Girls under Glass (the Professor’s secret) Part Ten
C.S.I.: A Living Doll Investigation . . .
By Zapped!
This is the third of three stories that I wrotewhen I first moved out of New York. They were written in betweenvarious job interviews, in various hotel rooms and grocery storeparking lots (no I’m not kidding). This is a lengthy story just likethe last one, so if you don’t have time to sit back and enjoy it, thenread somebody else’s story! I also want to say, that I came up with thetitle before the C.S.I. episode was even aired, so shame on them! Thenames of the characters have been slightly modified, but you should getthe idea.Note: I’m open to suggestions for the next episode, so now is yourchance to get even with your mother-in-law, ex-wife, or that oldgirlfriend that you imagined in one of these scenarios! . . . No I’mjust kiddin’, but I would like to hear some comments. You can find meif you know where to look!
Thursday April 6th, 2:31 pm: (Present day)
C.S.I. Agent Catherine Willow speeds along the busyfour-lane Vestal Parkway in her rented Crown Victoria. The thirty-eightyear old strawberry blonde picks off cars one-by-one, as if she weretrained to be a professional driver on the NASCAR circuit rather than acrime scene investigator.
“There’s nothing handier than a license to speed!” she thinks to herself, enjoying one of the perks to her job.
The agent trades off between darting through trafficand watching the opposite side of the parkway, keeping an eye open forthe cheesy looking billboard that’s mounted on the roof of herdestination.
After passing by several over-developed strip malls,Agent Willow finally spots the giant twenty by thirty foot sign,painted in eye catching fluorescent pink. It features two larger thanlife silhouettes of extremely well-endowed female dancers, painted inblack. Each figure is posed as if lying on their backs, their raisedlegs and bent bottoms framing the strip joint’s name:
The Risqué Café – Gentlemen’s Club
XXX Featuring the hottest angels on this side of heaven! XXX
“That’s just great . . . As if the perverts couldn’tfind this place on their own!” the agent mumbles to herself, with anote of disgust in her voice.
The woman turns left at the next four-way intersection,and then drives halfway back up the block, eventually pulling the bigwhite sedan into the club’s loose gravel parking lot. As Catherine doesso, she quickly scans over the patron’s parked vehicles, looking for abeat-up black van without any side windows . . .
“Hmm . . . Doesn’t look like he is here today” the woman thinks to herself with dejection. “But hopefully my girl is working tonight.”
As the agent parks and climbs out of the Ford, shegrabs her trusty notebook and slides it into the pocket of her brownsuede sport jacket. She can already hear the heavy pulsing of a basstrack coming from the dance music that’s playing inside the club.
The woman walks with purpose towards the front door ofthe shady establishment, only to be confronted by another painted nudesilhouette, this one posed with both arms angled outward from hersides, with a pair of spread angel’s wings sprouting up from behindher. The words pained above the figure read:
“Bucks enter here,
. . . all Doe’s must take it out back.”
“Well isn’t that just cute!” the woman says out loud,wondering how she managed to forget about reading the crude comparisonto a four legged wild animal, just four short days ago. The agentregretfully opens the entrance door and lets herself in, for what willhopefully be the last time.
The rapid beat of dance music reverberates throughouther body as she walks down a darkened hallway that will eventually leadher to the bar area in the back of the club. The lights are turned downlow back here, with the exception of the overhead lighting that’smounted directly above the main stage, creating a somewhat private yetominous atmosphere. The smell of sweet perfume and stale cigarettes isprevalent . . .
Agent Willow carefully scans over the room, checkingout each patron. She notices that none of these men are seated in anyparticular order, and most are scattered around the runway of the mainstage. Each of the men’s eyes are probably burning from the dense smokecloud that hangs in the air above them; however they don’t look likethey seem to mind . . .
All eyes are fixated on a gyrating Latino dancer, nowslithering in a snake like fashion down the chrome-plated pole that’smounted at center stage. Her long sexy legs suddenly kick outward totheir fullest extent, just seconds before her thong-split tush bouncesoff the hardwood dance floor. The woman suddenly arches into aback-flip, sending her lean body end-over-end, until coming to acomplete stop and standing upright.
The exotic-looking woman saunters up to the edge of thestage and overlooks the crowd. She cracks a big smile, and then beginsshaking her torso from side to side, nearly causing her enhancedbreasts to gyrate clear out of her leopard print bikini top! Sheplayfully blows a kiss to the crowd, then reaches to unclasp the frontof her top, allowing both of her jugs to spring outward for heradmirers to view. The dancer peels the garment off from her shoulders,and then stretches it back, as if aiming a bow and arrow. With roaringapproval from her horny onlookers, the Latino slingshots the garmentinto the second row of tables with practiced precision!
A lucky patron catches the bikini top, immediatelyburying his face into one of the “D” cups, and then quickly tucks itdeep into a pocket of his trench coat.
Agent Willow turns her back in disgust, trying to ignore the ongoing whistles and yells of “Take it all off!” nowechoing behind her, then approaches the bar. She spots a tattooed hulkin a sleeveless Harley Davidson shirt that’s drying bar glasses andflirting with a scantily clad Mexican waitress at the far end.
The bartender adds the clean glass to a row ofothers on the shelf behind him, and then proceeds to wipe the sweatfrom his shaved head onto the same towel!
The agent makes yet another disgusted look, and thenyells “Ah . . . excuse me sir; I was wondering if you could help me?”
Catherine reaches inside her suede jacket to retrieveher police badge. As she does, the front of the coat falls open,exposing her tight yellow turtleneck and the two firm globes thatstrain against the stretchy material.
The bartender acknowledges her presence with a nod atfirst, but his eyes slowly drift downward, focusing on the agent’s trimfigure. The man slowly strokes his graying handlebar mustache as hecontinues to undress her in his mind.
Catherine points two spread fingers at the man’sleering face and says “Eyes up here, buddy!” then points back at herown two eyes. She flips her badge open with her other hand to showproper identification . . . “Get over here, so I don’t have to yellover the music!”
As the bartender approaches, the scantily clad waitressspots the badge and slowly backs away from the bar to blend in with theother waitresses that are working the room.
Agent: “I’m Catherine Willow, with C.S.I.” The agent statesformally, then continues to say: “I stopped in here a couple of daysago to talk to a dancer that goes by the name of “Joy” . . . she hadsome information about a missing girl that also danced here.”
Bartender: “Yeah, I remember you.” The man smacks a pack ofcigarettes against the opened palm of his large hand, and then digs outa smoke to light. A moment later, he takes a deep drag off the smoke,and blows a cloud towards the agent. He then continues, “You wereasking about that Asian chick with the nice tush.”
Agent: “If I recall, she was Chinese and her given name wasLucy . . . I was told that she was dancing under the name of “Cookie.”
Bartender: “Yeah yeah-whatever: Filipino; Japanese; Chinese; Korean . . . They all look the same to me, honey!”
Agent Willow cringes at the rude comment, and thentakes a step closer to the bar. “That’s Agent Willow, or Miss Willow,to you; but let’s get one thing perfectly clear: I’m not anybody’s honey, especially not yours!” the woman snaps back.
Bartender: “Hey, whatever floats your boat” . . . (he takesanother deep drag off of his cigarette) . . . “Look lady, all I knowis her tight ass brought in a lot of customers and she aint’doin’ me a lotta’ good wherever she is now!”
Agent: “Yeah, I can tell that it’s just breaking your heart.So is Joy working tonight, or not? . . . I need to talk to her as soonas possible.”
The bartender begins to pour himself a shot of crown royal and begins laughing under his breath . . .
Agent: “What’s so funny?”
Bartender: “Well agent . . . Willow was it? I’m afraid that I have some good news for you and some bad news.”
“And what news would that be?” the agent asks; now crossing her arms over her chest with impatience.
Bartender: “That little blonde hussy hasn’t shown up for workin three days: No calls; no nothing. In fact, she skipped out of herewithout paying her weekly dance fee. So if you see her around, tell hershe better pay up soon, or I’ll be coming around to collect . . . And that could get messy!”
Agent: “What do you mean by she just skipped out?”
Bartender: “What are you, hard of hearing, lady? Like I justsaid; she up and left . . . Never bothered to clean out her lockereither. That’s the kind of thanks I get for giving that junkie a job!”
Agent: “Wait; you mean to tell me that she was using again? Do you know she was, for a fact?”
Bartender: “Hey, once a user, always a user…it’s something that usually comes with this line of work.”
Agent: “So your just assuming she was using? She told me thatshe was clean, and I even went and checked on the main database. Joyhas been drug-free for eleven months and hasn’t slipped . . . Even hersponsor will back that up.”
Bartender: “Look lady, I don’t care if she was using; if she’sback in rehab or lying stiff on a slab somewhere. If she doesn’t payup, her sweet ass won’t ever be working in here again . . . And thatgoes for her little “chink” friend too!”
Agent Willow holds her breath after hearing the racistremark, taking all she can do to keep from blowing her cool. Sheglances around the room for a moment, and then asks, “So what wassupposed to be the good news?”
The bartender reaches underneath the bar, and thenslides a sheet of paper and pen across to where the agent is standing.He then gives the woman a cocky looking smile . . .
As Agent Willow picks up the form, she realizes that it’s a job application!
Bartender: “I guess the good news would be that we’re nowshort two dancers, and from where I’m standing, you look like you got agood chance of being hired!” (The bartender starts laughing out loud,and then slams his shot of liquor down).
With a pissed-off look, Agent Willow replies: “Youknow, it would be a hell of a shame if I sent some customs agents downhere to check over everybody’s paperwork!” (The agent nods her head inthe direction of two young Mexican girls standing in the corner, nowwhispering to each other and avoiding direct eye contact with theagent).
Bartender: “Well, I’ll tell you what . . . If Joy stops by andpays up, I’ll be sure to tell her that you were looking for her.” Theman turns his back and begins washing another glass, then adds, “In themeantime, I think you know where the door is.”
Agent Willow stands shaking her head at the audacity ofthe man, and then says to the air, “What a f*cking creep!” The womanquickly turns around to avoid wasting anymore time, exiting the club tocontinue her search elsewhere.
Moments later, the rented Crown Vic spits loose gravelinto the air as it exits the parking lot, then merges in with the othermoving traffic back on the parkway. As Agent Willow picks up speed, shereflects back on the recent events that eventually led up to thiscurrent act of desperation . . .
* * * * * *
Thursday, 3 am in the morning (one week ago)
Catherine is awakened from her sleep by the wail of herringing phone. She rolls over to look at her alarm clock: “Three a.m.?. . . Are you kidding me?” The agent checks her caller I.D. and seesthat her daughter’s number is registering in the box . . . Catherinemanages to ask a sleepy “Hello?”
On the other end of the phone, Catherine’s onlydaughter, “Lindsey”, carries on in a rapid panic something about hermissing roommate, who is also a fellow student at the University.
The missing friend is a Chinese girl that works as anexotic dancer in her spare time, to help pay for her costly tuition.The twenty-year-old hasn’t come home to her apartment for two nights ina row now.
Lindsey: “Mom; I’m very worried about her. Lucy is very reliable and has never missed any classes, ever! I just know in my heart that something is wrong! Can’t you . . . You know; pull some strings or something?”
Catherine: “Oh honey, you know that I don’t have anyjurisdiction up there. For godsakes, you’re up in New York and I’m outhere in Nevada!”
Lindsey: “Please, you have to have some kind of pull! Thelocal police aren’t really doing anything and the State Police aren’thelping much either! I think they’re just blowing it off, just like anyother missing stripper case. Please mom, you have to help her!”. . . There is a slight pause, until the girl adds “I mean what if it was me out there somewhere?”
Catherine: “Look honey, I’m a crime scene investigator. NowI’m sure that they have detectives on the case, already working as hardas they can. I honestly don’t . . .”
Agent Willow is abruptly cut off by her daughter…
Lindsey: “You don’t care about her! You never cared about me either! The only thing that ever mattered to you was your damned career, and . . .”
SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAACH!!!!
The agent locks up all four brakes on the Crown Vic,nearly plowing into the back of a stopped stake-bed truck . . . withher heart quickly sinking to the pit of her stomach!
“Holy shit!” the agent exclaims, now exhaling a deepbreath. She looks at the passenger side floor, to find all of her filesand paperwork spread about.
A few moments later, the stopped traffic begins movingagain, as Catherine wonders why she can never say ‘no’ to her daughter.The time she has spent over the last week searching for leads on themissing dancer known as “Cookie”, was the last of her much-neededvacation time allowed for the remainder of the year.
“Vacation . . . Imagine that!” Catherine says indisappointment. And on top of that, her only possible witness was nowmissing as well . . .
“Joy . . . What a sweet kid” she thinks, as shereflects back on the conversation that she shared with the young dancerand the events that led up to their first meeting just a few just a fewdays ago.
