Vengeance is Mine

VENGEANCE IS MINE

An Alexandra Hunter Novel

by

Zada Leon

Copyright © 2011 by Zada Leon

Smashwords Edition

This book is dedicated to the memory of my Mother

Mary Margaret Doak

who always encouraged me to follow my dreams

AND

To my precious jewel of a daughter

Emerald Alexandra Leon

who kept kicking my butt and telling me to get busy,

write this book and to never give up

I love you both dearly

"….Vengeance is mine;

I will repay.."

Romans 12:19

PROLOGUE

"…..for whatsoever a man soweth,

that shall he also reap"

Galatians 6:7

San Francisco

Late 1960’s

The room had a musty, sour smell, as though air hadn’t been allowed inside for days. The group of people sitting and leaning against the walls or lying on questionable mattresses didn’t notice the smell. Most of them were asleep. Those that weren’t were too high to notice anything about the conditions in the room. One young man, lying next to a naked girl, was idly watching the swirls of smoke drifting toward the ceiling. He was mesmerized as the smoke appeared to change colors as it moved upward. He had taken a tab of acid earlier, and was now in the middle of a full-blown LSD trip. He glanced at the girl; he couldn’t remember her name, but images of sweaty, noisy coupling flashed in and out of his head. He vaguely thought of her as his girlfriend, but her name continued to elude him. He thought about it for a few more minutes, as only a person struggling to maintain some sort of control over their mind can obsess on a thought, then shrugged. What the hell. He reached out to touch her, pulling his hand back quickly with a loud gasp as his fingers appeared to float loosely at the end of his palm. It was a surreal experience. His fingers didn’t feel odd to him, but they sure weren’t acting like they were supposed to. He felt a giggle start in this throat, and tried to suppress it. He didn’t know why, but holding in that giggle made him feel like laughing even more. Finally, it escaped his throat, flooding his corner of the room with sound. The noise made him jump and look around. What the hell was that? He tried to think about it, to look for the source of the thing that had disturbed him, he felt he should know what it was, but his mind was unable to find the source of the disturbance.

After a few minutes, the sound finally stopped and his head flopped down. It felt too heavy to hold up. The smoke continued to swirl in ever-changing colors toward the ceiling. He turned toward the sleeping girl, realizing in that moment that he too was naked. It wasn’t a real thought, he noticed it abstractly. Glancing toward other couples sleeping across the room, he was pleased to see their skin glowing in colors of reds, blues, greens and yellows. How beautiful, he thought. He stared at the swirling colors for a time. After a while, he turned his head and frowned. Something moved at the edge of his vision. What the fuck was that? It looked like snakes crawling up the walls! He jumped violently. Where the hell did they come from? He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. Please, please go away, he begged silently. I hate snakes. God awful ugly creatures. He shuddered in horror. After a couple of minutes of intense praying, he opened his eyes and gasped loudly. They were still there, watching him intently with cold, beady dark eyes. He broke out in a cold sweat. God, he prayed, don’t let them get me. He didn’t even realize that he had given voice to the prayer, so horrified was he. At the sound of his voice, the snakes lowered their heads, swaying. They were watching him steadily, tongues flicking in and out, eyes hard buttons of obsidian. They were scaring the shit out of him. He knew, even in his drugged brain, that he shouldn’t say anything more out loud, he was sure they would strike at him if he did. He carefully turned, very slowly, toward the naked girl lying next to him, curling his body against hers in a semi-fetal position, closing his eyes again. Maybe if he was very careful and didn’t move, they would go away. His skin was crawling with his fear. Did snakes smell fear the way that bees did? The thought almost made him puke. He had to struggle against the gore rising in his throat. If he lost it, he was positive they would strike. He lay as still as a rock, terrified to move. His breath was shallow and light. He was trying not to draw their attention any further to him than it already was. Please God, he prayed. Please.

After what seemed an eternity to him, he slowly opened his eyes and carefully looked around. The snakes were gone. Thank God, he breathed. He looked carefully around just in case they were hiding and waiting to pounce on him as soon as he moved, but he was soon convinced that the snakes had finally left. He noticed that the colors of the swirling smoke weren’t as bright as they had been. He knew somewhere in his mind that he was starting to come down. He wasn’t ready to yet. Ok, snakes weren’t a terrific thing to encounter, but except for them, this had been one hell of a good trip.

