DETECTIVE HATCH FROM HOMICIDE CALLED ME. He’s one hell of a detective. I’m glad he’s on our side. “Randel, I’ve been going through some of the videos that we took from the Saavedra house. I have a couple that I think you might be interested in. I don’t want to alert anyone, but I think you may know one of these girls.”
“Is she a murder victim, Hatch?”
“Can’t say, Hawk. So far none of the videos shows her dead. But that’s not saying a lot. Every one of these videos shows girls supposedly being killed, and then we watch another one and there they are, being killed again. When can you come by?”
“I can make it in ten minutes.”
“I’ll save you a place at the movies,” Hatch said, tongue in cheek. “Should I have the popcorn and a coke ready?”
“No, I know you guys see this stuff all the time, but if those videos are what I think they are, they’ll make me barf. I don’t need any help.”
I arrived at Homicide at Main Station at Stewart and Las Vegas Blvd. I was immediately led to the viewing room where Detective Hatch soon joined me. We were privately ensconced in a soundproof room with a VCR and a television screen. “Rod, I want you to watch carefully and tell me what you see. What we’ve been viewing had been atrocious and ugly and very deadly. Four of the women that have recently been killed are on these films, and we assume that they were snuffed during their last film and then dropped by Blade or one of his accomplices. Of course, Blade hasn’t admitted to any of the murders yet, and we’re not sure what we’ll be able to pin on him. He has admitted to dropping off some of them. So, we’re certain that he’ll go away for life. He is one psycho SOB as far as I’m concerned. Criminalistics has matched the plastic that was on the last woman. It came from Chalmer’s Cleaners.”
Hatch showed me brief segments of the women that were assumed murdered during their filming. He had transferred portions onto one video. They were gross sex and snuff films, but I did recognize all four women as those found in our areas.
“Where were these videos scheduled to go, Hatch?” I queried.
“Well, from the looks of Saavedra’s books, the biggest distribution went to the Japanese. Those oriental men sure like our American women. In my mind, they like to imagine that they’re big enough to take care of them. If not, they enjoy seeing them having sex before dying. However, some of the dates on the films show that those women were used over and over for as much as six months.” Then Hatch removed the spliced video and inserted another one.
When the video began, I watched intently. What am I looking for, I asked myself. Is this a woman I’m supposed to have seen before? I quickly stood and moved in close. Maybe, something about those eyes. Could that be Carrie Riley? She’s wearing an eye mask, looks like a cat. I can’t be sure though. My eyes might be deceiving me. This second one, she has so much makeup on and her hair is in pigtails. “Hatch, I think that’s Jeff Riley’s wife, Carrie.”
“That’s what I thought from the missing person’s files, Rod. Now look at these films; they seem to be of a different nature. We call them ‘Kitty-Cat’ films. The girls are young, they look like teens or younger and in these they are teasers. For instance, in this one, the girl is dressed like a little school girl in a uniform, in the second segment, like a kitten, and in the third as a cheerleader, then as a little ballerina.”
I studied each film, watching closely when Kaabel Hatch stopped the video so I could zone in on features. “None of them really shows the face clearly, though, Kaabel. There’s so much makeup, like the ballerina with the painted circles on her cheeks and all the lipstick and heavy eye makeup. How can we be sure?”
“I can’t say for sure, Randel. It appears that these videos are taken especially for men that like to have sex with little girls. We have several videos of women like this that we have identified as missing. Ultimately, after all the teasing, there is a sexual act and the actor or man is satisfied and so is the little girl. The man is never shown, but the girls are shown wanting and begging for more.”
“I’ve seen enough, Detective. I’m pretty sure that one girl is Carrie Riley.” Detective Hatch discontinued the film. “How am I gonna tell Riley that we’ve seen his wife in a horror film like this? Where the hell is she if she’s alive, Hatch?”
“Blade said that he worked for an outfit out of California, close to Los Angeles. They come in fast, make their film and are gone again in just a few days. He drops off their leavings. But from the dates on the videos, Randel, it looks like some of the women have been being photographed for months. I think they might take some of the good ones to LA and use them there. The FBI is hot on their trail.”
“I hope to hell that they find them before they do something to Carrie. I hate to say this, Hatch, but I think Roscoe needs to see this. She knew Carrie better than I did. Can she look at just this video before I talk to Riley? I don’t want her to see that other trash.”
“Want to call her now, Randel?”
“Yeah, no sense putting off the inevitable.”
Roscoe joined us as soon as she could and was astonished at what she saw. “I’ve heard about things like this, Rod, but I never believed it. And it has been happening right here under our noses. I think that’s Carrie, but I can’t be sure. If it were up to me, I would like to have the family see one or two of the better parts of a couple of the films.”
“Maybe you’re right, Roscoe. We can make a couple of calls and have them brought here. Would that be all right, Hatch?”
“Sure. I won’t be able to be here too long, but I can have one of my officers here at your disposal.”