Present Day
As C.S.I. Agent Catherine Willow approaches the offramp and exits the Vestal Parkway, she reaches around in her largepurse, looking for her hand-held mobile guidance system. The womanbriefly wipes the tears that are now forming in her eyes and remindsherself out loud, “Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that youcan’t save them all, old girl. If these women chose that kind of life,then they’ll have to face the consequences.”
As the agent cruises along, she can’t even convince herself that her last statement is true . . .
The white Ford sedan soon approaches another trafficlight, and slowly come to a stop. Catherine looks over at the manilafolders spread across her passenger seat and the floorboard beneath it.She quickly fingers through the mess, looking for the list of missingpersons that she had printed out at the crime lab by request, just afew days before . . .
* * * * * *
Monday April 3rd, 7:05 am:
Agent Willow “clacks” her heels through the main officeof a crime lab, on the top floor of a police stationdowntown.
Several police officers and detectives pull on theircoats and hats. They guzzle down last minute cups of coffee, as theyprepare to head out to their daily assignments. A few of the men turntheir heads in the direction of the woman’s approaching footsteps, towatch the attractive agent walk by. A few of them even mumble obscenecomments amongst themselves . . .
Catherine, feeling a sense that she has attracted someunwanted attention, steps up to the desk of a young brunette who isseated in the back corner of the office.
The homely-looking girl looks up and flashes a smile . . . “Hi there! Can I help you?”
“Hello; I’m Agent Catherine Willow, with Las VegasC.S.I.” says the woman now flashing her badge. “I’m here to speak withthe chief of detectives.”
“Ah yes, one moment please,” says the secretary, as she presses theintercom button: “Chief Austin, there is an agent here from Las Vegasthat wishes to speak with you, sir?” The woman pauses for a minute,waiting for a reply . . .
The intercom beeps, then a gruff voice on the other end asks, “Who?”
“She’s with C.S.I. in Las Vegas sir” says theseated woman, now looking at the badge that the agent is holding out toher. “Her name is Catherine Willow, sir; shall I send her in?”
There is momentary silence, until the voice on the intercom replies, “Yeah fine . . . send her in.”
“The chief will see you, so go on in,” says the secretary, now pointing at an adjacent door with closed blinds.
The agent thanks the seated girl, then walks to the office door and lets herself in.
An older man with weathered looking skin and pepperedblack and gray hair greets the agent from behind the desk, “Well hellothere, Agent Willow. I could be mistaken, but did I hear Bonnie saythat you’re with the Las Vegas C.S.I.?”
Agent: “Yes chief; that would be correct.”
The man leans back in his chair and crosses his armsbehind his head, as he puffs out a cloud from his lighted cigar.
Chief: “You’re a hell of a long ways from Vegas agent. What brings you up here to New York city?”
Agent: “Actually, I’m in town looking into the disappearanceof a dancer that was working over at a dive called the Risqué Café. Shedances under the name of Cookie.”
Chief: “Yes, I believe that was the Asian girl; she wasworking at the club on the weekends, and attending Beaumont Universityduring the day, along with some of the other girls.”
“Other girls, sir?” the agent asks with a confused look.
Chief: “Yes, I’m afraid that a few of the other missing girls were attending Beaumont University as well.”
Agent: “Wait . . . so there are other girls that are also missing? Were they dancers, too?”
Chief: “Oh no, the Asian was the only dancer that we know of. The others were just normal, everyday students.”
Agent: “How many students are we talking about here?”
Chief: “Well, I’m afraid there’s been quite a few that have come up missing over time.”
Agent: “Sooo, are you looking into the possible connection of the school as a factor?”
The chief puffs another cloud into the air, thencrosses his forearms onto his protruding beer belly, stating:“Look, Agent Willow; I can assure you that we have our best men on thecase. In fact, the boys from the F.B.I. are involved as well. Now Irealize that we haven’t found any actual bodies yet, but why would aC.S.I. agent from Nevada be all the way up here in New York, snoopingaround?”
Agent: “Well, to tell you the truth, I took the last of myvacation time to fly out here; out of my own pocket. The latest missinggirl is actually my daughter’s roommate, and she’s pretty concernedabout what happened to Lucy and for her own safety as well. The soonerwe get this creep off the streets, the . . .”
“Now look, Agent Willow, the last thing I need to addto this circus is an unknown crime scene investigator running aroundloose out there!” the chief says, after rudely cutting the woman off inmid-sentence.
Agent: “Well, if you have any doubts about my credentials, why don’t you call up the lab in Vegas and ask for yourself!”
Catherine digs out a business card from her wallet andtosses it across the desk to the man as if she was dealing poker.
The chief shakes his head slowly, and then pulls out his cigar to tap the ashes off the end.
Agent: “Look at it this way; you’ll be gaining one more detective, for an entire week, free of charge.”
Catherine slides her hands into the front pockets ofher tight pants, leaving the front of her sport jacket open to hangfrom the curves of her breasts. “Come on chief, I know what it’s like;I promise that I’ll stay out of everybody’s way.”
Chief Austin looks the determined woman over briefly,then replies, “Why don’t you wait outside for a minute, while I makethe call.”
“Ok, that’s fair enough. But don’t think for aminute, that I’ll be leaving without an answer,” the woman says with aserious look.
As the spunky agent turns around to exit the office,the chief gets up from his chair to admire Catherine’s splendid rearview, and then slams the door behind her.
Agent Willow waits, seated just outside the office, for almost thirty minutes, before the chief re-opens the door.
“Well Agent Willow, you certainly have the credentialsto back yourself up!” says the chief. He then turns to his secretaryand commands: “Bonnie, please take this young lady over to theconference room. I believe Detective Procton is still in here yet . . .”
“Yes, sir!” responds the brunette, as she steps out from behind her desk.
The chief then turns and extends his hand to Agent Willow and states “You got a lotta’ moxie kid; welcome aboard!”
“Thank you, chief,” the agent says while shaking the man’s extended hand. She promises, “I’ll do my best, sir.”
The secretary then leads Agent Willow down a hallwaythat eventually takes them to a conference room at the far end. Thebrunette knocks on the door, hears the invitation to “Come on in,” thenthe secretary opens the door while asking “Would you like me to get youa cup of coffee or something?”
“No, but thanks anyway,” replies Catherine with a warmsmile. The door slowly closes behind her, as the agent approaches apetite blonde woman, who is currently leaning over a large oval tablecompletely covered by a large map, with various manila folders spreadaround its parameter. Each folder has a name printed on its upper rightcorner and contains various pictures, the age, and other personalinformation about the missing person within.
“Hi; I’m Agent Willow,” says Catherine, now extending her hand to the cute blonde detective.
The blonde woman shakes her hand in return and replies,“Yes, Chief Austin just called and filled me in on the details. I’mDetective Emily Procton and it’s a true pleasure to meet you. Butplease, just call me Emily,” she says, emitting a shy smile.
“Likewise, and you can call me Cathy,” the agentreplies while looking around. “I originally came down here to look intothe disappearance of one local dancer, but from what I heard from thechief . . . It sounds like you may have an epidemic of missing girls onyour hands!”
“Yes we surely do, I’m afraid,” replies the detective,now reaching over to grab one of the stacks of folders. Emily wastes notime as she hands a pile to Agent Willow, then places her arms on herhips. “There have been almost thirty abductions over the last threedecades within two adjoining counties; twenty four of them occurredwithin the last three years.”
“Whoa!” exclaims Agent Willow as she begins to open thefirst file within her hands. She is greeted by a blurry yearbookpicture of a young woman with mid-neck length, dirty blonde, hair andcrystal clear blue eyes . . .
Catherine begins to read aloud: “Bridget Fonda;age nineteen . . . 5 ft. 11, 117 lbs. Last seen leaving her home in aGeo Tracker with friends Beyonce’ and Maria.” The agent then looks at ahighlighted notation in bright yellow; “Miss Fonda was a freshmanstudent at Beaumont University.”
Emily: “One of the two girls that disappeared along with heralso attended Beaumont. Her name is Maria Sanchez and she was also afreshman. Ms. Sanchez reportedly called in sick for work the day shedisappeared.”
Agent Willow: “Hmm . . . Three young women. At that age,they could have just taken off for Cancun or even Cabo San Lucas.”
Emily: “That was over two years ago, so they would have surelyrun out of money by now. And there is more to this particular story,”the detective continued, grabbing two folders out of another stack andopening them in front of Cathy. “This is Kathy Lee Fonda, age fifty.She happens to be the mother of Bridget. Kathy vanished, along with heryounger daughter Christie, seven months after Bridget vanished. Emilyopened the second folder and reveals it to the agent.
Agent Willow: “Wow! Christie Fonda . . . age fourteen? That doesn’t fit the profile of these other women.”
Catherine studies the picture of the cute blonde girl that holds a beaming smile upon her unblemished young face.
Emily: “I have two folders over there in the pile that havethe bios on two other minors that have also disappeared. They were bothone grade behind Christie, and all three of them attended the samemiddle school.”
Emily closes the folders and places them back on the table.
“Now, the files that you have are all females that havedisappeared over the last three years. They were all attending BeaumontUniversity at the time they vanished,” explains Detective Procton.
Catherine opens another file containing the smilingface of a Mid-Eastern Indian woman with jet-black hair and piercingdark eyes, and asks, “Have you guys done a background search throughthe records of the male students enrolled at the college?”
Emily: “We have a crew searching through the history of boththe male students as well as the faculty . . . including themaintenance workers.”
Detective Procton then motions for Agent Willow tofollow her to the other side of the room. The two women come to a stopat the large chalkboard at the front of the room. A large sheet ofheavy white paper covers most of the slate surface, with a schematicdiagram drawn upon it. In the middle of the paper is a drawn boxthat says “Beaumont U”, with several branches extending out from thecenter. From each of those branches, a small picture of each victim hasbeen pasted, with a small notation of how the victim was eitherrelated, or where they vanished from, and the date.
Agent Willow looks at the pictures of the beautifulyoung women, studying each carefully, and then following the brancheswith her pointed finger as if looking for a pattern.
“Alicia Jones; red hair; 6’2 . . . Wow, big girl!” saysthe agent, following the branch of the tree back to Beaumont.
Emily: “According to her parents, she had planned on stayingon campus at the dorm for a three day weekend. She was supposed tograduate with an engineering degree in the spring.”
“And what’s the story on these two?” asks Catherine, asshe points out two women that appear to be in their late forties.Another break in the pattern.
Emily: “The dark haired woman is Josephine Pitt. She’s marriedto the real estate magnate Stanley Pitt. It is believed that she ranoff with their pool boy, and may now be living outside the US. She hasher own offshore bank account, and we have been keeping a close eye onit.”
Agent Willow: “Hmm, separate bank accounts eh? Any activity there?”
Emily: “No activity at all . . . Which is odd, considering her expensive taste for the finer things in life.”
Agent Willow: “I see. And this other woman?”
Emily: “That would be Marion Cunningham; age forty six, and amarried mother of two. Both her kids are out of the house.Although Marion doesn’t fit the profile of the other women due to herage, she was a member on the Beaumont school board and also worked inthe admissions department.”
Agent Willow: “And where did Mrs. Cunningham disappear from?”
Emily: “Her husband said that she was going to a board meeting . . . But she never arrived.”
Agent Willow: “Was the vehicle recovered?”
Emily: “She was reportedly driving an older model Volvostation wagon, but the car was never found. In fact we have neverrecovered any of the vehicles, oddly enough. With exception of thesevictims’ cars, which were all found at the same location, on the sameday.” (Emily points to another branch) . . . “These four students allattended the same high school together, and their vehicles were foundin a wooded area outside of Creedmont, which is about an hour and ahalf east from here.”
Agent Willow traces a single branch that links one of the female high school students back to Beaumont University.
Detective Procton takes notice and says, “That’s VelmaLivingston . . . Age seventeen, and a senior at Creedmont High. We weretold by her parents, that she planed to attend Beaumont aftergraduation.”
Agent Willow: “Hmm, another connection to the University. And what about the two boys?”
Emily: “They were boyfriends of the two missing girls. Neither of them has turned up either.”
Agent Willow: “And the boys backgrounds checked out?”
Emily: “Neither had any record.”
Agent Willow: “And the vehicles that you found . . . They were thoroughly dusted for prints and DNA?”
Emily: (nodding) “C.S.I. went through all three vehicles aswell as taking plaster molds from the tire tracks at the scene.”
Agent Willow: “And what did they find?”
Emily: “No prints, other than those of the victims. There wassemen residue found in a Chevy Blazer, but it was matched to the ownerthrough DNA.”
Agent Willow: “Well, you know how that goes; a bunch of hornyteens, parked in the woods out in the middle of nowhere.” She pauses inthought, and then asks, “What about those tire tracks?”
Emily: “Tread pattern LT 235 75 R 15, which indicates that thevehicle used was a light truck or van. We looked at the tread patternson the Blazer and another pickup that was found at the scene; neithermatched the that pattern.”