He turned the girl next to him over, looking at her body. He still couldn’t seem to remember her name, but she had wonderful tits. He stretched his hands out toward them, relieved to see his hands were acting like they were supposed to now. He started moving them over her, feeling his breathing deepen. He pinched her nipples, and even though she was still sound asleep, they hardened under his questing fingers. He felt himself harden, and without thinking about it, he moved onto her, spreading her legs, hands under her buttocks spreading her even wider, penetrating her in one swift thrust. He pumped into her fast and hard, not thinking, just feeling himself reaching fever pitch. He climaxed quickly, shooting himself deep inside of her. He collapsed on top of her, sweat falling off his body onto hers. She still hadn’t woken up, she was sound asleep, mouth open in a soft snore. He rolled off her, feeling himself drifting. He let his mind wander, pleased that the swirling colors and bright images weren’t over yet. The snakes were fast becoming a vague memory. This was turning out to be a pretty good trip, after all.

He yawned widely, suddenly bone tired. In the back of his mind he dimly knew his time here was almost over. It was almost time to get back to school. He’d done enough acid this week alone to risk warping his mind for all time. He’d heard all the warnings about people who dropped acid, then they flashed back to trips when they least expected it. Everyone said the flash backs were always bad trips. He’d blown off the warnings, of course. It hadn’t happened to him yet, so it he figured it probably wasn’t gonna happen. Nothing really bad ever happened to him.

He and the girl (he still couldn’t seem to remember her name) had marched in a protest in San Francisco earlier in the week, carrying nothing but garlands of daises. Right now, he couldn’t seem to recall what they had been protesting about. They had connected with some other students from Berkeley after attending a Grateful Dead concert. They had told him and the girl they had this room to crash in. He and the girl had been quick to join them, and had been here ever since. There had been plenty of food, wine, pot and tabs of acid. He couldn’t remember exactly how long they’d been here, but he knew it had been a while. He’d been high the entire time. If not dropping acid, then he’d smoked reefer after reefer with the girl. They had made love seemingly without stop, not caring about the other couples in the room. Not that it had mattered anyway, everyone else in the room had been busy doing the same thing. He supposed that the drugs were responsible for making them feel so loose that their normal inhabitation’s had completely disappeared. He had noticed a full moon in the evening sky one night. He vaguely recalled now talking to the girl about the wonderful glow that the moon was sending to them. In his drugged state, he had thought that the moon had sent the warm yellow glow down in streams through the warm night air just for him.

He smiled now, thinking of the warm yellow glow of that moon, and then he yawned hugely. He felt his mind sliding toward the oblivion of sleep. He settled his hand on the girl’s naked thigh, falling into the blackness with a deep sigh.

CHAPTER ONE

Los Angeles

Present Day

Across town, high in the Hollywood Hills on Mulholland Drive, the two uniformed patrol cops stood staring at the corpse in disbelief. The younger of the two looked at his partner in horror, trying to gauge the senior patrolman’s reaction. Gary Franklin, a veteran cop of more than 13 years on the force, felt the sweat beading on his upper lip. In all his years in the Hollywood Division, one of the toughest in the city, he’d never seen anything like this one. And he had seen a lot. Hollywood was a division that could break you quickly if you didn’t have the stomach for the job.

They had responded to an anonymous 911 call about a body that had been seen by a passing motorist on this busy street. Why there hadn’t been a dozen calls to 911 about a dead body lying on this particular road surprised Franklin. It wasn’t exactly hard to spot. Maybe the people who lived on this exclusive street weren’t up and about this early was all he could think of.

It was still barely dawn. The light was only beginning to bathe the rest of the city in its warm glow. Franklin and his partner had been close to the area when the call came in. Since it was early enough that the traffic was still fairly light, they had been able to respond quickly. Greg Hammond, the rookie who had just been assigned to the Hollywood Division the week before, was the first to see the body. It wasn’t until he had leaped out of the patrol car that he saw the condition of the corpse. He had needed to swallow hard to prevent the bile from rising up into his throat.

The dead man was naked, spread-eagled on the side of the road, and he had obviously been placed there for maximum effect. He had a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead and his vacant blue eyes were staring sightlessly up at the sky. A pool of drying blood had spread out underneath both sides of the body, spilling out into the roadway. It looked as though his dark brown hair was stuck to the pavement by the blood. What made both cops fight to control the vomit surging into their throats was the mutilation. Where his genitals should have been was a yawning, gaping, bloody wound. The man’s penis and balls had been cut off and placed facing upward on the asphalt, between the dead man’s legs. Over the hole where his penis had been was a condom, pulled out straight. It was laid carefully between his legs, pointing downward from his head in the direction of his legs and the severed genitals. It looked obscene, as though after cutting off the original penis, the assailant had made a macabre attempt to replace it with the rubber condom.

