the joke. “'Extra! Brad Pitt is the Eastside Butcher'."

They burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

When the laughter died down, Daryl resumed his hypothesis. “Whatever the reason, he's here now. The question is, why did he settle in East LA?"

“Maybe he didn't. Maybe he works in East LA and lives somewhere else."

Daryl nodded. “That's possible."

“We know he's very smart and that he has a car to transport the victims,” Rachael continued. “And that he probably lives alone. Do you think he has his own home?"

“I don't know.” That was a tough call.

“He might have been in his late teens or early twenties when he killed those people in South Bend. Most serial killers start at that age. That would make him in his mid-to-late thirties now."

“Right."

“Hookers, transients and gang members."

“Yes."

“Two of which are very easy to procure."

“True."

“But why gang members? That's what gets me. Is this a personal crusade? A mission of his to root out gangs and the problems they cause by killing them?"

“I don't know,” Daryl shook his head. “Believe me, you're right when you say that most people could care less if we catch this guy. And while I hate to admit it, I harbored those same feelings myself. Part of me still does. I hate gangs and the destruction and pain they cause more than anything. Gangs and gang violence have cost me plenty.” He paused, reigning his emotions in. Now was not the time to go careening back into the world of self-pity and yearning for Shirley again. He had put that all behind him. Besides, the more he got going down that track, the more he thought Rachael was beginning to have second thoughts about him. The first time the subject had come up where they had mused that a cop could be responsible for the murders was only the tip of the iceberg. “He does more then just kill them.” Daryl resumed, starting at the wall in front of him. “He does much more."

They were quiet, each thinking their own thoughts of the madness that lurked in the mind of somebody out there in the city.

“You're right,” she said. “He isn't killing gang members out of some personal crusade for society."

“No."

“He's attracted to victims of both sexes."

“Yes."

“He's most likely bisexual."

“Yes."

“He gets a supreme thrill out of doing what he's doing."

“I would think he does."

“And he kills gang members because they are just as easy for him to get as transients and prostitutes."

Daryl nodded.

“Which means he must live somewhere in the East LA area."

“Right.” Daryl lifted the empty bottle of Rolling Rock and wished for another beer. “The problem now is, how do we find him?"