“Ok, good work,” she complements. “And what about thesetwo women here,” asks Catherine, pointing to two dark-haired womenplaced above the picture of a fire-red BMW.
Emily: “Elaine Benes worked for Stanley Pitt, as anadministrative assistant. Now, as you may recall, Mr. Pitt’s wifeJosephine is missing. Elaine was last seen leaving work in her BMW andwas reportedly going to the Bahamas on vacation . . . But she nevermade it to the airport.” The detective exhales and then continues, “Theother woman shown is Sidra Holland, an aerobics instructor up town. Sheis, reportedly, best friends with Ms. Benes. Sidra’s SUV was beingrepaired at a local dealership . . . she failed to return to pick thevehicle up the following Monday.”
Agent Willow: “You said, this Pitt guy had connections withElaine and his wife is also missing . . . what’s the story there?”
Emily: “We checked his background out thoroughly, and he’slegit, as much as anyone that rich can be. He was also out of thecountry at the time that Elaine vanished. We checked through customs,and he was in Europe for two weeks, then flew to Rio De Janeiro, andwas there for another two weeks.”
Agent Willow continues to stare at the diagram with atroubled look for several minutes, until Detective Procton breaks thesilence . . .
“So . . . Have any ideas for me?” prompts the blonde detective.
“Well, some of these wouldn’t seem related,” statesCatherine, now pointing at three photos of African American womenpasted to another branch at the far end.
Emily: “On the contrary . . . The police questioned severalprostitutes that were working in the area that night those womenvanished; at least three of them recalled seeing Lakeesha Jones gettinginto an older model van that was black in color.” The blonde detectivethen points to the other two African American women and adds, “Asurveillance tape confiscated from a truck stop out on Interstate 81shows a black van gassing up at the pumps, then driving to the far endof a parking area out back. It is believed that Cherri Wilson andLatoya “Missy” Perkins were both turning tricks at the same truck stopthat night.”
Detective Procton then traces her index finger over tothe picture of a smiling middle-eastern girl. “Sari, who was anexchange student at Beaumont, was working at a convenience store justthree miles down the Interstate from that truck stop. We have bothindoor and outdoor video footage of her being carried away unconsciousand being loaded into a similar van: painted black and without sidewindows. Unfortunately, all of the footage is grainy, and we couldn’tmake out a plate number, or get a positive I.D. on the abductor.”
Agent Willow: “So we are looking for an older model black van,without side windows. Did you check through the DMV to see if anybodyon campus or in the vicinity owned such a vehicle?”
Detective Procton exhales a laugh, then says, “LookCathy, no offense; but there are currently over twenty thousandstudents enrolled at the college, not including faculty, so that wouldbe quite an undertaking. Our crew is already swamped with doingbackground checks through the database.”
Agent Willow frowns, pulling her strawberry blondelocks up over her ear. “Yeah, I can see your point there,” she admits,now looking at an enlarged grainy-looking photo of the van, undoubtedlytaken from surveillance tape footage. “But from what I can see, thisvan has dog dish hubcaps; a spotlight and a lack of side windows. Thoseare all signs that this was a utility van in a former life.Perhaps even with the police at one time.”
Emily: “Well, considering how many vans are out there being used for business purposes, or are retired from service . . . that number could be staggering!”
Agent Willow: “They could have bought it a municipal auction . . . dirt cheap, most likely.”
Emily: “That’s exactly what I was thinking. It could also be ditched and replaced with another cheap replacement.”
Agent Willow takes a few steps over and notices thephoto of a young Asian girl who’s wearing glasses. Even though thephoto is an apparent copy of her passport, the girl’s hair has anoticed sheen . . . Catherine begins reading aloud, “Swan Lu; 18 yearsof age; 5’4” 100 lbs. freshman exchange student, Beaumont University.What a cute girl.”
Emily: “Yes, she was the first Asian student to come upmissing. Now, I haven’t had a chance to add the recent missing dancerto the diagram yet, but her complete file is in that stack yourholding.”
Agent Willow tilts her head down, and starts flippingthrough the files until seeing the name: Lucy “Cookie” Chang. The agentflips open the folder, then sees various photos of the young girlclamped together with a paperclip. The first is a simple headshot ofher smiling round face, dark eyes and straight, long burgundy-tintedhair. In the second photo, the girl has the same jubilant expressionwhile doing a leg split in her cheerleading uniform on what might beher parent’s front lawn. A third photo is fairly dated, and featuresthe girl straddling a balance beam in her younger gymnastic period.
“That’s a damned shame,” says Catherine, now sliding the paperclip back against the photos.
Emily: “Yes, I’m afraid so. My understanding was that she was studying to be a chemical engineer.”
Agent Willow: “Wait a minute . . . a chemical engineer?”
Emily: “Yes, that’s what we have listed under her curriculum.”
Agent Willow flips through the stack of folders onceagain, on a hunch, until she finds a folder that she glanced at a fewminutes ago. Eventually she spots the name Fonda and flips that folderopen. “First year Chemical Engineering student,” she reads, beforeclosing the folder and then flips open the next in the stack. Cathyskips past the pictures of a smiling Latino woman until she comes toher Bio page: “Maria Sanchez, pursuing a chemical Engineering degree.”
Catherine turns to detective Procton and before she hasa chance to speak, the petite blonde answers her question . . .
“Swan Lu was a chemical engineering student as well!”says the detective, now crossing her arms across her chest. The womanpauses in deep thought for a moment, then turns and walks to the otherside of the room to sit down in front of her computer. Within minutes,she is cruising through Beaumont University’s master database.
As Agent Willow walks up behind Emily, she watches thedetermined detective clicking away frantically at the keyboard . . .
Emily: “According to faculty records . . . . (The detectivescrolls through several screens), there are four different professorsin the chemical engineering department: Adams, Claussen, Davis and Farr.
Agent Willow: “Are any of those professors listed, involved with the admissions department?”
The detective clicks away and scrolls through severalmore screens until she answers, “Only Professor Jack Claussen.”
Agent Willow walks back to the diagram on the oppositeside of the room, and then stops to look at a picture of a rather nerdylooking girl, with thick, black framed glasses. “Velma Livingston wasplanning on attending Beaumont University after graduating from highschool correct?”
Emily: “Hold on, that might actually take a minute!” The petiteblonde fires away at the keyboard like a reporter with an overdueheadline story. “It says here, Velma Livingston Bio: Advancedmathematics; database development; chemical terminology; Earth ScienceII; advanced biology; calculus 3; chemical engineering I & II and OH YEAH! . . . Here it is: Pursuing a chemical engineering degree. Interviewed by Jack Claussen!”
Emily looks up at Catherine with a concerned look andsays “ According to the appointment log: Velma took a tour of thecampus with her parents and was interviewed by Professor Claussen justtwo weeks before she disappeared.”
Agent Willow walks back to the seateddetective with her arms crossed and a look of deep concentrationexpressed on her face. She plants one thigh on the edge of the computerdesk, then asks, “So do you think that it’s merely a coincidence thatall of these missing students just happen to be studying the samesubject?”
“…Or just might happen to have the same teacher?” addsthe detective without looking up from her monitor, as the glow from themonitor reflects back upon her beautiful green eyes.
“Do you think it’s enough to go on?” asks Agent Willow.
The detective breaks out of her concentration, thenlooks up from the screen and replies, “Well, other than placing a blackvan at three different locations, and the fact that most of the missingwomen attended the same University . . . I guess this is the only leadwe have to work with.”
Agent Willow: “I think we should go and pay this Professor Claussen a visit, what do you think?”
Detective Procton flashes a perfect white smile andoffers, “Well Cathy, I’ll tell you what; I’m supposed to go over andinterview a stripper by the name of Joy, who worked with the missingdancer over at the “Risqué Café” this afternoon at 2:30. Why don’t yougo over and see what you can find out from her. In the meantime, I’lldrive over to Beaumont University and see if I can have a talk withthis Professor Claussen fellow.”
“Yeah, wonderful! I get to watch naked women slidingdown poles; what a great way to spend my vacation!” complains AgentWillow, while rolling her eyes.
Detective Procton gets up from her chair and pulls herwrinkled polo shirt tightly to her athletic body. She gently places herhand on the agent’s shoulder, then says “Listen, you just go in there,ask a few questions and then get the hell outta’ there. I’m sure thatwith the way you look, there will be guys making all sorts of comments. . . Just try to block them out.”
“Yeah right;like you can ignore a room full of howlinghorn dogs!” says Willow, now taking a deep breath and exhaling.
Detective Procton gets out a little black book that’sfull of notes, picks out a fluorescent pink business card and hands itto Catherine. “This is the name and address of the place.”
Emily looks around as if somebody might overhear herthen offers some advice to her new partner: “Either button up yourcoat, or change your clothes entirely before you go over there. Youwill attract even more attention than you want to, dressed like that. Iwould also be sure to use the bathroom at your hotel before you leave.I have been in a few of those places and there’s usually white stickystuff on the walls and floors, and believe me; it isn’t gum!”
Agent Willow cracks a crooked smile, then says “Yeahwell . . . I’m sorry to say that I’m fully aware of that situation!”
* * * * * *
Monday April Third, 2:30 pm: Risqué Café Gentlemen’s Club
Agent Willow is guided down a dark and narrow hallway, somewhere behind the stage area of a seedy strip joint.
The waitress walking in front of the woman appears tobe of Mexican descent and of a questionable age . . . (at least a bityoung to be working in a sleazy place like this anyway).
The waitress stops, knocks on the door once, and thenpushes it open. The young girl waves her arm to enter and says, “Pleasecome.” She flashes a warm, almost innocent smile, and then bows herhead with a bit of shyness. A moment later, she turns and walks backdown the hallway with her hips swaying sexily from side to side beneathher scant outfit.
Agent Willow shakes her head and wonders to herself: “What on earth are you girls doing to yourselves?”
Catherine then turns and enters the cramped areaof the dressing room. She notices a blonde girl applying eye-liner on asmall wooden bench that is placed in front of three make-up stations. Arow of dented up lockers covered with graffiti stand in the background,looking as if they were salvaged from a run-down school or failedbusiness . . . (And most likely should have been left there). Onesingle bathroom stall is seen in a far back corner; however its brokendoor leans against a wall beside it, offering no privacy whatsoever.
“I could imagine it gets pretty crowded in here on the weekend, huh?” asks the agent.
A blonde woman sitting in front of one of the mirrorsbegins laughing, as she attempts to hold her eyeliner steady . . .
“Yeah well, you know . . . ” the girl starts to saybefore pausing in mid sentence to concentrate, carefully drawing twolines on her bottom lids, then tracing two more above her gorgeous blueeyes. She finishes, blinks her eyes a few times, and then continues inher southern drawl: “I know it could be a helluva lot worse! I’veworked at a couple places where I had to paint ma’ self up in the backof ma’ little Honda Civic, and believe me, there aint’ a lotta room inone o’ them either!”
The two women begin laughing in unison, as the dancer picks up her lipstick, rolling the tip out.
Catherine continues to smile in thought at the comment,as she pulls her badge out of her pocket to show the woman someidentification.
“Hi, I’m Agent Willow . . . Crime Scene Investigation, Las Vegas Nevada” she offers, now extending her hand.
The blonde quickly looks at her badge, then shakeshands with the agent and says “Hi there! They call me Joy, believe itor not . . . Even though I end up acting like a total bitch by the endof the night!” The dancer then resumes applying her lipstick . . .
“Yeah well, I can remember those days unfortunately;guys trying to get their money’s worth . . . Always grabbing hold of alittle more than they’re supposed to be,” the agent recalls with afrown.
Catherine sits down beside the dancer, causing the wooden bench to teeter dangerously!
“Whoa, careful girl . . . This rickety bench might nottake the weight of both a us!” the dancer says, while snapping the capback onto her lipstick and cracking a smile. “So, Las Vegas? . . .You’re a long way from home girl!”
Agent: “Yeah well, it’s not because I have any great love for New York, believe me.”
Catherine’s smile slowly begins to fade, as she brings up the real reason that she’s in town . . .
Agent: “So, I understand that you worked with a girl thatdisappeared a little over a week ago, one who dances under the name of“Cookie?”
Dancer: “Yeah . . . It’s quite a shame. She was a real sweetheart too. Her real name was Lucy.”
Agent: “So, you know her fairly well?”
Dancer: “Yeah, pretty much. She mostly worked on weekendsbecause of school and all. Plus we always made the most money onweekends anyway.”
Joy begins to primp her straight, long blonde hair inthe mirror before her, brushing her neatly cut bangs away from hereyebrows. The woman then stops brushing her hair for a moment, andbegins to chuckle slightly as she remembers, “Ya know, that girl justcracks me up!”
Catherine smiles then asks, “And why is that?”
Dancer: “Well, she used to sprinkle a little bit o’ that bodyglitter stuff on her tushy. She used tell me that it was her little “secret” to the trade.”