Jesus, whispered Hammond.

Franklin wiped the sweat off his lip, glancing at his partner.

"I’ll call it in. We’ll have Homicide here in a few minutes. You rope off the area while we wait for ‘em, and don’t touch anything", he ordered.

Hammond didn’t respond, just continued to stare at the dead man. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the horrible sight.

Hammond!! Get moving! barked Franklin. He wasn’t feeling too well himself, but he was damned if he was going to let his new rookie know that.

Hammond tore his eyes away at last. What?

Franklin sighed. Rope off the area, and don’t touch anything, will ya? I’ll call it in.

Hammond nodded. He moved jerkily to the rear of the patrol car, opening the trunk to extract a roll of yellow plastic tape with large black lettering proclaiming CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS spaced out every few inches along the length of the tape. He removed a couple of wooden stakes from the trunk as well, to tie the tape to it as he began securing the crime scene. He carefully avoided looking at the corpse. It was already becoming a bright, warm, sunny morning; the kind of day that California was famous for. He knew that the body would have to be removed soon or it would start to ripen quickly in the building heat. No telling yet how long it had already been there. Lying in the direct sun as it was, it was going to speed up the decaying process. He could already smell the faint odor of rotting fruit. The smell of death was a cloying, sweet smell. As he passed the corpse with the tape, he looked down at the road and saw movement in the pool of dried blood. Without thinking about it, he bent closer to see what it was, and he realized that a film of flies was swarming over the blood. His eyes frantically searched for something else to look at, sweat breaking out under his collar and across his upper lip and forehead. His vision settled on the severed penis, which was a serious mistake. It looked shrunken and mottled gray. The end of the penis that had been once been attached to the corpse was also covered in flies, and the movement of the flies gave him the momentary illusion that the penis had moved. That was it. He gagged, felt the vomit rushing into his mouth and knew he had lost the battle for control. He leapt a few feet away as the vomit poured from his mouth. His stomach contracted in its efforts to empty his stomach. As soon as he finished retching his guts out, he was furious. He knew that once word of how he had lost it got around, he was in for a lot of crap from his fellow cops. Shit. He looked around to see if Franklin had noticed, and saw his partner standing next to the patrol car with the car radio in his hands, grinning from ear to ear. Great, just great. He’d never hear the end of it.

Franklin, still grinning, finished reporting the body to the dispatcher, He replaced the radio, standing up straight and stretching. He wondered who the poor sap was, and who he’d managed to piss off. Someone had to have been pretty pissed off, to do that to a man.

Franklin was glad that Hammond had disgraced himself, and that he had been there to see it. It helped him gain control of himself, and now he could give Hammond a hard time, feeling no guilt that it might have been him instead. But hey, he hadn’t lost it, it was the rookie that couldn’t hold it in. He grinned to himself again. He watched Hammond while he finished securing the area, then looked around. A car had stopped next to him, and the occupants were gaping at the corpse.

Hey, get moving! he exploded.

The car’s driver stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then seeing that the cop was serious, sped off. The passenger turned around and kept looking, though.

Jesus H. Christ! he muttered to himself. He turned his back to the corpse, keeping his eyes on the traffic moving past. He could feel his partner as he came over and stood next to him, also facing the street instead of the grisly sight behind them. They stood in silence for a few moments. Then that silence was broken by the veteran cop.

So, Hammond, everything come up okay? Franklin grinned slyly at his partner.

Hammond sighed and narrowed his eyes. Very funny, he snapped.

Hell, I must admit I was damned impressed at how far you managed to leap into the air before you lost it. Ever think of trying out for the Police Olympics? Franklin laughed.

Shut the fuck up! Hammond snarled.

Franklin laughed softly, Hey, calm down Hammond. If you can’t take it, you’ll never make it. His expression became serious. Every cop has at one time or another puked up his guts. It happens.

Hammond, still simmering, nodded agreement, trying to get control of himself. At least Franklin wasn’t teasing him anymore, and he knew that the advice his senior partner was giving him was good advice.

You’ll get used to it, Franklin said quietly. It’s hard to believe that you can, but you will. That guy back there, he pointed over his shoulder at the corpse behind them, obviously pissed off someone big time.. Maybe he cheated on his old lady. A totally enraged woman is very likely to cut off your balls, he said with a laugh. He shrugged. You gotta get used to this sort of shit real quick.

