Chapter Fourteen
Wexler took a big sip of day-old coffee and thumbed through the report Deputy Miles Carmody had given him concerning his inquiries at Cherry Vale. In the report, the number six stood out like a beacon. Six deaths in four months. That doesn’t sound right. Either Cherry Vale had a slew of very sick, unlucky patients, or something sinister was going on beneath the surface.
He scrubbed his face and leaned back in his chair. I need a damn vacation. There was nothing he’d rather be doing at that moment than sitting on his boat on La Plata River, fishing with his son and throwing back a few beers. Instead, he was sitting in a stuffy office, dripping in sweat thanks to the air conditioner breaking down again, and waiting to get a verbal chewing out by Mrs. Heller’s daughter for the umpteenth time. Shit. He grabbed the handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face.
“Rhoades!” he yelled.
A tall, lanky deputy stuck his head in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Call the goddamn town council and tell them we’re on day three of a heat wave and our AC is still broken.”
“Yes, sir.” The young deputy went over to his desk.
Taking out the autopsy report, Wexler reread it. Under the heading “Immediate Cause of Death,” the medical examiner indicated “Congestive Heart Failure.” Even though the report indicated that there seemed to be an unusually large amount of digoxin in the deceased’s body, the coroner noted that Mrs. Heller was taking digoxin intravenously as part of her treatment for heart problems. Then under the heading “Manner of Death,” the coroner wrote “Natural Causes.” Then why was there so much of this heart drug in her body? Where the hell did that come from?
After reading it several more times, he couldn’t find a place where the medical examiner addressed the reason for the surplus of digoxin in the deceased’s body. A stab to his gut told him something wasn’t copacetic at Cherry Vale.
As he picked up the phone to call Terri Crews to share with her the autopsy finding, Rhoades stood in the doorway. Wexler put the phone back in its cradle and raised his eyebrows.
Rhoades cleared his throat. “Our air conditioner is next in line for repair. The guy should be here within the hour. A call came in that there’s been another rape.”
The sheriff pounded his fist on the desk. “Fuck! When?”
“Seems like it started last night and ended sometime this morning. I was going to head over there, but I knew you’d want to know.”
Wexler pushed up from his chair and pulled at his pants that were sticking to him. “Let’s go.”
When they arrived at Linda Salinas’s house, all the curtains were pulled, and she sat on one of the straight-backed dining room chairs staring at the floor. Since Mesa County was small, and Alina even smaller, there was no provision for a victim advocate program; it was up to him and Rhoades to try their best in helping her out with the aftermath of a rape.
After giving the victim some names of local counselors and a program St. Joseph Hospital offered for coping with violent crime, the sheriff left the other two deputies to finish investigating the crime scene. Even though the perpetrator had her bathe, Wexler held out hope that the rape kit would turn up some DNA. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to explore all the possibilities.
This is the third one in two months. The last one was only ten days ago. Shit. We’re in over our heads.
Knowing when to call for experienced detectives who could help find the guy responsible for the attacks was part of the sheriff’s strength. Taking out his phone, he dialed Detective Contreras to see if he could offer any help. He knew the detective worked in the homicide division of the Durango police department, but he hoped he could offer some insight, or at least recommend someone to help him and his deputies.
“How’re you doing, Doug?” Contreras said.
“Shitty. It’s hotter than hell and the AC’s been out for a few days. Typical county bullshit. And we got what seems like a serial rapist in our town. How’re you?” Wexler walked over to the oak tree and stood under its leafy branches for some much-needed shade.
The detective chuckled. “Cool in our air-conditioned office, but up to my neck in shootings. The hot weather brings out the worst in people. The homicide rate always goes up in the summer. So all the rapes have the same markings?”
“Yeah. The bastard enters late at night, wears a ski mask, brutalizes the women for several hours, takes pictures of them, makes them bathe, and takes all the bedsheets and clothes before leaving. It’s the same fucker. We haven’t had a rape in Alina in years, and not any for the last year in the county. I don’t have the manpower and my deputies don’t have the expertise to handle this one. You got someone who can help us out?”
“Sounds like you have an experienced perpetrator. Jack Barnard is the one you want. He’s in our Sex Crimes Unit, and he never gives up until he gets a case solved. He’s been with the department for about six years. Before coming on-board, he lived in Los Angeles and did eleven years with LAPD. Jack knows his stuff. I’ll e-mail you his chief’s number and you can talk to him to see if he can spare him. It sounds like your perp isn’t going to stop.”
“Fuck no. He’s actually kicking it up. We haven’t released anything to the media because I don’t want to cause a panic.” Wexler leaned against the tree.
“You need to. Even though the town council will be up your ass daily, the women need to know there’s a sexual predator out there. Maybe someone saw or heard something. You never know.”
The sheriff’s stomach churned. “You’re right. I’ll give the chief a call when I get back to the office. You got any plans to take your family on vacation?”
Contreras laughed. “I always have plans. The trouble is they always change. I want to take the family to Disneyland, but I haven’t let them know in case it doesn’t materialize. What about you?”
“Not any time soon. With these rapes and some other problems, I’ll be lucky if I can take a day off.”
“I hear you, man. Let me know how things go. If you need my help with anything, give me a call.”
Before going to the office, Wexler decided to stop by the office of the Alina Post. He’d have to brace himself for the pressure his department would experience from the town council and the residents. His life would soon be hell after the evening paper came out.
He shoved a stick of gum into his mouth, cranked up the patrol car’s AC, and headed to the newspaper office.