Catherine rolls her eyes and responds, “Hey, whatever works, right?”
Dancer: “Hey you better believe it; them tips can make or break a girl!”
Agent: “Well, I was wondering if you could tell me any otherdetails about her; if she was dating anybody or if she had any regularcustomers that might have been following her around?”
Dancer: “Lucy? Nah . . . She was pretty focused on gettingthrough school, so she didn’t have much time for a man in her life.”
The blonde twists her torso from side-to-side, and thenadjusts her boobs within her red, micro-sized bikini top. Turning tothe agent beside her, she says, “You know; I really have to admire thefact that she was dancing only to pay for her tuition. I’d just lovemore than anything to go back n’ get my diploma.”
Agent: “You mean never finished school?”
Dancer: “Nah . . . Ya’ll know how it goes: I got married realyoung to this guy named Earl, livin’ in a trailer down in Carolina.Next thing ya know, I got a kid by another guy and he ends up bein’husband number two . . . Livin’ in a trailer that was more beat up thanthe first one. Then, I got mixed up with drugs fer a spell . . . Spentsome time in jail n’ did the rehab thang.”
Agent: “Well, unfortunately . . . I ran a ways down that road myself for a few years.”
Dancer: “You? Naw.”
Agent: “Oh yeah . . . I ran away from home and lived in thefast lane for a few years, just being young and foolish. Then after afew years, I burned out. Eventually I returned to Montana, only to findthat my folks had gotten tired of waiting for me to grow up themselves.”
Dancer: “Wow . . . Just packed up n’ left ya, huh?”
Agent: “Yeah. I learned to be independent . . . Well I prettymuch had to be, if I was going to survive. So . . . I decided to putthe favors that the good Lord gave me to use. I danced for quite a fewyears and eventually socked away enough money to go back to school, andended up studying forensics.”
Dancer: “No shit; so that’s why you’re up here, you feel some kind of connection with this Lucy girl.”
Agent: “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Plus: my daughterLindsey was her roommate. The two of them were both going to BeaumontUniversity, and they were splitting the rent on an off-campusapartment.”
Dancer: “Oh, no kiddin’?” The woman pauses in thought, andthen says “Ya’ know, I do remember Lucy mentioning that she had aroommate.”
Agent: “So how did you end up in New York then?”
Dancer: “Well, I just couldn’t take it no more down South, so I just up n’ left.”
The blonde stands up from the wooden bench, grabs ahandheld mirror, then turns around to check out the reflection of herfirm ass . . . first pulling her g-string up into the crack of herbutt, then plucking it outward so it barely covered each cheek.
Agent: “Well, what about your kid?”
Dancer: “Yeah, well . . . I miss my little boy everyday. Butmy mother-in-law has got custody of him now, and I know he’s better offwith her anyway.”
Agent: “. . . And now you’re just trying to make ends meet.”
Dancer: “Exactly: just keeping food on my table and a roof over my little ole’ head.”
The girl smiles, as she pulls the side strings of herpanties up high over her hips, then turns in side profile to check herlook, just one last time in the mirror.
Agent: “So, are you using now?”
Dancer: “Oh hell no! I’ve been out of rehab for eleven months now and I’m still clean n’ sober!” (She smiles with pride)
Agent: “Good, that’s what I like to hear! So anyway, back to Cookie . . . Or Lucy if you’d prefer.”
Dancer: “Yeah sure. So anyway, I told the detectives prettymuch everthin’ that I knew about the girl at the time. But two daysago, that same old guy that used to come in to watch Lucy, shows up . .. what did she call him? . . . Oh yeah, the perfessor.”
Agent: “A professor used to watch her dance?”
Dancer: “Yeah, she said he was a teacher at her college, so she always called him the “professor.”
Agent: “Oh really, and he came in here quite a bit?”
Dancer: “Well, once or twice a week anyway, he always left good tips too!”
Agent: “So he was a regular customer.”
Dancer: “Well, he wasn’t in here as often as some of these guys who come in every night, blowing their paychecks.”
Agent: “And did this guy ever follow her around . . . Like, outside the club?”
Dancer: “Nah, nothing like that at all. But he did pay for acouple of dances in the private room with her.” (The blonde lights up acigarette, and blows a cloud off into the air). “I do remember the twoof us laughing at some of his requests though!”
Agent: “Why is that?”
Dancer: “Well, he used to get her into the room alone, and youknow how most guys are; they’d be climbing all over you, or want yourubbin’ up against them n’ stuff. But this guy was different. That oldguy would have her pose for him and he would be moving her arms andlegs around to the position that he liked.”
Agent: “You mean like mannequin modeling . . . like you might see kids doing in the mall from time to time?”
Dancer: “Yes, exactly! And he was real particular aboutit too! He didn’t want her blinkin’ or twitchin’ or anything. He saidit was important to keep perfectly still or the entire effect would beruined.”
Agent: “So, this guy was a control freak.”
Dancer: “I don’t know about all that, we both thought the guywas actually kinda’ sweet. Besides, I think Lucy sort of enjoyed it;she once told me that havin’ that old man movin’ her around like thatand havin’ to keep herself still used to make her horny as hell!”
Agent: “So she liked being dominated?”
Dancer: “Nah, I think she just liked the idea of being admiredlike that, without any sex bein’ involved. Hell, what woman doesn’t want to be looked at an’ adored?”
Agent: “Yeah; I guess you have a good point there.”
Dancer: “Well anyway, I remember he gave Lucy his businesscard, and mentioned somethin’ bout doin’ some private modeling for him,but she passed on it, and eventually gave the card to me. I figured theidea sounded kinda’ bogus, so I tossed the card. But then when hestopped by the other day, he gave me the same exact card as well.”
Agent: “Do you still have it?”
Dancer: “Sure I do; someplace in this mess!”
The girl begins digging through a bunch of cosmetic stuff that’s scattered about the desk in front of her.
Dancer: “But ya know what the weirdest part was? The guy nevereven asked where Cookie was when he got here. I actually had to bringit up in conversation, and he didn’t seem to be surprised that she wasmissing. He just said somethin’ like “I’m sure she’s feeling perfectlyfine.”
The dancer spots the card and hands it to Agent Willow.
Dancer: “Anyway, I thought to myself; this poor girl goes outof her way to turn the guy on, do ask he asks, so he could at leastshow some concern!”
The agent looks at one side of the item, which isactually just a plain business card that would be given to a futurestudent or their parents when they were looking to get accepted intothe college. But when she flips the card over, it has the professor’spersonal address written on the back. It reads:
119 Pine Hollow Road
* Stop by anytime if interested!
Just then, a burly looking man with a sleeveless black shirt and tattoos enters the doorway . . .
“Hey! Joy! Get your little ass out there on stage, we got people waiting!” the man yells, causing the blonde dancer to slightly flinch!
The brooding owner then turns to look at the agent,quickly scanning her over . . . “Unless you plan on getting out thereand grinding with her, I suggest you move it on along; I got bills thatgotta be paid, honey!”
“Yeah right . . . It’s going to take more money to seeme out there than you’ll ever have!” says the agent, with a disgustedlook.
The man cocks his head back with laughter and says,“Then you better hurry up and make up your mind, cause’ we don’t havean old timer’s night, lady!”
The rude guy turns from the women and storms back down the hall. As he opens the stage door he yells back: “Joy, move your ass now!” then slams the door shut behind him.
Dancer: “Don’t pay any attention to him: he’s pretty much a certified asshole!”
Agent: “Now what would have given me that impression?”
The two women laugh in unison as they exit the smallroom, then walk down the dark and narrow hallway that leads to thestage door.
“So, how do I look?” asked the dancer, now flashing a wide innocent looking smile.
Agent: “Like your about to knock em’ dead, Joy.”
Dancer: “Oh please: just call me Jamie, or Miss Pressley . . .whichever. Joy is just the name that I use when I dance. Kinda for ol’time’s sake.”
“Ok, Jamie it is!” The agent replies with a smile. Thenin a more serious tone, she says, “You just be sure to take care ofyourself, ok?”
Dancer: “Oh please (swipes her arm away in the air) I wasraised a tomboy, and I can handle myself . . . But thanks for theconcern all the same.”
The two women embrace each other, as if they’d known each other for all of their lives . . .
Before the dancer opens the door to the stage, sheturns and gives her hand to Agent Willow and looks at her withsparkling blue eyes to say, “You know, I respect the fact that you tooktime off an’ cash money out of your own pocket to come up her and helpthis girl out. Lucy is a really sweet girl and she has too much goingfor her to be mixed up in this kind of life.”
Agent: “Yeah well . . . I think you both do!”
With that, the twenty eight year old blonde known as“Joy” steps through the door and waits behind a ratty velvet curtainfor her music to begin . . .
* * * * * *
Several hours later, the two police women meet back at the police station to exchange their notes . . .
“Well, I’m glad to see that you made it back in onepiece!” says Agent Willow, setting her purse down. She immediatelyasks, “So what did our professor have to offer?”
“Well . . . He might end up being a tough egg tocrack,” answers the detective in a discouraged tone. Emily opens up herlittle black notebook, and then says, “He certainly didn’t deny knowingsome of the girls as his students.”
“Wait . . . He didn’t think it was odd that at leastfive of these missing girls were in his classes?” Agent Willow askedwith a tone of skepticism.
“Well look; I don’t want to push this guy or spook himoff!” warns Detective Procton. “I’m going to have to approach him in away that doesn’t make him seem guilty right off the bat!”
“That’s fine, but what did he have to say?” Catherine asks impatiently.
Emily: “I showed him a photo of the Indian girl first and hetold me that he may recall having seen her walking around campus. Ithen got out a photo of the Asian exchange student named Swan, and hegot very emotional . . . Telling me that she was one of his beststudents and that he had heard some rumors floating around about herhaving some troubles with renewing her entry visa.”
Agent Willow: “Well, I can have immigration look into that. What else did he have to say?”
Emily: “I then brought out a photo of Velma Livingston and hesaid that he literally interviews hundreds of students per semester andcouldn’t possibly be expected to remember them all.” The detectivesighed, then continued, “He did recall having Maria Sanchez and theolder Fonda girl as students and even mentioned that Bridget may haveeven had a crush on him for a brief period.”
Agent Willow: “Well, that’s typical; a girl her age, away fromhome for the first time in a strange new place. Sometimes girls willpursue the father figure . . . It gives them some kind of safety net.”
Emily: “Well regardless, the professor said he never acted on it and did his best not to mislead her.”
Agent Willow: “Yeah, I’ll just bet he did.” The woman puts herhands on her hips then asks, “So, did this guy act nervous or anything?”
The detective shrugs her shoulders slightly, thenanswers, “No; not really. In fact I hate to admit it, but the old guywas actually pretty charming.”
Agent Willow rolls her eyes then mumbles, “Great.”
“Well, other than the fact that I felt like he was “eyeing me over” the entire time,” recollects the detective.
Emily smiles and crosses her arms, almostappearing to be in a daze, reflecting on her afternoon with thegentleman . . .
Agent Willow gets a concerned look on her face then asks “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re developing a crush on this guy?”
The detective replies with: “Ewww! Catherine, Jack Claussen is almost twice my age; come on!”
Agent Willow gives the detective a look that says she’s not convinced.
Emily: “No, seriously! . . . I’m just saying that theprofessor is a very charming man. The guy has this way of letting youknow that he thinks you’re special, without having to actually comeright out and say it.”
“Sure, I just bet he does,” says Catherine Willowflatly. The agent crosses her arms over her chest, then tells herpartner the bad news: “Well, I talked to this dancer named Jamie . . .Joy is actually just her dance name, but anyhow, she told me about alittle fetish that your charming professor has.”
“That guy has a fetish?” the detective prompts her with a confused look. “Do tell!”
Agent Willow: “Well, your “Mr. Charming” started coming down to thestrip club on a regular basis, once he found out that this Lucy girlwas dancing there in her spare time.”
The detective shrugs her shoulders and says, “Well, theman is single and he has never been married. He probably was justlooking for some company. The fact that one of his students workedthere may be purely coincidental.”
Agent Willow gives her partner a dirty look, as if she seriously doubts it.
“Ok, I’m sorry!” Emily apologizes. “Please continue.”
Agent Willow: “Anyway, he apparently used to pay for privatedances, and only requested this “Cookie” girl. Now the dancer that Italked to told me this guy wasn’t really interested in your typical lapdance.”
Emily: “Alright, so what was he into?”
Agent Willow takes a deep breath, and then tries herbest to explain: “The guy used to pay her to stand perfectly stillwhile he posed her.”
“I don’t get it,” says Detective Procton with a confused expression on her face. “What?”
Agent Willow: “Ok listen: you know how clothing stores at themall will sometimes have living models pose like mannequins in theirwindows? . . . There will typically be a bunch of people standingoutside, trying to make the models laugh or just lose theirconcentration.”
