No Longer the Victim

Chapter 1

Accelerating through traffic while passing seedy hotels and strip joints along the way, I arrived at my destination, Club Sheiks. It’s the beginning of the year, the first Saturday in January, and by all accounts, I envision this night going splendidly. After parking in the rear of the windowless single-level purplish building, I disappeared inside.

The club’s a monstrosity, concrete flooring, wall-to-wall mirrors, colorful florescent lighting and blaring music. On stage, exotic dancers perform inside barred cages, like wild animals in heat. Waitresses fill orders and fantasies, while sashaying around wearing scanty lingerie and platform heels.

Club Sheiks is ideal for one reason; it’s a strip joint evolving into the latest gay hangout. Not a soul here is a judge of character, and even so—who cares? This fact in and of itself makes the hellhole worth my time—that, and the fulfillment of knowing the end results of my brief visits here.

I took a seat at the bar, observing intended targets amongst the crowd before honing in on an attractive brunette as she staggered to a nearby table. She wore a form-fitting red sweaterdress with knee-high black stiletto boots. Bartender? A scotch whiskey, make it neat.

You want to start a tab? asked the tanned effeminate male as he dispensed a jigger of scotch into a double old-fashioned glass.

No, thanks. I tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. Change is yours. I guzzled the caramel scented drink in one swig before approaching the brunette’s table. I couldn’t help but notice you from the bar. Are you okay? I asked.

I will be, she said.

Is there something I can do? I counted four empty cocktail glasses on the table in front of her.

Nope. No one can fix it—but me, she slurred. And I don’t want to.

It’s the beginning of the New Year. How bad could it really be? I smiled. Mind if I sit?

Help yourself. She motioned in a welcome gesture and I sat next to her.

I’m Chris. And you are? I extended a hand.

Jody, she greeted.

So Jody, what’s troubling you? I’m known to be a great listener, and an even better problem solver.

You can’t help me. Besides you’re a stranger. What do you care?

Try me. Even if I can’t help you, you’ll feel better having talked about it.

She smiled and sighed. I just came from visiting my mom. She just never knows when to butt the hell out of my life. She still hasn’t accepted the fact that I’ll never be the daughter she expects me to be. Anyway, one argument led to another, and as she spoke ill of my lifestyle yet again, I left. Instead of going home to be with my partner, Susan, and friends we invited to our place, I came here to clear my head. She lifted one of the empty cocktail glasses in the air.

Hey, you are who you are, and nothing can change that. I’m sure she’ll come around.

Fortunately, you don’t know my mom. You’d think now that I’m a twenty-two-year-old college grad and have some sense of what I want out of life, she’d be happy for me. But hardly. It’s all or nothing for her. She began eyeing the increasingly growing crowd of partygoers. I need another drink. Where are the waitresses when you really need them?

Chances are better getting it from the bar. I’ll fight through the crowd for you—but on one condition.

Yeah?

I choose the drink.

And what might that be?

Be right back, and I promise you won’t be disappointed. I made my way to the bar and returned shortly with a Cosmo in hand.

Good choice.

I aim to please. I placed the cocktail next to the empty glasses. So what time are you expecting friends at your place?

Thanks. About now. She took a sip of the drink. But I’m not going, Susan can entertain them.

You know, I was invited to a party myself. Would you like to join me? It’ll take your mind off your troubles, at least for a while.

Now, why would I do that? I don’t know you or your last name, as far as that goes.

It’s Hays, and if you go, you can get to know me.

I did mention that I was involved, right? If not, let me clear it up again.

You did, but I don’t think there’s any harm in us becoming friends, do you?

Friends?

Yeah, I mean unless—

No, it could never be anything else.

Then friends it is. So what do you say? Party with me for a while?

I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, she said while pointing an index finger in my face. Okay, I’ll go, but not for long.

You won’t regret it. Now drink up and let’s get out of here.

She tossed down the cocktail. Where, exactly, is this party?

Downtown. Are we ready? She stood up and without warning, missed a step and collapsed back into the chair. I got you. I took her by the hand and escorted her out of the club. I’m parked in the rear of the lot. Only a short ways to go.

But my car is right here. I’ll just follow you. She pulled away while pointing toward a white Nissan Altima.

