Garwood Village by Robert F. Clifton (best book reader .txt) 📖

at the last murder, and there were no signs of sexual intercourse in either case, I'm leaning to the fact that he suffers from a sexual dysfunction. I see your killer as a misogynist. He hates women. Misogyny can be manifested in many ways, sexual discrimination, or violence towards women.”

“At the same time he is also suffering from gynophobia, or a fear of women, in fact he has a horror of the vagina.”

“A sexual dysfunction can be said to be a disturbance of sexual desire, arousal, or orgasm, sexual pain or difficulties with performance. Again, I'll take the position that he has a problem with performance.”

“Now, let me add up the signs and see what we end up with. First, we have a psychopath with an anti-social behavior that probably began at a young age. He becomes agitated then violent in each case around women, women he is alone with. Women who expected to have sex with him are killed, all with their throats cut.”

“Next, we have the possibility of agoraphobia, the fear of a certain object, circumstance or situation. The object could be the vagina. The situation is the anticipated love making. If he has a sexual dysfunction such as impotence this then could cause his agitation. His partner, mentioning his inability to perform turns his agitation into violence. His violence results in murder. What happens next is his desire to perform, to ejaculate in a vagina, but he can't. To him the victim's vagina prevents him being a normal male. Therefore, he desires the perfect vagina and with his knife he creates one. The slashed throat, the open abdomen cavity with the intestines removed. Even then, even after the first two murders he, in his own mind could not preform sexually. That's why there were no signs of semen. Then, unfortunately, he was successful. He was able to become satisfied sexually. Most likely he masturbates after each murder. I say unfortunately because finding sexual satisfaction he will in all probability increase his activity.”

“So to sum up, the profile of your killer is a young man age eighteen to thirty. He either lives with his mother who raised him absent of any father figure and in a tenement environment or he lives alone. He resents his mother for forcing him to live in a low rent housing unit and any other women who do today. He considers himself socially better than anyone living in Garwood Village, but returns there time and time again because he knows the area and is familiar with the life styles of the female inhabitants. Why? Because he once lived among them. Your killer is employed in a menial job. He could be factitious. He washes his hands at each crime scene. Is he a meat cutter? A butcher? I don't know Robert. I wish I could give you more”, said Sharon.

“One thing I'd concentrate on is the weapon he is using. It's probably a knife honed razor sharp, pointed and long enough to penetrate through the abdominal war to the spine”, said Doc.

“It's something to think about Doc. Thank you”, said Wallace as he unplugged the extension cord then packed the tape recorder.

On the drive home thoughts raced through his mind “ OK, now I have a profile, but as yet, no suspect. Sharon says this guy hates women. I guess so. That's evident by the way he slices them open. He's familiar with Garwood Village. Sharon believes he either lived there at one time or a housing project like Garwood. I'm taking the position that he lived there and he lived there when he was young. Let's see. Garwood Village was built in 1941. That was thirty two years ago. She figures him to be between eighteen and thirty. Today, if he is eighteen that means he was born in 1954. If he is near thirty he was born 1943 or during the war. Something traumatic might have happened to him, but what? I'll be a son of a bitch if I can figure it out”.

When he got home Wallace immediately went to his combination office and den in order to put away his tape recorder. When he got there he saw the blinking red light on his answering machine. He pushed the play back button then stood and listened `to Mary.

“Hi, it's me. Just want to thank you again for a lovely evening of dinner and dancing. I think what you did for Doc and Sharon was wonderful. Call me”.

He dialed her number and when she answered said, “You're welcome”.

“That's all you have to say to me?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Anything that would indicate that you want to see me again”.

“We've been all over this before”.

“And you're being foolish”.

“I don't think so. When we were dancing people looked at me like I was dancing with my daughter.”

“It didn't bother you when we were together in Tobago.” *Azreal

“I didn't know anyone in Tobago”.

“Oh, so here in Nautilus Beach you're ashamed to be seen with me”.

“Now you're putting words in my mouth. Listen, I'll talk to you later. Bye”, he said as he hung up the telephone.

 

The following Saturday night Sonia Fleming sat alone at a table near the rear of the Dude Ranch Bar And Grill. Normally she was cheerful although at times lonely. She was divorced, had a son in the army who was stationed in Germany and had a steady, paying job as a cashier at K-Mart. Tonight, she wanted company, male company. She needed a man to tell her how nice she was, how good looking she was, how he wanted her. If he appealed to her, gave her the attention she needed she might even consider taking him home and sleep with him.

As she sat at the table nursing a warming glass of beer a man walked up and stood by her. “I've been watching you for some time. By now that beer has to be funky. Can I buy you another one?”, he asked.

Sonia raised her head and looked at the man. She saw a tall, good looking young guy she judged to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was neatly dressed, but she recognized his attire being inexpensive as day after day she moved the same shirts and pants across the scanner adding up the cost of the customers bill. For some reason she liked him. “Why would you want to buy me a drink? Sweetie, I'm a little bit older than you”, she said.