Emily: “Sure. I remember going Christmas shopping down inManhattan one year, and Macy’s had a bunch of them posed in theirwindow and by the escalators. It’s called freeze modeling.”
Agent Willow: “That’s exactly what I‘m talking about! Anyway,it sounds like our professor gets off on that sort of thing.”
The petite detective crosses her arms over her chest,and begins pacing back and forth in front of her partner. After a briefmoment of silence, she speaks up concluding, “So the professor is intoobjectification.”
Agent Willow: “I’m not so sure that I follow you.”
Detective Procton pulls her long blonde hair up overher ear, and then begins her explanation. “This guy is turned on by theidea of reducing an animated woman into an inanimate object. Ina suspended state, her physical beauty, sexuality, even her personalfreedom is there at his disposal. The woman is reduced to functioningonly as an exhibit, serving as a symbol, a reminder of what she oncewas. Now lifeless and inert, her physical beauty is sustainedindefinitely for his viewing pleasure and can be admired at anytime hechooses.”
“Sort of like if he was to pass a beautiful stranger onthe street; he seeks to relive that brief moment with the woman againand again,” adds Agent Willow.
Detective Procton answers: “Oh absolutely. The femalenow becomes an “object” or even a “muse” if you will, allowing hercaptor a certain level of voyeuristic spectatorship.”
Agent Willow shakes her head, and then says, “No wonderwhy artists used to sculpt statues in tribute to the most beautifulwomen!”
Emily: “Yeah, it’s pretty much the same idea. If I recall, the term is called being a statuephile.”
“You’re kidding me . . . a statuefile? Now that’s a term that I haven’t heard of before!” says Agent Willow with a surprised look.
“Oh yes!” states the detective. “In fact, it’s actually listed in one of my profiling manuals.”
Agent Willow makes an odd look at her partner, thendigs the little black book from out of her purse that she has beentaking notes in. She flips open the cover, sliding a plain whitebusiness card out to hand to the detective. As she gives her the card,she states, “I’m not exactly sure how this little card fits in with allof this, but the professor gave it to Lucy. He also gave a card to thedancer that I talked with this afternoon . . .”
Emily looks at the card, and then observes, “This isjust a card that would be given to a student that was looking to getaccepted.”
“Yes, I realize that, but turn it over,” suggests the agent.
Detective Procton flips the card, and then reads the hand-written printing out loud:
119 Pine Hollow Road
* Stop by anytime if interested!
The detective looks up with a confused look and asks, “So what is this all about?”
Agent Willow: “Apparently, you buddy the charming professor,approached Lucy about doing some modeling work “off the clock”so-to-speak.”
Emily: “So did she take him up on the offer?”
Agent Willow: “Well, from what Jamie told me, Lucy wasn’t upfor the idea. She then gave the card to Jamie, thinking that she mightneed the extra money. Then a few days ago, this same guy stopped at theclub and handed Jamie the same card.”
Detective Procton begins pacing back and forth at thefront of the room. She runs her fingers through her long, whitishblonde hair, letting it fall off the back of her shoulders and thenstops abruptly . . . “So, did this dancer say what the professor wantedher to pose for?”
Catherine Willow shrugs her shoulders and only offers,“Maybe this guy does sculpture work in his spare time; who knows?”
Detective Procton begins to pace back and forth onceagain, and then suggests, “Well, so what if we send this Jamie girl inas bait?”
Agent Willow: “Hmm, you mean just to see if he bites?”
Emily: “Sure; it would be just like a prostitution sting!”
Agent Willow: “Naw . . . I think I know this Jamie girl prettywell. She’s willing to co-operate, but I don’t see her as being thetype to just sit there and patiently pose for somebody.”
Emily: “Well you could at least ask her if she’d be willing to do it. If not her, then one of us could try it . . .”
Agent Willow: “Ah, hey; I’m pretty confident in my body, butthat might be pushing it . . . I mean, maybe when I was younger.”Catherine pauses in silence for a moment then asks, “Besides, wherewould we put the wire?”
Emily cracks a smile at the thought, but then quicklyloses it when she says, “Well unfortunately, I don’t think we haveenough for a formal search warrant; what we really need to do is get a look inside this guy’s house.”
Agent Willow slowly walks across the room then comes toa stop in front of the large schematic victim tree that’s mounted onthe wall . . .
“All of these missing people and all we have to workwith is a lousy business card . . . Unbelievable!” says Catherine.
“And don’t forget about those three cars that thepolice found out on state lands!” adds Detective Procton, now walkingover to the side of her partner.
Agent Willow: “Yeah well, those didn’t do us much good.”
The detective gently rubs Catherine’s shoulder thenassures, “Just give me a chance to get this guy to open up to me.Sooner or later, he’s bound to slip up, just like they all do.”
“Yeah well, I don’t know if this Lucy girl can afford to wait that long!” replies Agent Willow with a tone of deep concern . . .
* * * * * *
Thursday April 6th, 3:48 pm (present day)
Agent Willow takes turns between looking at her GPSnavigator and keeping her eyes out for oncoming traffic. The suddenring tone of her cell phone overtakes the constant drone of the car’sengine. Catherine quickly grabs the phone and flips the cover open withher right hand, as her left cuts the steering wheel hard . . . Causingher tires to squeal as they turn onto Pine Hollow Road . . .
“Hello there!” yells Agent Willow, now trying to correct her oversteer and nearly taking out a mailbox!
“Hi Catherine, it’s Detective Procton,” says a familiar feminine voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes Emily; how did you make out?” asks Agent Willow, now watching house numbers on both sides of the road.
“I should arrive on campus in about five minutes,” says the detective, now looking at her watch. “Where are you?”
“I’m just going for a ride up Pine Hollow Road,”replies Catherine, as she passes a house bearing the number sixty onthe mailbox.
Emily: “What the hell are you doing over there? I thought you wanted to talk to this guy in person? He’s at the university right now…”
“Yeah well, you meet one creep . . . then you’ve metthem all!” replies Catherine. Then her voice takes on a more serioustone. “Listen, I just left the strip club a little over an hour ago,and the owner told me that Jamie hasn’t been to work in the last fewdays.”
Emily: “So did you get an address of where she was living?”
Agent Willow: “Already ahead of you. I stopped and pulled theaddress from the DMV. When I finally found the apartment complex, hercar wasn’t there. I ended up getting the onsite property manager toopen the place up, and everything looked to be in place at her placewith no sign of a struggle. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Jamieeither, or her Honda Civic for that matter!”
The agent continues to watch the numbers of the houses, as number seventy eight flashes by.
Emily: “Hmm, maybe she felt homesick.”
Agent Willow: “I seriously doubt it from what she told me.”
Emily: “Well anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea to besnooping around the guy’s house without a warrant. And I definitelydon’t want you going over there without me. Besides, if Chief Austinknew you were out there, he’d send you packing back to L.V.!”
Agent Willow: “Oh, relax honey! I just want to see what kind of house this guy lives in.”
Emily: “Well just remember: there are a lot of people that have invested a lot of time into this case, so don’t blow it!”
Agent Willow: “Yeah I know, and I promise that I’ll becareful. I just wish I could be there when you whip out that businesscard, so I could see the look on his face!”
Emily: “I’m being serious Catherine; don’t go poking aroundover there. Remember: this guy is still innocent at this point.”
Agent Willow: “Well, if anybody asks, tell them that I was going to apply for a modeling job!”
The woman begins laughing and quickly flips her razorphone closed, before her partner gets a chance to reply. She looks upjust in time to see house number 112 pass by on her left . . .
On the other end of the line, Emily gives up and shutsthe cover of her phone as well. A moment later, she drives past a greenroad sign that reads:
BEAUMONT UNIVERSITY
EXIT 2 MILES
Agent Catherine Willow begins to slow the speed of herrented sedan, as she comes to a small grouping of houses on the rightside of the road . . .
“One sixteen . . . One seventeen . . . One eighteen . .. (she comes upon a heavily wooded area that continues for an eighth ofa mile) Well what the hell?” says the agent out loud, as she continuesto stare through the trees. The woman speeds up the car, until thewooded lot on her right fades off further from the roadside, until itstops abruptly.
A very well kept brick faced house comes intoCatherine’s view. Several perfectly trimmed hedges line the front ofthe house, with sporadic flowers planted here and there. A thick,six-foot wall of hedges hide what appears to be a large in-ground poolout back.
Catherine brings the rented sedan to a stop, and thenwaits in her car at the edge of the concrete driveway, trying to decideon her next move . . .
Tilting her rearview mirror downward, Agent Willowreaches into her purse and digs out her lipstick. Catherine spreads onan even layer of bright red lipstick, then primps her strawberry blondelocks . . . Winking at her reflection once seeing the results. Sheshifts the car back into drive and pulls onto the clean white concretedriveway and comes to a stop a good ten feet away from the garage door.The agent shifts into park, pulls the keys from the ignition, thenleans forward to pull her sport jacket off of her shoulders. Tossingthe coat onto the passenger seat, Catherine slips a fresh stick of guminto her mouth and quickly exits the car . . .
As the thirty-eight year old approaches the front doorof the home, she tucks her yellow turtleneck tightly into her blackLevi jeans, so that it clings snug to her curvaceous body . . . Thecool afternoon breeze causes two small impressions to form on hernipples! The investigator quickly scans over the impressive landscapingbefore stepping onto the porch.
“Well, what else are you going to do when you’re almostsixty, and still single?” the woman thinks to herself. Catherinequickly pushes the doorbell, before she gives herself a chance tochange her mind . . .
“Bing-Bong-Bing-Bong . . .
Bong-Bong-Bing-Bong.”
As Catherine hears the doorbell play out itsprogrammed ditty, her heartbeat begins to pick up a little in pace. Sherecites in her mind, exactly what she’s going to say to the old man,when he opens the door . . . “Well if he answers the door!” she thinks to herself.
The agent looks up the driveway, and for the first time, realizes just how quiet this neighborhood is.
After a moment, the woman presses the doorbell a second time . . .
“Bing-Bong-Bing-Bong . . .
Bong-Bong-Bing-Bong.”
The agent braces her hands on her hips, hoping that the owner won’tbe there to answer the door. After a few seconds, she leans towards thedoor to look if she can see through the patterns in the glass windowthat’s mounted in the door . . . but it does no good.
“Well that’s truly a shame” the Agent Willow says outloud, as she quickly turns around and heads back to her car. She opensthe driver’s door and grabs her jacket from the front seat, pulling itback on. Catherine also grabs her cell phone, and flips the cover open.The agent scrolls through the menu and selects “Vibration mode on” todisable her normal ring tone, (just in case!)
Agent Willow pulls the keys from the ignition, slamsthe car door, then walks a few feet ahead of the rented Ford and squatsdown to study the concrete surface beneath her. . .
“Hmm, no oil spots here,” the woman thinks to herself, as she turns her head from side to side. “…And I mean none what-so-ever! I guess that would be strike one against the beat-up black van theory . . .”
The agent approaches the large two-bay garage doors infront of her and notices that the outbuilding has no windows. She grabsthe door handle and jiggles it in her hand, but finds it locked.
“Catherine, you dummy . . . what would be the chances of a house like this not having an electric garage door opener?”
The thirty eight year old agent chuckles to herself asshe steps across the white concrete onto the perfect green lawn thatsurrounds her. Looking downward, she notices a perfectly dug one bythree inch deep separation line that divides the grass lawn, from thedriveway. In fact (she scans the front lawn) . . . Everything in theyard: from the flowerbed island in the center of the lawn; too theblack plastic edgings holding in the red bark chips beneath theperfectly trimmed shrubs . . . All had a perfectly dug moat surroundingthem!
“Wow, this guy is a total perfectionist!” thinksCatherine to herself, as she walks down the slight banking that leadsto the back yard. The woman reaches the two chain link gates and slowlypulls the latch in the middle upwards.
“Hmm, even the gate lever is oiled . . . No squeaks!” says the impressed agent.
Catherine proceeds, stepping through the opened gate,then out towards the large in ground pool. She notices a curly slidemounted in the concrete directly across from her, on the opposite sideof the pool. At the far end, a diving board is mounted above theconcrete, and sits idle. The inside of the pool, like everything else .. . is kept in immaculate condition.
“Now how often does a guy that is his ageactually use this stuff?” asks the agent, as she approaches a smallstorage shed that is designed to resemble a tiki bar. The woman peeksinside momentarily, and then concludes: “Yep, nothing in there but poolstuff.”
The agent scans over the backyard, noticing tintedwindows on an enclosed porch to her left, and a small two-story barnout past the pool and beyond the wall of hedges to the right. “I guess I could check those out,”thinks the agent to herself, as she starts to walk toward the glassenclosed patio, which also appears to serve as a rear entrance to thebasement of the house. Catherine jiggles this handle as well, but findsthat it’s also locked.