Since it appears you’ve had one drink too many, I thought I’d drive, and bring you back when you’re ready. It’ll give us a chance to talk a bit more—and you a chance to sober up.

When I’m ready and not a second longer, she said.

Scout’s honor. I held up three fingers.

Once inside my G35, we drove a short distance west on Brooks Road before merging onto I-55 north toward downtown. Minutes later, we exited right onto Virginia Avenue in a neighborhood slightly east of the Mississippi River, and pulled into the driveway of my two-story, sky-gray stucco home.

So where are the guests? And why are you pulling in the garage? Who lives here? she asked. There’s no party, is there? I think it’s best if I just go back to the club.

Relax, Jody, I live here. I’m just going to grab a bottle of bubbly to take with us. Do you mind?

No. Sorry. I really didn’t mean to freak-out on you. But—

Think nothing of it. Let’s go in.

So, why two cars? she asked while walking past the covered vehicle parked in the garage.

That one doesn’t work, I lied while smiling inwardly. This will be your means of transportation from here—though you won’t know it.

We entered the house through the galley-style kitchen. I knelt in front of the built-in under-counter Wine Captain and pulled out a bottle of Moet. Give me a sec to check my phone messages and we’re out of here. You can have a look around the place, if you’d like.

Okay. By the way, nice place you have here, she said while turning to leave the room.

I watched as she walked into the living area admiring my modest décor. No pictures, books, or artwork of any sort. An oversized sage green sofa, an oblong cherry wood coffee table, and a wall mounted plasma television completed the space. Out of view, I hung up the phone and strolled down the hallway, passing two unfurnished bedrooms as I made my way to the third, which was sparsely furnished. I flicked the light on, eyes intently focused on the cord that draped over the headboard of the wrought iron-framed bed. Yes, there’s going to be a party, and you, my dear Jody, are the guest of honor.

Chris, where are you? she called from the hallway.

In here. I grabbed the cord, turned out the lights, and stood quietly against the wall.

Are you about ready?

Not quite. As she entered the room, I shoved her onto the bed. With one knee planted firmly into the small of her back, I twisted the cord around my palms and tightened it as it made contact with her throat.

No! Stop—please! She tried desperately to free the cord from her neck with virtually no chances of doing so. Help me—somebody, please!

Her wailing and thrashing about amplified as she tried to loosen my grip. Her attempt was in vain. Every muscle in my upper body was concentrated on ending her existence. There was no stopping—not now. Not ever.

Why—why me? she wept while gasping heavily for air.

To protect and punish, I simply replied as she took her last breath.

Chapter 2

In the early hours of Sunday morning, Detective Todd Buckingham was standing in the midst of an all too familiar crime scene. He took a brief moment to phone Lieutenant Hawkins of homicide to fill him in on what was taking place. After recognizing the cranky voice as that of his lieutenant on the line, he said, Lieutenant, I’m at RC Park. A female’s body was discovered here by tourists an hour or so ago. And I have to forewarn you that, by the looks of it, it appears to be connected to the strangulation murder I investigated a few months back. I thought you’d want to be here, Buckingham said, and then listened as Hawkins babbled expletives before the words, it never ends and I’m on my way parted his lips, followed by a dial tone.

Minutes following the phone conversation, reporters were arriving at the crime scene, racing in droves toward the victim’s body. Uniformed officers held them back and continued securing the area while logging names in and out as Lieutenant Hawkins pulled curbside in his unmarked unit. As he exited the vehicle, he immediately spotted the six-three burly-frame of Buckingham, sporting a blond crew cut, striding in his direction. He then noticed Buckingham’s black rookie partner, Jim Franklin, who was fairly average in height and build and most noted for his clean-shaven look. He was escorting a young, attractive black couple toward a cruiser.

Have the folks who discovered the body been questioned yet? asked Hawkins as Buckingham approached him.

Yeah, I took an initial statement. It seems they came upon the body around three-thirty this morning after having partied at a nightclub on Beale Street. They didn’t have much else to add, so I asked Franklin to finish taking their statements and then let them go.

Has the victim been identified?

No, but I was just about to contact Missing Persons to see if anyone fitting the description has been reported in the last twenty-four hours. He hurried off.

Hawkins continued toward the CSI’s as they were combing the immediate area for physical evidence. He approached Dr. Hielser, the chief medical examiner, as he was viewing the victim’s body. What’s the verdict?

