Chapter 16: Finally, An Intact Crime Scene
Mimicking the killer's posture with his hands cupped, Theodore spoke in a low voice, "She was killed by having her head repeatedly slammed against the wall."
He demonstrated the motion, shaking his hands forcefully to show the violence of it.
Bernie took a step back, his eyes moving from where the deceased had lain to Theodore's cupped hands. The demonstration hit him with uncomfortable clarity.
Theodore dropped the theatrics and got back to business. "Go downstairs and get paper bags and a camera."
He had Bernie pull out every drawer of the dresser and photograph them layer by layer. The top drawers contained the usual feminine items—jewelry and cosmetics. But the bottom layer held two full drawers of small foil packages.
Bernie whistled low, picked one up for a closer look, then curled his lip in disgust. "She was a prostitute."
Theodore finished taking photos and looked at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation.
Bernie picked up two of the packages and tossed them over. "You recognize these?"
Theodore examined them closely. The packaging was plain, almost crude. He opened one to observe the contents—the rubber was dry, thick, with a strange chemical odor.
"This brand has become almost exclusive to prostitutes," Bernie explained. "You can buy a large bag for ten dollars, enough to last until you die."
Theodore tossed the item aside and pulled the trash can over, dumping all the contents onto the floor. He began searching through the refuse methodically.
The trash can was only half full, making the search manageable. As he worked, Theodore asked, "If she were a prostitute, why wasn't she working at Rose Street instead of here at home? Isn't that more dangerous?"
Bernie squatted across from him, helping to spread out the trash. "She was getting old, couldn't compete on Rose Street anymore. Likely, no pimp would take her in. If she wanted to stay on the street, she'd have to lower her prices. Do that, and the other girls would beat her to death."
Theodore's searching motion paused. He looked at Bernie with curiosity.
Bernie turned his head away, staying silent.
The trash was quickly sorted. Theodore matched each used item with its packaging, leaving one item over.
This was different: a red foil-wrapped Trojan brand package that stood out particularly among the plain wrappers.
Neither his past life nor his current one had given him much knowledge about such things, but fortunately, Bernie seemed remarkably well-informed.
"This is expensive," Bernie explained. "Only sold in pharmacies. You need to register when buying it. Unless a customer brings his own, no working girl would spring for Trojan."
Facing Theodore's questioning look, Bernie braced himself and responded, "That's what I use!"
Theodore waved his hand to stop the conversation, but Bernie misinterpreted this as disbelief and eagerly offered to show him the evidence in his car when they got back.
Theodore raised his hands in surrender.
He bagged the packaging and started looking for the actual item itself, but came up empty. Theodore then gathered the remaining evidence together, staring at it thoughtfully.
Bernie came over, glanced at the collection, and let out two disdainful sounds before Theodore directed him to pack everything up.
Finally, Theodore examined the bloodstain on the wall and found two golden hairs embedded in it.
After confirming there were no omissions, Theodore put away his camera and prepared to leave.
This greatly surprised Bernie, who gestured with his hands. "We're leaving already? Didn't she tell you who the killer is? Or did she not show up?"
Theodore tried to make one final effort to correct Bernie's thinking. He stood at the doorway, pointing into the room, and walked through his analysis of the scene.
"The killer and the deceased agreed on a price. They entered the room to prepare for the transaction."
"The killer was excited, had made special preparations. He probably wore his best suit, dressed carefully, and bought this at a nearby pharmacy." Theodore pointed to the paper bag Bernie was holding, the one containing the red Trojan packaging.
"But things didn't go as he expected. He was prepared for something special, but found himself... inadequate."
"The deceased brought out various aids to enhance the experience, which enraged the killer. He thought she was mocking him."
"The angry killer unleashed his fury on her."
"He grabbed her head and slammed it hard against the wall, repeatedly. By the time his rage subsided, she was already dead."
Theodore stopped there, causing Bernie to look over expectantly. Seeing no intention to continue, Bernie asked cautiously, "That's it?"
"What else?"
"What about the rest? Didn't she describe the killer to you? His age, height, how she knew him, and where he lives?"
He was referring to profiling.
Theodore found it amusing—his explanation had been wasted after all. He shook his head. "I need to go back and examine the evidence that was taken, as well as the autopsy report."
He paused, then added with dry humor, "She did tell me one thing: she really hates whoever rummaged through her dresser, and she's going to follow him forever."
This was obviously false. Bernie looked uncomfortable and nudged Theodore with his elbow to change the subject. "Should we question her?"
He nodded toward the room next door, where the door was slightly ajar and two brown eyes were watching through the gap.
Before Theodore could respond, Bernie shoved everything back into Theodore's arms and walked toward the door.
The person behind it tried to close it, but Bernie stopped it with his hand and pushed it open forcefully, revealing a brown-haired woman.
She was about the same age as the deceased—old and worn, wearing only a thin nightgown. Seeing Bernie looking at her body, she deliberately pulled the garment open to reveal more.
Then came a stream of crude, aggressive solicitation, praising both Bernie and herself in graphic terms. As she spoke, she tried to pull Bernie toward her room. Despite his size, Bernie stumbled and nearly fell onto the woman.
Bernie recoiled quickly, maintaining his distance.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions..."
Hearing it wasn't business, the woman immediately lost interest and moved to close the door, but Bernie blocked it with his leg.
He pulled out a few coins and handed them over. When the woman saw the money, her eye-rolling stopped instantly. She beamed, counting the coins with a face full of wrinkles from smiling.
"Ask away, anything you want. You can even touch."
She reached out to grab Bernie again, her smile lewd.
Bernie awkwardly pulled back and asked, "Do you know the person who lived next door?"
The woman leaned closer, her hands becoming restless again. "Yes, I knew her. Joan was her name. She was a slut. Her—"
The woman launched into a stream of crude insults about the deceased.
Bernie pulled her wandering hand away. When she continued trying to grab him, he straightened his face and showed his police badge. The effect was immediate—the woman became instantly compliant.
"Did you hear any noise last night? Or did you see who she brought back?" Bernie asked.
The woman shook her head, yawned, and started tearing up. "I don't know, didn't hear anything."
Bernie frowned, catching sight of the dense needle marks on her arm through the loose nightgown.
He tried knocking on several other doors, but either no one answered or the occupants were just like the first woman.
This seemed to be a haven for old, used-up prostitutes. Both Theodore and Bernie felt a chill, sensing their personal safety might be at risk in this decaying corner of the city.