“Maybe I enjoy the company of mature women. They're so much more interesting than some giggling girl. At the same time it doesn't hurt if the woman is good looking like you.”

“Go on. You're just saying that”. She replied.

“No, I'm sincere. You are a very attractive woman. May I sit down?”, he asked.

“Make yourself comfortable”.

“Thank you. Now, about that drink do you want another beer or something stronger?”

“I'll stick to beer”.

“Good”, he said as he signaled the bartender to pour two drafts. A young waitress soon appeared with two glasses and asked if they wanted anything else.

“So, beautiful lady, what's your name?”

“Sonja. What's yours?”

“They call me Eric”.

“What do you do for a living, Eric?”

“I work for Sterns Super Market in the produce department”.

“Do you like it?”

“Well. All I do all day is unpack crates of vegetables, stock, check what's on display then if I find any bad one's or with spots, I cut them out with my knife. What do you do?”

“I work at K-Mart as a cashier”.

“Then, you're on your feet all day”.

“Better than on my back all night”, she replied.

“True, true. Where do you live Sonia?”

“Garwood Village”.

“Hey? That's a pretty dangerous neighborhood. Women are being brutally murdered there. You'd better let me walk you home”.

“You'd do that for me?”

“Certainly”.

“You sir, are a gentleman”.

“So I've been told”.

“Do you dance?”

“Yes, but badly. Some women have complained about stepped on toes”.

“They're playing Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain, let's dance”, she said.

Captain Robert Wallace double parked his assigned , black, unmarked Chrysler sedan next to a marked patrol vehicle. He got out and walked through a crowd of curious by-standers made up of house wives, children, and old men. Ducking under the yards of yellow, police, crime scene, protection tape strung out to keep people from disturbing evidence he made his way to where two uniformed officers stood. He returned their hand salute and walked into apartment 1437. Frank Stiles met him as he entered the living room.

“OK, report”, said Wallace.

“The victim is one Sonia Fleming, Caucasian female, age, forty-seven. She was employed as a cashier at the local K-MART. She was last seen last night by a Gertrude Sims, a neighbor who stated that Sonja was headed for the Dude Ranch Bar and Grill to drink and dance. This morning Miss Sims came over to borrow a cup of milk and sugar. When she stepped up on to the small porch she saw a bloody object which got her attention. As she took a better look she identified the object as a woman's breast. She ran home screaming and as a result neighbors called the police. Responding officers, Patrolman Anthony Defeo and Patrolman Samuel Pasquale took the following action. Defeo guarded the crime scene while Pasquale went after and found the complex manger who had a pass key. The manager is one Harry Billings and has been on the job here for the past three years. Billings unlocked the front door to apartment 1437 and Pasquale entered. He reported that he followed a trail of what appeared to be human blood from inside the front door into the bedroom. In the bedroom he found the remains of Sonja Fleming. Headquarters called me at home. I called in McKenna and Myers then notified you”.

“Is that it?”, asked Wallace.

“No sir. This guy left his victim different from the rest”.

“What's different?” asked the Captain.

“If you were to take what he left in that back bedroom and placed it alongside a railroad track, no one, not even you could determine the difference of her being hit by a train or disemboweled by a sick psychopath killer”.

Wallace walked in silence down the blood stained hallway, then entered the bedroom. There he saw what used to be a human being. Now, he gazed upon the naked remains of intestines, that had been dumped on the floor. What appeared to be a human liver was placed on the night stand next to the bed. On the woman's bureau was one of her breast. As he walked closer to the body he saw again the sign of the killer. Her throat had been cut, but this time so severely that the victim was almost decapitated. The eyelids had been removed. The nose tip removed. And, there was a crisscross pattern of knife slashes across the face.

Standing in a far corner of the room Wallace noticed Detective Myers standing quietly with an ashen face. “How are you holding up kid?”, he asked.

“I'll be alright Captain”.

“Good, hang in there”. Turing to Stiles he asked, “Where's McKenna?”

“Going door to door talking to neighbors”.

Wallace then entered the small bathroom. Once again he found a small puddle of water on the floor in front of the wash basin. He remembered what Sharon had said, “ He could be factitious. He washes his hands at each crime scene”. Wallace reached for and took the bar of soap off of the soap dish that was mounted on the wall. He looked at it carefully, then turned it over. There on the back of the soap bar was a hair, small, curly and red.

The Captain carefully stepped back away from the water on the floor, then laid the soap on the vanity. He turned in time to see Sergeant Campo. “Same old thing Sergeant. However, this time our killer left something behind. There's a hair on that bar of soap. Photograph it. Collect it. Then, identify it. Is it human or animal? If it's human is it male or female? What part of the