Dr. Hielser stood and nodded once. Lieutenant. Given rigor doesn’t appear to be fully set, I’d say she expired eight to ten hours ago. The horizontal mark on the neck suggests the underlying cause of death was homicidal strangulation by ligature.

Hawkins knelt next to the victim’s nude body, which was lying on top of a red woven blanket. He then eyed a pair of white lace underwear, which had been ripped from the elastic band to bind the victim’s wrists, the bottom half used to stuff her mouth. Can you tell me anything else?

As it appears, I’d have to say, she was killed elsewhere and placed here shortly thereafter. I’ll have more conclusive details for you once I start performing the autopsy.

Buckingham walked up and squatted beside Hawkins. So what do you think?

I think, maybe you’re right. The MO and signatures are damn similar, if not identical to, the last victim found here, said Hawkins.

I’d say, right down to the color of panties and blankets. With gloves on, Buckingham inspected the garments closer. I spent a great deal of time during the last investigation trying to determine where the items had been purchased, given the manufacturer’s tags had been torn off. Same scenario here. The items were too common, making it nearly impossible to identify, given there was never a suspect.

I think it’s time to send the evidence for testing, said Hawkins.

I’ll get right on it.

That won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of it, he said. I need you and Franklin to wrap up things here.

Okay. Not a problem. But first I have to follow-up on a lead I just received on a missing person.

Lieutenant, are the paramedics clear to move the body? asked Dr. Heisler.

Yeah. Sure. Hawkins stepped away from the crime scene and placed a call to Detective Jan Cowan. In spite of knowing that this was her first day off in two weeks, he asked her to meet him at the office in an hour.

Chapter 3

Okay, Lieutenant, I’m here. What is it? I walked into his glass-cornered office at a quarter after eleven. He was sitting at an oval-shaped pine desk staring at a file that showed a diagram of a female corpse.

I really appreciate your coming in, Cowan, he said with a faint smile. Do you remember the April Ritz murder?

Um, no. Should I?

Not really given you weren’t assigned to the investigation. Anyway, about three months ago Ritz’s body was discovered in RC Park on Beale. Last night another victim was murdered and found in the same park. Dr. Heisler’s prelims suggest the victim died of ligature strangulation. Ritz’s death occurred the same way. Not only that, but the signatures found on both victims bear striking similarities. Here, take a look at Ritz’s autopsy report. He shoved the file toward me. I believe the murders are connected.

How so? I leafed through the five-page report.

Both victims were found wrapped in a blanket, nude, wrists bound, and mouth stuffed with a torn pair of female underwear.

Wrists bound and mouth stuffed with a torn pair of female underwear. Hearing those words took me back to a time and place I’d long forgotten. Or so I thought.

Are you okay? he asked.

Yeah, fine. I cleared my throat. Were there any leads in the Ritz investigation?

None. The case was assigned to Detective Jones, but when he resigned a month ago to work for TBI, his cases with no leads went into the inactive files. Including this one.

Why didn’t Buckingham continue working the case, given he was Jones’ partner?

Buckingham couldn’t handle the caseload with a new partner, which brings me to why I’ve asked you to come in. I’m going to reassign cases you’ve been working and have you lead this investigation with the sole purpose of linking both murders to a single suspect.

Why me?

Cowan, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. I need the best on this, and you’re it.

Have you forgotten Boulder, my partner? He’s on personal leave until his wife completes her chemo and radiation treatments.

Yeah, but Boulder is scheduled to return in three weeks.

An estimated three weeks. In the meantime, I’m still only one person.

Excuse me, Lieutenant. Buckingham entered the office. The victim has been identified as Jody Watts. She was twenty-two. Single. No kids. She shared a place out east with a Susan Rhines. The mother, Patsy Watts, lives in Southaven. Father’s deceased. No siblings. He read from a notepad he was carrying.

Great! How did you come by this? he asked.

When I phoned Missing Persons at the crime scene, I was told someone had just reported a missing person with a similar description to the person I was inquiring about. What are the odds? So I checked it out. It was the same person. The mother has since identified her.

Do you have addresses for the roommate and mother? he asked.