Hammond studied his partner for a few moments. Thanks. I know you’re right. I’m just so pissed at myself for losing it like that, he sighed.

Franklin smiled. "Well, at least you leaped away from the immediate crime scene before you puked up your guts. I’ll give you props for that. Even if you did look like the biggest damn jackrabbit I ever saw," he grinned at the rookie.

Hammond grinned reluctantly at his partner. Okay, okay. I guess it’ll be all over the station by tomorrow, hmm?

Nope. Probably before the day is out. Franklin was still grinning.

Hammond just shook his head, knowing he might as well get ready for the smirks and remarks he was gonna get.

They both looked up as an unmarked police car pulled up. The two detectives getting out of the car looked bored. Well, thought Hammond with a malicious, knowing smile, they wouldn’t be bored for long.

Franklin cursed under his breath, Well, shit, if it ain’t the queen bitch herself.

Hammond looked at him with a shocked look on his face. His expression was almost comical. Franklin just waved his hand at Hammond, dismissing the questions he could see hovering on the rookie’s lips.

Detectives Alexandra Hunter and Bill McCray reached into the back seat for their kits. Hunter had the logbook with her. The logbook would record every person who approached the crime scene, to insure that they knew who had had access to the area. Footprints, fibers, anything else that was introduced to the scene by the cops could then be eliminated as evidence by keeping track of whoever had access to the area.

Have you called the meat wagon yet? McCray asked Franklin as he and Hunter approached him.

Nope. Figured that was your call after you saw what we got here, Franklin’s answer was clipped.

Hunter looked sharply at Franklin, appraising him swiftly with her tawny golden eyes; eyes the color of a lioness’s eyes. They looked like predator’s eyes, as though a big cat were sizing you up as a potential meal. They were often described as witchy eyes. When she stared at men with those eyes, they instinctively felt a primitive flight response. Franklin was no exception. He shifted on his feet, the only outward sign that he was even slightly disturbed.

Her voice was firm. Do it Franklin. Tell Mitch to come, he’ll need to see this one. We’ve got video techs and cameras on the way.

How do ya know he’ll want to see it? questioned Hammond without thinking.

Hunter swung her narrowed golden eyes in Hammond’s direction. Do I know you? she questioned in a dangerously soft tone.

Name’s Greg Hammond, he offered his hand to the detective with a tentative smile, determined to man up and overcome his initial flash of fear at the look in her unusual eyes.

Hunter raised her finely shaped brows, looking at the hand extended toward her. She raised her expressive eyes to assess the rookie. Large tawny eyes stared into tentative green ones.

Uh huh. She ignored the hand extended toward her, turning to look at her partner. She had her head turned so the uniforms couldn’t see her face. She winked at McCray. He rolled his eyes, suppressing a small smile.

Hammond slowly lowered his hand, face flushing with embarrassment and anger.

Hunter spoke to her partner. Get these two to sign the log, will you? I’ll take a look, gesturing towards the roped off corpse.

McCray approached the two patrol cops, thrusting the open log book into Franklin’s hands.

Just sign on the two lines I marked for you, he pointed to the right side of the book. He looked at Hammond, who was still flushed with anger. Don’t let Hunter get to you. Basically, she’s a bitch. Remember that, and it won’t bother you so much.

Hammond snorted. Bitch is an understatement.

McCray chuckled. It is. She is what she is. he shrugged.

Franklin laughed, too. Yeah, I’ve known Hunter for a long time. She doesn’t grow on you, either. Don’t worry about it, kid. He slapped Hammond on the back.

Hammond visibly tensed, noticing that Alex was walking back in their direction.

You two, she pointed at the two uniformed cops move down the road, make sure that the traffic keeps moving, she ordered. We don’t need lookie-lous on this one. The photographers and forensics should be here soon. Did you call for the wagon? she abruptly questioned Franklin.

No. I’ll do it now, before we move out, Franklin responded sharply.

Well get on it. What are you waiting for, the Second Coming? By the way, which one of you puked your guts up? Hunter asked dryly, brows raised, as she stared at Hammond.

Hammond jerked away, muttering furiously under this breath. Franklin sighed and shook his head at Hunter, pointing his index finger at her and making soft tutting noises.

I’ll make that call now. He turned to get into the car with his partner.

