True Self

“Listen up, ladies and gentlemen,” Dave Speers begins.

I am listening up. And I am a lady. I sit in a large room surrounded by screens displaying the grisly faces of nine murder victims. The resolution on the images is almost too high. Every injury done to these poor people is as visible and as clear as their life-states. Meaning that they are obviously really dead.

I occupy one of perhaps thirty chairs in the room we call the “conference room”. In a business, conferences would take place in a room like this one. Here, what occurs in this room isn’t conferencing unless we’re looking for a tongue-in-cheek euphemism. The room is imbedded deep into the 6th floor squad room of the Central Bronx Precinct house. There are twenty-nine other cops and detectives in the room with me listening to our lieutenant, David M. Speers. He continues, “We think we have a pattern with a recent spate of murders - - but this is on tight hold, because we are not yet sure that there is a connection. We do not have clear forensics tying these murders together. Yet. We have made a loose connection based on input from one of you who pointed out a series of things missing from each victim. One of you,” and here he pauses to look around the room, “noticed that something had been taken from each of these otherwise seemingly unrelated victims.”

I am that “one of you”. I saw that something was missing from each of the victims - - except for Victim #3. But I got them to take a second look at her, and well…just listen. I’m sure Dave will cover it.

“Here, victim 1, Victoria Stein, 32, is strangled, raped - - in that order according to the M.E., and abandoned in Van Cortland Park. She is missing a contact lens. One of those designer lenses that made her eyes look like an animal’s. Like a cat or something. That’s all we could find, and it was something missing - - nothing at all was left, forensically. The victim’s body gave up traces of a chemical disinfectant. No semen. No prints, no DNA. We place her time of death at between 1 and 3 AM on November 1st of last year. We think, but are not certain that she was not murdered where her body was found. She may have been moved there after her injuries were inflicted.

“Here, victim 2, Yolanda Leigh, 34, is stabbed 17 times AFTER she was raped, both vaginally and anally, and left in an alley behind a bodega on 151st Street. Stab wounds are all around her torso, and her anus was carved up pretty good. She was missing, believe it or not, a dental plate. Her entire top panel or whatever you call it. No semen, no prints left at the scene. No DNA evidence. Time of death between 5 and 8 PM on December 15th, again of last year. We did not check for chemical residue and the body is no longer available to test for it. No blood trace which leads us to conclude that she was murdered somewhere else, then dumped in the alley.

“Victim 3, Susan Baker, 28, was bludgeoned to the head by a rock that was found at the scene,” (here I shudder a little and wonder why - briefly), “sodomized, again after death. We found no anomalies until we got the idea - - or suggestion - - to look again. We discovered a small indentation on her left pinky finger that indicates a ring might have been taken. No semen or prints at scene. No DNA. Time of death between 9 PM and midnight February 1st, of this year. We reran the tissue samples just yesterday and there is a chemical signature, indicating that DNA evidence may have been destroyed. Blood spatter on one wall says that this victim was murdered where we found her, which was an abandoned warehouse at 132nd and Decatur. The floor had been hosed down and only severely compromised forensic evidence was found in the floor drains and sewer. Even if compromised, there is evidence that chemicals were used in the cover up. The chemical make-up might be a match to our first victim, we just can’t be sure. The crime scene has been released back to the property manager. The warehouse remains vacant and can be accessed through contact with the manager.

“There are five more victims posted on the wall here with complete details on dates, times, modes of murder, and every one has some indication that an item was taken. Runs the gamut from body parts to jewelry. I know each of you will examine these records in detail, and I will not go further into them in this briefing. Suffice it to say that the entire array covers the period from Victim #1 to Victim #9, without any overlaps in dates, all approximately 1 to 3 months apart, spanning the timeframe from 1 November of last year up to today. And people,” he stops for effect. “No keycards on any of these people. Not a single victim had house or vehicle keycards in their possession. That must be significant.” He moves on. “All but one of them was murdered somewhere else and dumped where found,” he’s counting these summary points off on four big, stubby fingers. “And they were all women until yesterday.” He pauses dramatically, surveying the room to make sure he is still commanding complete attention. He has it.

“Let’s get to the most recent victim.” Speers uses the remote control to project the face of a handsome young man on the big screen at the front of the room. “Victim #9. His name is Juan Julio Santiago,” he begins. “A known female impersonator with a long series of arrests for solicitation and public drunkenness. He was found this morning by the Sanitation Department while they were emptying a dumpster on 151st and Lenore, just off Fordham Road. He was wearing face makeup and very little else, but we did find women’s clothing in the dumpster with him. It is being tested for his DNA. At this time, we are assuming that the victim had been in drag at the time of the attack. The body shows signs of severe trauma including stab wounds, broken ribs, and get this – a gunshot to the head. Far more violence in evidence than in the previous vics, and no evidence so far of any kind of sexual assault except that his penis was cut off and has not been found. It appears to have been removed by a very sharp instrument post mortem. But - - and this is a big ‘but’ - he is also missing an ear. And there are no keycards of any kind in his possession. Our scene team is still on site and is scouring the entire area.

“There will be daily updates briefed to this team every morning at 8 AM right here. Evidence is still being analyzed, autopsy is yet to be performed, yada, yada, yada. Questions?” Speers looks around the room. “Yes, Hayes.”

That is me. Hayes.

“Any chemical residue on this one, Sir?”

“Nope.”

I follow with another question before he can go to someone else. He looks slightly irritated, and slightly amused. “Sir, can you tell us whether or not there are signs that the perp is escalating?”

“Hayes, I expect you to tell me that after your analysis. Any other questions?” is the terse reply. I deserve it. My hand had shot up all on its own. I didn’t even know what question was going to pop out of my mouth. I find myself wishing I had better control over my body. Sometimes I feel like when my mind is occupied, it’s leaving my body unsupervised and it gets itself into trouble. Like now. When I’m consciously thinking about it, this body of mine is like a vehicle I need to steer. Not that we actually steer vehicles anymore. Now they follow magnetic strips and satellite directions, powered by miniature force fields like the ones we use in our weapons. And in our Port-Alls. But we’ve all seen “driving” in old movies. You get my drift.

“Yes, Hayes?” Oh my god, it’s me again. I look at my raised hand like it’s not attached to me. While I was deep in thought, my body took an initiative all its own.

“Mr. Santiago’s domicile?” is all that blurts from my maw as I will my hand to drop.

“Forensics team is standing by. Take Flowers and pick them up on your way.” Speers holds out a piece of paper with an address and apartment number scrawled on it. I make my vehicle rise to its feet, take the necessary five steps to put me in reach of the scrap, and snatch it from his hand. No words are exchanged, nor are any needed.

Flowers is another detective. Courtenay Flowers, actually. Either one of us could pick up flowers on the way, but the gesture would be wasted on Mr. Santiago.

Flowers and I are new to each other, and both relatively new to the squad. We make eye contact across the room and she nods. I nod in return. We both head for the exit, and drop by the Forensics Lab on our way to the precinct Port-All. Forensics will meet us at the address I provided them. They have to drive. No, not in the retro sense. Their vehicle is very modern and automated.

It’s just that they have a lot of gear to haul.