The agent mumbles, “Nobody’s luck is that good.” Shethen scans the wall of hedges looking for an opening . . . But fails tosee one.
“I can’t believe this is the only entrance to the outer backyard,” thinksCatherine to herself, as she squeezes her ass between the brick of thehouse and the galvanized pole at the end of the chain link fence. Asshe pulls herself through to the other side, she looks back at thenarrow opening and thinks, “I’d like to see the old man pull that one off!”
Catherine walks around the wall of hedges that hide thepool and notices an area of overgrown weeds and small trees to theleft. As she steps over broken tree limbs and walks through the weeds,she comes across a large briar bush. The agent notices what she thinksis a pink ribbon used as a boundary marker hanging from a thorn on thebush. However, a closer look reveals that it’s actually a piece of tornclothing. Catherine carefully pulls the material away from the thornson the bush and then turns it over for a closer inspection . . .
The tag on the back of the faded pink material reads:
From the Kate Smith Collection
Size: medium
“Well now, what the hell would that be doing backhere?” asks Agent Willow out loud. The woman cracks a slight smile, asshe puts her first new clue in the front pocket of her tight blackjeans.
Agent Willow scans over the area that she’s standingin, looking for any other items, then notices an object shining beneaththe overgrowth of weeds and pine branches about five feet away.Stepping closer, the agent recognizes the outline of what could be arusty door, also partially hidden beneath the pine branches. Catherinebends down and starts pulling the tree limbs off to the side andsurprisingly, two metal doors soon come to view.
She stands upright, and then calculates the distance of the rusty old doors, to the back of the house.
“It must be a bomb shelter,” thinks the agent toherself, as she squats back down to inspect the lock. The woman holdsthe master lock in her palm, noticing that it’s fairly new, due to thereflection of the chrome plating and lack of rust stains from the oldersteel doors.
“He must been hiding something in there and it must have been recently!” thinks the agent to herself.
Catherine drops the lock and it “clunks” against thedoors. She turns around and starts walking towards the storage barn inthe back corner of the yard. The woman cups her hand above her eyes andpresses her face against the window. Although the interior of the barnis fairly dark, she can see a large light gray object inside. At first,she thinks it’s just sheetrock stacked up and leaning against somesawhorses. But once her vision adjusts to the darkness, she noticeswhat appear to be a turn signal marker, a rear bumper and an exhaustpipe sticking out just below it. Turning her head at a different angle,she looks at the length of the vehicle in profile, and notices that itappears to be a van!
“Hmm, I wonder if that’s a fresh coat ofprimer gray?” thinks the agent, as she digs into her jacket and pullsout her wallet. Flipping it open, she removes a Visa card . . . Thenwedges the flexible plastic inside the door jam where the lock is andpatiently works it back and forth. After several attempts, the doormakes a tell-tale “click” noise and slowly swings open.
Catherine chuckles to herself, remembering how thecredit card trick got her into her first apartment after locking herkeys inside . . . “Several times in fact!”
The agent steps inside, quickly glancing around, noticing several tools hanging from the walls of the barn . . .
“Let’s see what we’ve got here: a shovel; severalrakes; a rolled up garden hose, and hedge clippers of course,” theagent says quietly, as if someone might hear her. She also sees a stackof tires that are stored in one corner, with a pair of jumper cableshanging from a hook above; . . . A wood saw ; heavy duty bolt cutters;a pair of . . . “Hey wait a minute, bolt cutters! Now those should come in handy!” thinksthe woman, as she runs her hand across one of the wooden handles. Theagent pauses in thought momentarily, and then turns to face the vehiclethat is directly beside where she is standing.
Agent Willow carefully inspects the primer gray paint,looking for any signs of black paint chips. She notices several dentsand dings that form shadows beneath the dull painted surface . . .
“Hmm, . . . must have been in too much of a hurry to bother doing any body work from the looks of it,” theagent thinks to herself, as she runs her fingers across some grayoverspray that covers a yellow side marker on the front fender. Shealso notices the empty mounting holes from where the van’s emblems usedto be.
On a hunch, Agent Willow reaches for the passenger sidedoor handle and pulls it upward. To the woman’s surprise, the doorcreaks open!
The agent examines the inside lip of the doorsill andsees exactly what she hoped for; the inside of the van, including thedoors and the roof are painted utility white at the factory. Howeverthe fresh gray primer was sprayed from the outside and it failed tocover the black paint inside the door jams, from a previous paint job!
Catherine quickly cracks a smile, and then shuts thedoor. The agent walks around to the back of the van and swings bothcargo doors open, only to see more black paint in these door jambs aswell. Agent Willow climbs inside and rummages through some oldcardboard boxes containing used text books, then slides several of themoff to the side. She then lifts up a pile of greasy old rags, only tofind a bright pink brassiere trimmed with delicate lace. The womanflips the undergarment over, and then looks at the tag to read:
LA PERLA
36C
“I wonder who was wearing this?” the agent asks herself out loud . . .
The investigator moves towards the rear doors, thensits down and slides her tush across the floor to get back out.Catherine then folds the bra into a square and plants clue number twosafely inside her coat pocket.
Walking over to the corner of the garage, Agent Willowgrabs the bolt cutters from the hook on the wall, and then exits thegarage. As Catherine makes her way back to where the bomb shelter doorswere, she quickly checks her wristwatch . . .
“Geeez . . . I hope this guy has a meeting after school tonight!” thinks the agent, as she quickly picks up the pace.
Catherine reaches the bomb shelter and goes right towork: first squatting down, then making several poor attempts to cutthe lock off with just the strength of her arms. She struggles with thecutters, until she decides that she just doesn’t have enough upper bodystrength to get the job done. The agent then spreads her knees andplaces the handles of the bolt cutters between her thighs. Catherinesqueezes the handles, as if using a “thigh master” with all of hermight. The agent’s legs begin to tremble, as the pressure of thehandles press into her thighs . . . she soon begins to moan in pain,until suddenly the lock snaps beneath her, sending the determined womantumbling off to the side and landing in the overgrowth of weeds!
“Damn!” she exclaims, as the investigator picks herself back up off the ground and brushes her clothing off.
“I guess all of these years of exercising finally paidoff! Says the agent out loud, now catching her breath. As Catherinetakes the broken lock out from the hoop, she guesses that pulling herbody up poles by using her legs when she was dancing, might have hadsomething to do with it as well!
Agent Willow pulls each door up and lets them fall backagainst the ground, then attempts to look inside. The woman wasexpecting to see a stairway, but instead notices a ramp leading downinto the darkness . . .
“Well that’s odd!” thinks the agent to herself. “What would you possibly take into a bomb shelter that would be so heavy that you couldn’t carry it in yourself?”
Catherine stares into the darkness below her, thendecides she better head back to the car to grab a flashlight . . .
In a fast paced walk, the agent makes her way acrossthe concrete patio and passes by a garage door at the lower back cornerof the house. The woman stops abruptly, and then takes a few stepsbackward to peak through the door’s dusty windows. Shielding the sunonce again with her hand, the agent smudges her nose against the glassto see what’s inside . . .
The garage stall is deep enough to hold two cars parkedend-to-end, as Catherine notices the two cars already stored inside.The nearest one is a white Honda Civic and the second appears to be amid-sized luxury sports car . . . Possibly foreign, and definitely redin color. The car also sports a tinted sunroof, which for someunexplained reason, has been left in the open position.
The agent recalls seeing something about the red car,or one similar to it, but doesn’t remember where it was, or why sheshould recognize it. She quickly proceeds on her way to the front ofthe house . . .
Catherine’s high-heeled boots “clack” against thesurface of the driveway at a fast pace, as she makes her way to thetrunk of the rental car. She opens the deck lid, pushing away an emptysuitcase off to the side; then pulls a black gym bag out from beneaththe speaker panel of the car. The agent pulls the zipper fully open andremoves a .45 caliber handgun from the bag. She quickly tucks thepistol down into the front waistband of her jeans, and then reachesback into the bag to retrieve her back-up weapon. She removes the smallderringer and its holster, then bends over to pull up her pant leg. Theagent quickly straps the weapon around her ankle, and then with somedifficulty, manages to pull the tight denim back down over the objectto hide it from view.
Agent Willow straightens her back, double checking her equipment . . .
“Ok, lets see here: two loaded weapons; my cell phone;a small hand held flashlight (she flicks the switch to make sure itworks), and a need to know!” says the agent, now slamming the trunk lidshut.
Catherine quickly makes her way back around to the rearof the house, until she is eventually confronted by the galvanizedfence post once again. The agent attempts to squeeze through the narrowopening once again, first removing her .45 from her waistband, and thenpressing her crotch tight to the metal pole. As she does, her denimLevis make a noticed scratching noise as her butt drags across therough brick (much like course sandpaper being rubbed against rusty oldsteel).
Once she breaks free, the agent looks back at thenarrow opening and mumbles to the pole sarcastically, “I hope it was asgood for you as it was for me!”
As Agent Willow steps back through the overgrowth nearthe bomb shelter, her cell phone begins to frantically vibrate insideher coat pocket. The investigator quickly pulls the phone out and flipsit open to hear Detective Procton’s voice on the other end . . .
“Hello Catherine, its Emily. Listen: I just left theUniversity, and unfortunately, I didn’t get to talk to the professor.”
Agent Willow: “Why, what the hell happened?”
Emily: “Well, according to the woman in the office, theprofessor doesn’t have any courses scheduled on Thursday afternoons!”
Agent Willow: “He doesn’t? . . . Well, that’s just great!”Catherine begins looking around the backyard, and then asks, “So whatdoes he do on Thursday afternoons?”
Emily: “Well, the secretary told me that he usually goes golfing.”
Agent Willow: “Well unfortunately, that doesn’t help me any. How long does he stay at the golf course?”
Emily: “Why would that matter to you?”
Agent Willow: “Because I just happen to be standing in theguy’s backyard, staring down into a hidden bomb shelter that I just cuta padlock off from!”
“Please tell me you didn’t,” says the detective,now rolling her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? You know you can’t doanything without a warrant, you’re going to compromise the entireinvestigation!”
Agent Willow: “I’m sorry Emily, but I don’t have the time towait for a warrant. I found the van parked in a storage barn out behindhis house. He must have painted it gray, thinking the authorities wereonto him. But I opened the doors, and saw black paint overspray in thedoor jambs. I also found a lacy pink bra in the back on the floor, tryexplaining that one!”
Emily: “Look, I understand that you’re determined to nail thisguy, but all of the evidence that you find without a proper warrantwill end up being tossed out!”
Emily’s warnings fall on deaf ears as Agent Willowcontinues, “When I was walking through the overgrowth near the house, Ifound a piece of faded pink fabric stuck to a thorn bush and it had atag on the back. The tag had a Kate Smith size medium printed on it!And there’s more, Emily. I’m standing here looking down into thebomb shelter and it has a ramp going down into it, instead of stairs.Now what would somebody need to take down there that would be so heavythat they needed a ramp?”
Emily: “I see your point. Now if you have the bra and thematerial from the thorn bush, we can get DNA from those back at thelab, but . . .”
Catherine cuts off her partner in mid sentence, andcontinues: “I also saw two cars parked behind the house in a garage. Ithink one was a sporty looking, foreign luxury car. It was either aMercedes or BMW with a sunroof, and red in color. I can’t help butthink that I may have seen a picture of it on your chart.”
There is a moment of dead silence on the other end ofthe phone. Then Detective Procton breaks the suspense and says, “ElaineBenes was driving a red BMW that was equipped with a sunroof, the daythat she disappeared!”
Agent Willow: “See I’m telling you . . . This has to be the guy!”
Emily: “Ok ok; you said there were two cars parked in the garage . . .”
Agent Willow: “Yeah, parked one in front of the other. The car nearest to the door was a white Honda Civic.”
Emily: “Didn’t you mention something about that dancer you talked to driving a Honda Civic?”
Agent Willow falls silent in thought, until a horriblefeeling overcomes her: “Oh, my God; you’re right! Jamie joked abouthaving to get dressed and applying her make-up in her Honda Civic.”
Emily: “Catherine, I don’t have a good feeling about all of this, I think you better get out of there!”
“No, I’m definitely going down in there. This sheltermight somehow lead me into the house and who knows what I might find atthe other end in there!” the agent says defiantly.
Detective Emily Procton pleads with her partner, “Wellthen, at least wait for me to get there! I’m only about thirty minutesaway . . .”
“Sorry kid, but I just can’t wait that long,” answersAgent Willow, as she flips the cover closed on the voice that’s yellingon the other end. The woman forces the cell phone down into the rightrear pocket of her tight denim jeans, then takes out her flashlight andturns it on.
Catherine steps down into the bomb shelter and managesto walk in for about the first five feet. She looks around feelingbrave, as the beam bathes the smooth gray walls of the concrete withlight. The agent reminds herself “It’s only a basement!” before shecontinues on, following the ray of light into the darkness that layahead.