McCray spoke with affection clear in his voice. You really are a bitch Alex, you know that?

Alex allowed a small smile to cross her lips. Yeah, I know. It’s better than being called a witch, though. She thought briefly of the struggle she had had to go through for a great many years to become lead homicide detective in a division as tough as Hollywood. She shrugged off the memory. I didn’t get where I am by being Miss Susie Sunshine, you know, Bill.

She became brisk before McCray had a chance to respond to her remark, especially the part about her being called a witch. I can hardly wait to get the corpse fingerprinted and find out who the hell he is. Someone went to a lot of trouble to do this to this guy. Wonder who he pissed off so badly? she mused out loud. She shook off the moment. Come on. Let’s get to work, hmm?

They watched the patrol car with the two uniformed cops pull out and head a few hundred yards down the road, pulling into a view point off Mulholland where lovers parked late at night, turning their car until it was facing the other direction. Both cops got out, studiously avoiding looking at the homicide detectives.

The forensics team, police photographer, video tech and the coroner ended up arriving within about five minutes of each other, signing the logbook, and immediately starting work. Hunter and McCray broke open sealed plastic bags and pulled on latex gloves, donning sterile hats over their hair, sterile paper slip-ons over their shoes and a large sterile gown over their clothing, just like the coroner, video tech and photographer had done. They then began making a thorough examination of the body and the surrounding area, looking for anything that would help them with the case. They couldn’t find any clothes, a wallet, no bullet casings, nothing, in the surrounding brush. McCray made notes in a little spiral notebook as they worked. He and Hunter had been partners for a couple of years now, and they worked well together. An hour passed without much comment on the part of the busy detectives and other personnel. A sudden commotion caused McCray to raise his head and look around.

Shit. The press has arrived, he cursed softly.

Alex shrugged without raising her head. They were bound to. Once word gets out, the vultures descend. It’s like a scent in the air, they always find out sooner or later, usually sooner. The more god-awful a story, the faster they pick it up. I’m just surprised they didn’t get here sooner. Ignore them. The uniforms will keep it under control.

Sure enough, Hammond and Franklin began to stride over to the news van, their intent on keeping the cameras at a distance clear.

Alex turned her attention back to the corpse. The photographers and video techs had finished, and the detectives and forensic team had completed their examination of the scene. She shook her head. What a damn mess.

Well, Mitch? she questioned the coroner.

Mitchell Sherwood stood and began easing the latex gloves he had worn off his hands. His cobalt blue eyes looked troubled.

This is gonna be a fun one, he said with heavy sarcasm. As far as I can tell you right now, based on body temp, I’d guess he’d been dead only an hour or so before he was found, if that. I’ll hope that the cause of death is that bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, but he may have still been alive when his dick was cut off. We’ll assume for now that the bullet killed him. I’ll let you know that later after the autopsy. He was cut rather neatly, he mused thoughtfully, lapsing into thought.

Neatly? Alex questioned, face interested, gaze sharp.

Yeah. I would say his genitals were sliced off with a very sharp instrument, with a scalpel or a straight razor, is my guess. The edges of the skin around the wound and the genitals are smooth, not jagged or rough. The shape of the cut is also very interesting. It’s in the shape of a diamond and is very precise. The enormous loss of blood is more evidence that he was still alive or had just died, when your assailant went to work. He clearly did it right here and he probably moved pretty quickly.

McCray raised his brows. How do you figure that? he questioned. Alex gave him a sharp look, which he caught. He raised his brows at her in a mock frown.

Sherwood shrugged. The blood pool. If he’d been killed somewhere else and brought here, you wouldn’t have that pool of blood and we would see evidence in how the remaining blood settled in the body whether he had been moved or not. No, he was sliced and diced right here. I would hazard a guess that he died about dawn, somewhere in that time frame. I know that this road has a lot of traffic, but it’s fairly quiet just about anywhere that time of day. Course, you two would know more about that than I would, now wouldn’t you? He gave Hunter a saucy wink, and got a narrow eyed glower in return. He couldn’t help grinning before continuing. The condom is interesting too. Besides being a Trojan, a very common brand, it’s placed, as you saw, where the guy’s dick had been. Strikes me as ritualistic. But again, that’s more your field than mine, Alex. He shrugged again.

Hunter and Sherwood were actually friends, which surprised most people. Most of the individuals who knew Hunter only casually, would have sworn that she didn’t have a friend in the world. McCray was also a good friend, a friend who wasn’t