Right here. He ripped the page from the notepad. Hawkins motioned him to hand it to me. I ran a background check and it doesn’t appear the victims knew each other. I’m running an extensive search through NCIC for offenders committing these types of crimes to see what turns up.

Let me know as soon as you get a match.

Will do. He left the office.

Lieutenant, I honestly think Buckingham has a firm handle on this one. Besides, you can’t be sure that these cases are connected, until all the evidence is in.

I’m fairly certain. You just have to find a motive. He pressed the speaker button on his office phone as it started ringing. Lieutenant Hawkins speaking.

Lieutenant, this is Craft. A call just came in regarding a Nissan Altima parked at an abandoned gas mart on Chambers Avenue in Whitehaven. The tags came back registered to the victim, Jody Watts.

He sprang from the chair. Have you contacted the Crime Scene Unit?

Yes, sir. They’re on their way.

Start checking for known criminals in the area, and canvassing surrounding neighborhoods and businesses in the area to see what turns up. He ended the call. It seems we have a second crime scene. If there were any doubts in my mind about these cases not being connected, they’ve just been erased.

Why is that?

The first victim’s vehicle was found at that gas mart. Let’s go.

You mean you’re actually leaving the office? I said in amazement.

Until I assign you a temp partner, I’m it for now. So get in gear, ’cause you’re leading this case. Starting now. Got that?

Loud and clear, Lieutenant.

Around noon, we pulled up to the abandoned gas mart in Whitehaven and spotted Carmen Joy, an insightful thirty-four-year-old detective whose skin and hair appeared to have the same light-brown glowing hue. She was five-seven and physically fit, contrary to her long-limbed Latino partner, Carlos Rojas, who was ten years her senior and known for his aloofness. The two were busy conducting traffic stops in an effort to seek-out motorists who were in the vicinity last night. We continued past them and over to the CSI’s, who were processing the victim’s car and immediate surroundings.

What do we know? Hawkins asked a male CSI as he was lifting latent prints from the driver’s side door handle.

Well, we had to force entry, since all the doors were locked, he said. It seems as if someone just parked it and left. You’ll have the results soon enough. We should be wrapping up here shortly.

I’ll be looking forward to it, he said. So, Cowan, where to next?

First we need to get statements from the victim’s mother and then the roommate. With any luck, the interviews should provide us with worthwhile leads.

Good enough for me. Just know you’ll be conducting the interviews—my skills are a bit rusty. I’ll fill in as needed.

"You’re just too kind to me. And just so you know, I wouldn’t dream of having it any other way."

Chapter 4

At twelve-thirty p.m., we arrived in Southaven, Mississippi, a rapidly expanding town bordering Memphis, Tennessee, and five miles south from where the victim’s vehicle was found in Whitehaven. We pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style home where the victim’s mother reportedly lived and noticed a pasty-faced, short heavyset brunette standing in the doorway.

Good day, Ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Hawkins and this is Detective Cowan. Are you Patsy Watts? he asked as we greeted her at the door.

Yeah. She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

We’re so sorry for your loss, said Hawkins. And we’re here because we’ve ruled your daughter’s death as a homicide. We need your help in determining her whereabouts yesterday. May we come in? he asked.

She invited us as far as the foyer. I reported her missing early this morning. An hour later, I get a call asking me to come and identify a body. I didn’t think it was Jody but I went anyway. It was her—it was my baby.

Are you okay? Do you need to sit? I asked.

No. I’m okay.

Why did you report her missing? I asked.

Her roommate called early this morning and said she didn’t come home last night. After I hung up from her, I called Missing Persons. She fought back tears.

When was the last time you saw your daughter? I asked.

She came by yesterday around four-thirty.

How long did she stay? I pulled out a pen and a micro spiral-bound pad from my coat pocket to take notes.

Uh, about an hour and a half or so.

So around six?

She nodded and closed her eyes.

Did she mention where she was going before leaving?

Her voice weakened as tears flowed. We argued before she left. I didn’t mean to upset her.

What was the argument about?

She didn’t respond.

Ms. Watts, I need you to tell me everything that happened here yesterday.

The way she was living, she cried out.

And how was that? I asked.

My daughter was a lesbian. I couldn’t—wouldn’t accept it. That’s what the argument was about. Okay! She continued to weep. I just can’t believe I’ll never see her again.