At first, the agent was expecting the concrete shelterto be stale and mildewy. However, the air held a certain sweetness, asif it had been chemically treated . . .
“Reminds me of that sterile smell from inside a hospital!” the woman thinks to herself, while making a sour look.
As Catherine continued forward, her hard-heeled bootskicked up dust particles . . . giving the beam from her flashlight aneerie glow.
A moment later, the woman notices a wall several feet ahead of her.
“Are you kidding? . . . Don’t tell me that I wentthrough all of this trouble for nothing!” she thinks to herself,suddenly discouraged.
Agent Willow swings the flashlight to her right, andthen swings it back to her left side, where she sees a door that’scovered with rivets along the edges and made of heavy gauge steel. Alarge iron bar runs across the center of the door to prevent it frombeing forced open from the opposite side.
Catherine sets her flashlight down on the concretebelow her, then squats down and pushes up from underneath the bar,using the strength in her legs. After several attempts, the determinedwoman forces the bar to swing high enough, that its sheer weight causesit to pivot on its axis and fall backwards in the opposite direction.The iron bar makes a loud “clanking” sound as it falls back against thesteel door, causing the noise to echo throughout the hollow chamberbehind her.
“Careful girl, you don’t need to invite any unwanted attention!” the agent warns herself.
Agent Willow pushes back on the heavy door, causing itto slowly creak open, giving her access to the vault behind it. Shesteps through the wide doorframe and shines her flashlight around thenew opening. Catherine takes two steps ahead and suddenly walks intosomething that hangs from the ceiling in the darkness in front of her!
“HOLY SHIT!” exclaims the agent, as she ducks down andalmost loses her balance. She quickly waves the flashlight upward, onlyto embarrass herself by seeing a dangling pull cord for the lightfixture above her, swaying back and forth.
Catherine exhales, and then stands upward to pull on the cord.
“Click.”
The light flashes lazily several times, before itfinally illuminates to life. The bluish haze suddenly overtakes thearea that she’s standing in. Unfortunately, the bulb isn’t very brightand all it manages to do is cast a long shapely shadow of the womanacross the floor.
Catherine steps out from underneath the hazy blue light, and then continues into the darkness . . .
As the agent moves through the room, she illuminateswhere the corners of the floor and walls of the vault meet, thennotices something odd. The woman squats down, and then aims the lightbeam across the floor, which she notices is covered by plush redcarpeting and highly polished marble tiles. Catherine aims theflashlight through both ends of the vault and sees that the samecombination of materials runs the full length of the hallway.
By now, her eyes have come into focus and she can seesome faintly lit track lights that are mounted every five feet. Theseare seen mounted flush in the ceiling above, as well as six inches upfrom the floor and centered into the walls on either side of her.Neatly painted gold moldings separate the deep maroon painted wallsfrom the floor treatments below.
“What in the hell is this place?” whispers theagent to herself in wonder, as she aims the beam towards the darkenedmaroon walls ahead of her. The beam of light reflects off of severalshiny surfaces, causing it to bounce back at her eyes. The surfacesappear to be large glass windows that are mounted twelve inches abovefloor level.
“This wing appears to be some sort of private museum!”thinks the woman to herself as she approaches the first of what appearto be several viewing panels that are mounted into the walls.
Agent Willow aims her flashlight directly through theglass with curiosity. As the light penetrates the darkness of thebooth, its haunting contents are revealed . . .
“Oh Jesus!” the agent gasped, recoiling in horror. “Oh god no!”
Within the dark confinement of the booth in front of her, stands the partially illuminated body of a young woman!
Catherine clutches a hand to her chest in shock, andthen takes a long, deep breath. Stepping forward, she nervously leansin closer to the panel to get a better look . . .
As far as she could tell, the investigator was lookingat some sort of wax figure, judging by the way the rays of lightreflected off of the slight sheen on the exposed parts of the statue’sbody. Whoever the figure was modeled after must have been fairly young;Catherine was sure that she looked no older than twenty . . .Regardless, the agent felt that the realism was truly unsettling.
Now trembling, Agent Willow focuses the flashlight onto the figure’s face.
The female statue stood straight upright, with her eyesclosed and her head tilted to the side at an angle . . . almost as ifshe had fallen asleep while standing there. She had a cute face withrosy cheeks, and her expression looks relaxed: as if she was at peaceor experiencing some sort of dreamy contentment. The chestnut brown wigon her head was cut in a “Dorothy Hamel” style and even the looks ofthe figure itself held some physical resemblance to the seventiesOlympic skating star.
Still in shock from the unexpected sight, Agent Willowscanned the flashlight down over the figure’s athletic body, stillrepulsed by the realism of the detailing.
The figure was dressed in a white satin corset that wascinched tight at her waist. The support straps that connected to thebustier separated her breasts and even lifted them higher than theynormally would be. Two more support straps extended out from beneaththe sheer skirting that fluffed out from around her waistline, thenclipped to a pair of white thigh-high stockings. On her feet werea pair of white, closed-tip high heels with little bowties, whichhoused a pair of shapely legs.
“That satin corset she’s wearing clings to her curves a little too well!”thinks the agent, as she allows the ray of light to wander past thestatue’s narrow waist and flattened tummy. The light soon focuses upona white satin G-string with delicate flower patterns on its front panel. . . (a patch of brown pubic hair forms a small bump in the sheermaterial).
The flashlight lingers there for a moment . . .
“I doubt that Madame Tussaud would go through that much trouble!” the agent thinks to herself, in reference to the detailed anatomy.
Agent Willow turns around in the darkness and stepstoward the viewing panel that’s directly across the isle. The beam fromher light intrudes another booth, partially illuminating another figurethat’s dressed in some type of latex body suit. As Catherine waves theray across the woman’s smooth body, the light plays off of the shinyred “rubber like” surface. The latex looks so constricting that italmost seems to mold the figure’s body, rather than the outfitconforming to the shape of the woman.
Catherine notices that this figure is slightly out ofshape, (despite her restrictive attire), in comparison to the lean,perfectly shaped bodies of most store window mannequins. The fact thather creator chose to mold this woman’s body to appear average, or lessthan perfect, only added more of a sense of realism to the viewer.
What wasn’t realistic was the cheesy looking “tunnel tohell” that served as a backdrop to the piece. Consisting of paintedpapier-mâché, plaster and Styrofoam, the set reminded Catherine ofvarious haunted house midway attractions that she had experienced atthe county fair as a teenager.
“The entire idea must have been tongue-in-cheek,”thinks the agent to herself as she directs the light from thebackground, back to the glistening figure. It is only then, thatCatherine notices the cute pointed tail extending from the female’sbackside, as well as one not-so-subtle detail; the deep camel toeimprint in her groin area.
“Now that must be comfortable,” mumbles the investigator sarcastically.
Agent Willow shines the light upward to illuminate theserious expression on the figure’s face, and quickly notices the twored horns protruding from her burgundy colored pageboy styled hair.
Then there were the unavoidable horn rimmed glasses ofcourse, which almost ruined the somewhat erotic display entirely!
“Horn rimmed glasses on a mannequin?” questions Catherine, “Now that’s rather odd!”
But then again, there was nothing normal about the creepiness that surrounded her like a cold fog. . .
Agent Willow exhales a deep breath, as she slowly takesa few steps to the right, and then notices an engraved plaque that’smounted just below the next viewing panel. In the middle of the plaqueand surrounded by elaborate scrollwork are the words:
~ “A” Model Student ~
The extruded letters and scrollwork are painted in goldto match the moldings in the vault, and to offset the plaque’s deepmaroon color.
The agent aims the ray from her flashlight upwards toinvestigate the booth’s content, and unexpectedly lets out an audible“gasp” from her throat! The woman instantly takes a step backward andcups her mouth in horror, as a somewhat familiar face stares back ather from within the darkness . . .
Agent Willow quickly recognizes the figure as one ofthe missing college students, whose name is Swan! As the womanilluminates the effigy of the Asian exchange student, she can’t helpbut stare with curious fascination . . .
“My god . . . It looks exactly like her!” thinks the agent in silent amazement.
The Swan figure stands at attention, awash in the eeriedim light, but surrounded by a background of darkness. Dressed in apressed white dress shirt; a black tie; a short plaid skirt andknee-high stockings, the girl’s appearance is surely handsome. Therewas even a silky sheen reflecting off of her long black hair, much likethat seen on many supermodels in shampoo commercials.
The girl’s twinkling dark eyes, hauntingly staringforward from beneath her small and delicate wire rimmed glasses . . .as if to ignore the agent that was standing on the opposite side of theglass.
“This is just way too creepy! I mean, anestablished professor; in a respected position such as his, making . .. Well, whatever the hell these things are: dolls . . . or wax effigiesof his female students? Just how thoroughly sick do you have to be?”the woman asks herself out loud in disgust.
The agent shines her light over to the plaque beneath the next window and reads the title . . .
~“Hooters girl” ~
“Well of course we would have one of those now, wouldn’t we?” thinksthe agent to herself sarcastically. As she illuminates the booth above,Catherine recognizes yet another one of the missing students.
This figure appears to be Latino and is dressedaccordingly for the plaque that is placed on the outside wall belowher. She stands stock still, and is posed with a serving tray heldupward in one hand, with her other arm resting on her out-turned hip.
“I would guess that you’re supposed to be Maria?” asksthe agent, remembering her suntanned smiling face from the wall ofmissing persons back at the police station. As the investigator’s beamof light finds the woman’s familiar face, her expression now lookssomewhat baffled, with her mouth closed and her big dark eyes rollingback into their lids. Catherine concludes that if she wereliving, she might possibly ask why she was here . . .
“If only I could get inside one of these things to geta closer look at them!” Agent Willow whispers to herself, as shefocuses her flashlight on where the glass panel meets the paintedwooden moldings surrounding it. She pokes her nails along the top ofthe molding and glass momentarily, and then runs her fingertips alongthe bottom edge of the molding.
Assuming that the glass panel is sealed, the agent aimsher flashlight further ahead into the darkness and immediately noticesa second riveted steel door, but this one has a sliver of lightescaping from around its edges. Catherine quickly approaches the door,passing several more viewing panels on her way. She searches around theframework that holds the door, looking for a latch. After failing tofind one, the agent shines her light on a track that’s mounted on thefloor, and an identical track that’s mounted above her.
“This sucker is so heavy, it must have to be rolledlike a barn door!” says the agent under her breath, as she pressesagainst the object with both hands, and then her shoulder. However, thedoor refuses to budge.
Catherine says “Shit!” in a lowered voice, “There hasgot to be an access panel for the booths somewhere around here!”
Agent Willow turns around and aims the flashlight intothe dark towards where she originally came from. As she walks backthrough the darkness, her light glints off of every pair of eyes, whichseem to stare back at her from behind the glass panels on each side ofthe vault. The woman gets the chills and picks up the pace as she seesthe hazy blue light hanging overhead, just a few feet away. However,once she reaches the poorly lit area, she notices the silhouettes oftwo figures that stand perfectly still inside two alcoves in thehallway beyond!
Catherine stops in her tracks and took several deep breaths, as she shone her light over the immobile forms.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this one!” the agent cautions herself, now swallowing deep.
Agent Willow shines her light on the figure to theright briefly, then to the left, and finally straight ahead, noticingthat the hallway is much narrower here. The small ray of lightilluminates two different females standing on either side of the agent;each dressed identically in sheer white togas with red sashes tiedtightly around their waists. Both figures stand facing each other,positioned just outside an alcove that was carved from a plaster wallbehind them. The figures each held a tarnished antique candelabra,raised at chest level, as if to offer guidance through the narrowhallway that they occupied, as well as into the room beyond.
Catherine turns to the woman on the right, who was thinand leggy. She had an exotic looking face and is possibly Greek orItalian. The woman’s jet-black hair was slick and pulled tight to herscalp, ending in a knotted bun in the back. She stares glassilyforward, as if in a standoff with the other statue posed directlyacross the isle.
The agent immediately waves a hand in front of thefigure’s face, then chuckles slightly to herself at the hope of evergetting a reaction. (The Italian girl doesn’t even flinch, of course).
Swallowing hard, Agent Willow slowly stretched a shakyhand out to touch the woman’s cheek. Catherine’s fingertips gentlytouch the figure’s cold skin, causing her to quickly jerk her hand backas if getting a brief electric shock.
“Oh Jesus! She whispers at first. Catherine then squeezes thewoman’s wrist just above her hand which feels cold and stiff . . . Ofcourse there would be no pulse.
The agent was prepared for that one, but still feltdeeply repulsed by the creepiness of the vault and its chillingcontents.
Catherine leaned in close to the Italian girl’s faceand immediately notices that sweet sterile smell once again. She alsonoticed that beneath the sheen-like coating on her skin, there wereactually pores! The agent also noticed the woman’s eyes had intricateblood vessels running through the whites of her eyes . . .