“Excuse me,” replied Roscoe, “can someone cut the scenes before the sexual acts take place so the family won’t have to see that?”
“Certainly, and I’ll have my specialist get right on it. Will an hour give you time to get the family here? The film can be ready by then.”
I responded, “I’ll put in the calls right now. If everyone is in town, we could have our answers very soon. Thanks, Detective.”
“Any time, Randel. We appreciate all you and your crew are doing. I’m just sorry that one of our officers is involved in such a hideous thing. Riley must be going crazy over his wife.”
“He is, but he insists on being on the job everyday. He doesn’t miss a lick. And, he’s a good man.”
Within the hour, the family of Carrie Riley was gathered together to watch the videos. Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Reed and their son Cody were present as was Officer Jeff Riley. Roscoe had remained to be of comfort to the family, and I was there for Jeff.
Mrs. Riley questioned, “Does this mean that Carrie is still alive, Officer Randel?”
“We don’t know for sure that this is Carrie, ma’am. Try your hardest to tell us if you recognize anything special that might identify her. You too, Jeff. A certain look, or movement, maybe a smile. Anything we can go on.”
The film had no more than started when Mrs. Reed rose from her seat, rushed to the screen and immediately fainted. We stopped the video while she was revived and given some water. After a few minutes, we resumed the video. Jeff sat dumbfounded, unbelieving that this could be his sweetheart, the mother of his baby boy. He shook his head, and I was certain that he did not think it was Carrie.
To my surprise, Cody, the quiet young man that I had met before, Carrie’s brother, walked to the screen, blocking everyone else’s view. He was looking closely at the video. Then he turned to his mother and made some sign language, I remember now that he’s deaf, I thought. Jane Reed’s hand went to her mouth to hold back the scream that came out anyway. “My baby, that’s my baby! See, see, Josh she’s making sign language with her left hand. It says, ‘I love you. CAR and JAR, I love you. It’s our Carrie.”
“Ma’am, are you certain?”
“Yes, yes, she cried. Look Jeff, dear, she’s telling you and little Christopher that she loves you. CAR Christopher Allen Riley and JAR, Jeffrey Allen Riley.” She was weeping and holding Cody closely to her, hugging him without letting go. “Thank you, Cody, thank you, she signed. You are so clever.”
Jeff stared at the video. Tears ran down his face and he whimpered, “Carrie, Carrie, where are you, baby. I love you. Please, please come home. Chris and I need you so much. I don’t care what they’ve made you do, honey. I love you.” He signed to the video, “I love you too.”
I motioned for the officer to stop the film and she quietly left the room. Roscoe kneeled before Mr. and Mrs. Reed, praying with them and for them and for the return of Carrie. I, like a dumbass, could only sit beside Jeff with my hand on his shoulder. I had no words of comfort or hope, and I could not force myself to believe that Carrie would be found alive. Cody took the chair on the other side of Jeff, took his hand in his and I know he wrote something for Jeff to understand. Jeff put his arms around Cody and hugged him as they sat brother to brother, sharing the moment, letting down all their defenses, and sharing each others sorrow. I rose quietly and left the room.
Outside, I leaned against the doorframe wondering what I should do next. Detective Hatch would be advised that a positive identification had been made. Carrie Riley was the woman in those clips, identified by her deaf, but not dumb brother, Cody. I hadn’t noticed the hand movements, Hatch nor his crew had noticed them either. I said a little silent prayer. Dear God, let there be a happy resolution to this. Only you can make it happen. Carrie Riley’s life is in your hands. Please, please protect her. I couldn’t protect little Mary, but I’m begging you, Lord, bring Carrie back alive. Amen.
I didn’t wait for the family, for Jeff or for Roscoe. I had to stay busy. I hit the streets again, like a good street cop would. I did stop, however, and order an ice tea to see me through. Sometimes you feel so insignificant in the order of life.
It was after six when I returned to the office. Tootie was gone for the day, but she had left the lights on in my office. I walked in and went directly to the right hand corner where there was a small-animal travel cage. Inside, sleeping peacefully, and lying against a stuffed bear and on an old dirty shirt of mine was my little Elvis. He was curled into a tiny ball, and the ticking of the windup clock, and the special smell of my shirt, and a good smell it was, gave him security and the feeling that he was cared for. I lifted the little fellow from his bed and held him close. I stroked his miniature white head and back and rubbed his small pink belly; he was only big enough to fit in the palm of my hand. He stretched and then settled again. His eyes were not yet opened, and he had already been taken away from his mama. Well, he was mine now, and I would feed him with that eye dropper full of straight Pet Milk, and with the help of Tootie during the day, I would raise him up just fine. I slipped little Elvis into my shirt, next to my heart and went to my desk to finish my reports for the day. Elvis rode that way with me through the drive-in for supper and to our apartment. Smiling into my future, I thought, tonight I will introduce little Elvis to my landlord and inform him that I now have my own watch dog, and he is no longer invisible. Roscoe was right, everyone needs someone, and now I have little Elvis.