Was Jody dating anyone?

Susan. They lived together, she said.

Susan Rhines. The roommate? I asked.

She nodded again.

Do you know if she was seeing anyone other than Susan?

She wouldn’t have shared that with me.

How about names of close friends Jody may have confided in?

Uh…I can’t think of any right now.

Do you know if Jody knew a person by the name of April Ritz?

I don’t recall her mentioning it.

Where was Jody working?

She wasn’t. She’d just graduated from U of M in December.

Back to an earlier question. Did Jody mention where she was heading after leaving here yesterday?

She didn’t say. She just stormed out of the door.

And what did you do the rest of the evening?

I stayed in.

Can anyone confirm this?

Susan called shortly after Jody left. I made several calls and received some during the night, she said.

I noted to subpoena her phone records. How long were Jody and Susan living together?

A year or so.

Did she live here before then?

No, in the school dorm. She hasn’t lived here in over four years.

How often has Susan called you about Jody staying out all night?

Never. Not until this morning.

Do you know if your daughter had any enemies or was in any kind of trouble?

No, no.

To your knowledge did she use illegal drugs of any sort?

No.

Can you think of any place Jody would’ve gone after leaving here yesterday? Anywhere at all? I closed my notepad.

Other than home, no. She swayed her head from side to side while staring at the floor. She then looked me in the eyes. Tell me you’re going to find who did this to my child.

Ms. Watts, I assure you, I’m going to do everything possible to catch Jody’s killer.

How could this have happened to her? She was my only child. What kind of sick animal would do this to her? she cried.

That’s what I intend to find out. I’ll be in touch soon.

We left the victim’s mother in mourning and headed east on I-240 toward Bartlett, a suburb of Memphis. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the Singleton Condos. I knocked on the door of 31A and a petite brunette, early twenties, wearing fashionable torn jeans and a South Beach tee, answered it. Her rosy cheeks were lined with tears. A slender elderly white male stood behind her.

Are you Susan Rhines? I asked.

Yeah, she muttered.

I’m Detective Cowan and this is Lieutenant Hawkins. I assume you know why we’re here?

Yeah, she does. The elderly man stepped forward. I’m her father, Judd Rhines. Come in. He led us to the dining room, where we sat at a retro-style table with matching chairs.

Mr. Rhines, do you live here? I asked.

No, but as you can see, my daughter needs me.

Ms. Rhines, you have our deepest condolences and we’re going to do everything we can to catch the person who did this to Jody. But right now, we need information about Jody’s whereabouts yesterday, as detailed as you can give us. Do you understand?

Yeah. She became teary-eyed.

When did you last see Jody? I began.

Yesterday, before she went to visit her mom.

What time did she leave? I took my pen and pad out again.

Around four. She said she’d be back no later than seven because we were expecting friends over at that time.

Did you hear from her again?

No, and when she didn’t show by seven, I called her mother. She said Jody left upset and not to worry, that she’d be home soon.

Did Jody not have a cell phone?

No, I tried to convince her to buy one, but she said she didn’t have a need for one, yet.

Did the mother tell you why Jody left upset?

No, but I assumed it was the usual. She didn’t want us together.

Susan, did you leave this apartment at any time yesterday?

No. Am I a suspect? she asked.

I can assure you, my daughter had nothing to do with Jody’s death, said the father.

As of now, I’m not sure who is or isn’t a suspect. However, I’ll need the names and numbers of those friends who were here yesterday.

She nodded.

What time did these friends arrive and how long did they stay?

Seven until around midnight.

Do you have any idea where Jody might’ve gone after leaving her mother’s?

She thought a second longer before answering, No. I was expecting her to come home.

Do you know why Jody would’ve gone to Whitehaven yesterday?

No, but she has to pass the Whitehaven exit to get to her mom’s place.

Okay, do you know why Jody would’ve gone downtown yesterday?

No. We rarely went downtown.

Did Jody know anyone living in Whitehaven or downtown?

No one comes to mind.

Had Jody received any threatening phone calls?

No.

How long had you two been dating?

Three and half years.

Was Jody ever unfaithful to you?

No.

Were you, to her?

No, she said.

Do you know if Jody had been in any bad relationships prior to meeting you?

Not that I’m aware of.

"Does a