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hid the body so well it wasn t found.
Quigley turned his head to look at Cam with a shake of his head. No, I d bet on
it. Ms. Joyner told us to watch for a pattern. His has always been to dump the bodies in
places where they will be found, and quickly too. He wants them found, that s why he
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poses them. No, he missed that time. My gut tells me it s the truth. Someone survived and
we gotta a live witness when we find that woman.
Jake s eyes glittered with the eagerness of the hunt, the joy of outwitting an
opponent and the gut wrenching satisfaction of the kill. We have to find that case. We
have to find that woman. She s the key to catching this sick fuck and I badly want to
catch him, he growled while Cam and Quigley leaned closer with both their faces
mirroring Jake s expression.
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
December 30th
11:00 A.M.
Jake made his way down the crowded sidewalk toward a small, dark shop
someone had euphemistically named The Brass Ass. He hesitated outside, staring up at a
gleaming brass rendition of a man s backside stuck into the air and covered with
engraved script heralding the name of the shop. Spray painted just below the shop s sign,
in childish red letters, was the phrase Come on in if you want prime ass.
Yeah, right. San Francisco, city of asses, he thought as he pushed open a battered
door that was once gilded with gold scrolls but was now a pathetic parody of elegance.
While he made his way down the main aisle, Jake marveled at the jumble of
strange items that crammed every available bit of space. Everywhere he looked he saw
the words 'Adults Only' in huge, lurid red letters and usually combined with just as lurid
pictures of women and men in unimaginable sexual positions. The smell of unwashed
bodies, plastic and dust assaulted his nostrils as he moved slowly down the narrow
walkway between the shelves.
Strange how these places all smell, look and feel the same: like musty, rotting
fish, he thought as he forced himself to search every shelf for the items he'd been trying
to track down for two weeks now.
Halfway down the second aisle, two men stood holding hands while inspecting
the box of an adult marital aid. Both men were dressed in bright outrageous outfits and
sported multi-colored hairdos. When they turned and spotted Jake in his normal-looking
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suit, overcoat and sensible shoes, they both twittered with amusement. Jake glared at
them, sick of being made to feel abnormal and resenting their reverse bigotry. The tallest
man shot Jake the finger then pulled the other man down another aisle. Jake shut his eyes
momentarily, took a tired breath and thought, I hate San Francisco. Now, I remember
why I got out of here. Rage disguised as love and peace. That s a laugh!
He finally found the tiny counter where a bored woman, who could've been used
for the cover of a 1940s Penthouse magazine, lounged unconcernedly in a tattered chair.
Her emaciated body, in a pathetic attempt to appear young and sexy, was encased in
black leather and a wide, studded dog collar draped loosely around her wrinkled neck. A
forgotten cigarette dangled from her wrinkled, blood red lips while she thumbed through
an S & M magazine like she was searching for cookie recipes. When Jake stepped up to
the cluttered countertop, she glanced up at him with red-rimmed, heavily made-up eyes
and rasped, "Yeah, what can I do for ya big fella?" She reached up to scratch at a patch of
scalp that showed through her thin, orange hair while looking up and down his body with
a leer on her ravaged face.
Jake shuddered with revulsion, pulled two photographs from his overcoat and
held them out to her. One showed a close-up of the dildo that had been used on the John
Doe and the other was a picture of the ice pick, depicting the carved wooden handle of
two nude figures intertwined around each other. The woman stared myopically at them,
puckered up her lips and frowned in concentration.
The old bat looks like she's ready to kiss the damned things! Jake thought as he
watched her face twist into what he hoped might be recognition.
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While she continued to stare at the ice pick picture, he asked, "Well? Do you
carry anything like these here?" He knew his words came out sounding harsh and
impatient but after two weeks of having to track down and investigate these dingy
'specialty' shops, he'd finally had enough.
The woman peered up at him from under her thick, clumped eyelashes, obviously
trying to look coy. "Yeah, I seen both of those before. But that one is something we don't
get much call for." She pointed at the ice pick with a finger yellowed by tobacco stains.
Jake felt his heart thump against his ribcage. "Where? Do you stock them here?"
He tried to sound friendly and noncommittal but his words came out guttural and anxious
sounding.
"Sure sweetie. Follow me." She rose, glanced to make sure he was behind her,
twitched her skinny butt and led him to a back shelf packed with items that appeared to
be foreign imports. Most of them were heavily carved wooden items with an obvious
oriental motif. All of them were blatantly sexual in nature.
Jake approached the items with trepidation, embarrassed at the graphic carvings
they depicted but hoping his luck was finally turning. When he came close to the shelf,
the overwhelming odor of camphor, sandalwood and dust brought tears to his eyes. He
sneezed and pulled a crumpled handkerchief out of his shirt pocket to wipe his nose. He
jumped when the faint odor of mint assaulted his nostrils. The handkerchief he held was
the same one Glock had reacted so strongly toward; the cloth with the killer s lipstick
smeared on it. Jake sniffed at it again, delicately, like a gentleman imbibing in snuff.
Then he leaned down toward the shelf of oddities and systematically sniffed each item in
turn.
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On the bottom shelf, half hidden by a stained ceramic statuette of two women
entwined like snakes, the unmistakable smell of mint wafted up to his waiting nose. Jake
poked the statuette aside and gently pulled a garishly painted box outward. The box,
crudely and cheaply painted in primary colors, was narrow and long. A picture of a hand
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