“Those must be glass, they just have to be!” the agent assures herself.
Catherine brushes her hand down over the shoulder ofthe figure, then rubs her fingertips together: they did not have theslippery feeling that one would have after touching wax. The agentreaches around and pokes the tip of her finger into the figure’s arm .. . the skin surprisingly indents from the agent’s forceful touch!
Catherine’s heart sinks, as she steps back slowly awayfrom the staring woman with revulsion. The agent clumsily bumps intothe figure behind her, causing the second statue to wobble in placemomentarily . . .
“Oh gosh! I’m so sorry . . .” Catherine says out ofhabit, quickly reaching out and grabbing the figure’s arms to stabilizeher . . . before realizing that the girl statue most likely didn’tnotice.
Agent Willow shone her flashlight over the figure. Thesmall ray of light illuminates the woman’s most prominent features,which were partially hidden beneath her sheer toga (namely her fullbreasts, and the sharp curve of her hips). The investigator studies themid-eastern looking woman in silence for a moment, as the woman’s darkpiercing eyes stare directly through her. Catherine quickly noticesthat this figure, much like the last one, possesses incrediblyrealistic detailing, as well as the same sweet, almost sickening smell.
“I remember you!” whispers the agent softly, now rubbing a ribbony lock of the girl’s black hair in between her fingers. “You were the exchange student that was abducted from the gas station!”
The figure continues to stare forward in silence, withholding an answer without much of a choice.
Agent willow reaches for the girl’s chin, pressing itdownward in an attempt to look inside her mouth. With some minoreffort, the Indian girl’s jaw slightly opens to reveal her fine whiteteeth and a hidden tongue!
A hideous feeling begins to swirl inside Catherine’sstomach, as she pokes her index finger into the figure’s mouth. Herfinger rubs against the row of teeth, and a familiar squeaking noisesoon emits from inside!
The agent swallows hard once again, as she fights offthe taste of vomit in her mouth for the first time since she snuck inhere . . .
Agent Willow glances downward at two brownnipples that poke joyfully at the thin sheer material that containsthem. Catherine reaches out and grips the girl’s breasts with both ofher hands, lifting them upwards: they slightly give, but quickly bounceback stiffly in place as soon as they are released!
“This is totally f*cked up!” The agent states out loud. “These are no mannequins, and they surely aren’t made of wax!”
It is then, that Catherine thinks back to a comment that Detective Procton made back at the station: “.. . an animated woman, reduced to functioning only as an exhibit. Nowlifeless and inert, her beauty is sustained indefinitely for hisviewing pleasure.”
“But how would I have ever known, that such a far-fetched statement could be so true?” Catherine asks herself.
The agent squats down for one last test . . .
Catherine sets her flashlight at the statue’ssandaled feet. Reaching out into the darkness, she grasps the thinsheer material in one hand, and lifts the bottom hem of the toga upwardto get access to the motionless Indian girl’s undercarriage. With herfree hand, the agent brushes the backs of her fingers against thefigure’s “bristle like” pubic hair . . .
The woman concludes: “Yep, that’s real pubic hair alright.”
Agent Willow exhales a deep breath, and then runs hermiddle finger down through the rubber-like folds covering the statue’slabia . . . which parts with ease.
“I don’t need daylight to tell me what that is . . .” whispers the agent.
Catherine swallows deep once again, then makes a throatclearing noise, as she considers the unimaginable: she slowly pressesher middle finger against the figure’s vagina, and with some carefulmanipulation . . . The paralyzed girl gradually accepts theintrusion! The agent’s finger accidentally slips all the way in,until it feels the cold muscle tissue pressing back against her fromdeep inside!
“Holy shit! . . . That twisted f*ck!” the disturbed woman yells out, as she quickly pulls her finger back out and drops the hem in the darkness.
Agent Willow grabs her flashlight and jolts back upward in shocking dismay . . . “She’s real . . . In fact they all must be real!”
Catherine quickly backs away from the Indian girl infright, as the figure continues to stare through her complacently,despite having her mouth left open and the fact that she had just beeninvaded by another woman’s finger!
Agent Willow’s pulse quickened in the darkness, withthe dual sensations of anger and sadness. Both were feelings that shefelt whenever she was confronted by a new victim at a crime scene;particularly a victim that’s so young, so beautiful and with so muchmore ahead of her.
But only now, standing in the middle of the sicknessand perversion that surrounds her, could Agent Willow truly understandthis dastardly fellow’s intentions. Catherine envisions the professorslowly walking through the vault, looking over his frozen collection ofwomen, now provocatively posed with a glazed looks in their eyes, asthey silently let Claussen make love to each and every one of themthrough the glass.
A chill runs up the back of the agent’s spine from just the thought of it . . .
Suddenly, Agent Willow hears a familiar metal-on-metalclanking noise off to her far left, at the opposite end of the vault.She pauses in motion for a moment, until she hears the heavy steelentrance door being rolled open on its tracks. The agent quickly turnsthe flashlight off and crouches clumsily against the wall behind one ofthe figures.
As the brief light from beyond the opening door worksits way up the isle, Agent Willow peeks out around the Italian girl’senamel-coated thigh to notice a darkened figure now standing in thedoorway.
The stranger breaks the eerie silence of the room as hebegins to whistle a tune that’s familiar to the agent as “Sleepwalk” bySanto and Johnny.
Without warning, Catherine hears the clicking sound ofseveral toggle switches, which immediately begin to turn on the roundoverhead lights within the ceiling. As each light illuminates insuccession, the agent’s heart begins to beat faster and faster!
The figure’s dress shoes clacked and scuffed casuallyacross the floor, until all at once . . . The whistling and movementstopped.
Agent Willow cautiously looks down the hall, to see theman staring at one of his victims rather casually, with both handsplaced in the pockets of his golf slacks. From her crouched position,she turns her head to look in the opposite direction. Now that thevault is illuminated, Catherine sees that the walkway goes back asdeeply as the wing that she just came from.
“Christ, just how big is this place?” the agent wonders, as she quickly scans over the spacious area that she was crouching next to.
The “show room” was handsomely decorated with variouspieces of art and was painted in the same colors as the hallway thatled up to it. There was an elaborate chandelier hanging in the centerof the room, with an expensive Persian rug squared up directlyunderneath it.
Off in the far corner of the room, a giant Plexiglascubicle stands, containing several pieces of bedroom furniture. For allintents and purposes, the display looks much like something that onewould see in an upscale furniture store. And from the looks of thefeminine décor, it appears to be a girl’s room.
“I don’t even want to think of what that freak does in there!” thinks the agent in silence.
Then of course, there were the dozen or more victims ondisplay as well. Some in sexy free standing poses by themselves; a fewothers displayed in a group. Back in the corner and just a few feetaway from the Plexiglas cubicle, a few select others were standingstiff and upright behind several full length glass panels that weremounted flush within the wall . . .
Catherine notices that one of those figures wasnoticeably older: possibly around fifty. However, the other five wereconsiderably younger in age, including three girls that looked to bebarely in their teens, judging by their height and developing bodies .. . All of these victims appeared to be dressed in nothing more thantheir sleepwear.
“That dirty bastard has no boundaries!” thinksthe agent to herself as she reaches down to her waistline and rests heropened hand on the handle of her .45 caliber handgun.
The stranger’s footsteps begin to advance once again . . .
Agent Willow begins to breathe deeper, as her pulse picks up the pace even more . . .
“You’re the one with the loaded gun, don’t be such a coward!” theagent assures herself in silence. As the footsteps reach within a fewfeet of her crouched body, she notices a ringing sensation within herears as the suspense builds!
Two highly polished black wing tipped shoes stepdirectly in front of the woman, but they point in the oppositedirection away from her. Catherine cautiously arches her back,eventually standing completely upright, and then slowly draws herweapon from inside the waistband of her jeans.
Across the isle, the old man slowly presses the jaw ofthe Indian woman closed, as the agent raises her weapon behind him . . .
“Step away from the girl and place your hands on your head where I can see them, dirt bag!” commands the agent with authority.
But to Catherine’s surprise, the old-timer doesn’t evenflinch at her sudden outburst. Instead, the guy turns around and greetsthe woman with a friendly smile. For some odd reason, he has a pair ofgoggles hanging from around his neck, and some old antique lookingcamera hanging off of his shoulder by a strap, and gripped in his hand.
“Well, well; You must be Agent . . . Willow was it?I’ve heard so much about you darling and it’s truly a pleasure tofinally meet you in person!” states the professor rather excitedly, ashe extends his free hand in a polite greeting!
“Don’t even think about patronizing me!”yells the agent, as she looks out over the barrel of her gun. “I’m notsome impressionable school girl who’s yearning for your approval,”assures Catherine. The woman glances around at the viewing panelsbriefly then continues, “And after what I have just seen, your luck hasjust officially run out!”
“Now, don’t be foolish Catherine. I have been doingthis for almost three decades now and my luck has surely not run out .. . Hell, just the fact that you are standing right here in front of meproves that!” says Claussen, who appears quite calm, considering thesituation that he’s found himself in.
“Wait a minute, how in the hell do you even know my name?” asks the surprised agent.
“Well let’s see; your partner . . . Detective Proctonwas it? . . . Quite an attractive young lady if I do say so! Anyway,she paid me a visit earlier this week and seemed to be asking an awfullot of questions (Claussen rolls his eyes) . . . And of course therewas that blonde bimbo named Joy asking me the same questions as well.Both of them told me that there was a female investigator from Vegas intown that was looking into the disappearance of a local dancer.”
“Wait a minute; you have seen Joy?”
Claussen: “Oh yes, quite recently in fact. She’s beenfeeling a bit . . . Well, how should I put it? At ease, I suppose.”
Agent Willow raises the weapon a bit higher, and thenthreatens: “So help me God, if you so much as laid a finger on thatgirl, I’ll . . .”
Ah-ah-ah!” Claussen warns, after cutting the agent offin mid-sentence. “If you shoot me, you may never find either of thegirls. Now I can assure you that both Lucy and Joy are perfectly fine.In fact, you can see for yourself if you’d like.”
Catherine swallows hard, and then gives the professor a confused look as she asks, “Right now?”
“Yes indeed” answers the professor, as he waves his arm in a sweeping motion. “Please, come this way, my dear.”
The agent nods her head with apprehension. With herweapon still aimed at the man, she begins to walk backwards slowly andwith caution.
Claussen remains calm and almost seems to be secretlyenjoying the moment, caught up in the cat and mouse mind-game that he’splaying with the agent. The professor looks over the woman’s attire asshe slowly back steps and can only imagine the trim body that shepossesses underneath her black sport jacket.
Claussen: “You know Catherine; you don’t look like a crimescene investigator. I was picturing you to be more rugged . . . Almostbutch, like a Cagney or Lacey type.”
Agent Willow: “Don’t worry about what I look like! All youneed to know is that I have taken plenty of dirt bags that were twiceyour size down to the ground!”
“Yes, so I’m sure,” admits Claussen, still sizing theagent up. “You’re a very determined woman and I’m sure that’s what hasmade you as good at your chosen profession as you are. In fact, I’mvery impressed that you managed to find your way in here!”
Agent Willow: “Yeah well, you just better start thinking aboutwhat you’re going to say to the families of all of these women whenyou’re facing them in the courtroom. I’m sure that they will have somedifficulty understanding why you “pickled” their loved ones away, justto keep them as your frozen playthings to be displayed in their ownglass coffins!”
Claussen: “Yes, I’m quite sure they wouldn’t understand. But Idon’t really appreciate the way that you make everything sound somorbid. I have given these women something more than mere life; I havegiven them life eternal!”
Agent Willow: “Hopefully, you’ll be going to the chair!”
“Yes well, in order for any of this evidence to be usedin court, you would have needed a search warrant, which of course, youfail to possess!” Claussen says with a sinister grin. “I would surelyhope that an seasoned investigator with your credentials would know atleast that much.”
Agent Willow: “Yeah, well don’t you worry; I’m sure my partner will be more than happy to print one up for you!”
Claussen: “When I saw your car parked in the driveway, Icalled my secretary on a hunch. Sharon told me that a woman named Emilyhad stopped by just a few minutes prior to speak with me. I kind offigured that one of you would show up and start snooping aroundprematurely, based on your determined natures. Unfortunately for you,that determination may have cost you a legitimate investigation!”
Irked by the cocky nature of the old man’s comments,the irritated investigator commands, “Just shut your damn mouth andshow me where the girls are!”
Agent Willow continues to back step, while keeping herweapon trained on the man in front of her. Over his shoulder in thebackground, she notices a tall woman with tanned skin and fiery redhair, standing stiffly in her booth. The figure is dressed in a redsatin teddy with garters and red stockings. She has her arm lifted andhand raised in front of her, with her index finger motioning to comehither. As the pair passes by, the redhead continues to stare outward,waiting to entice whoever the next passerby may be . . .
“How could you do this to them, anyway? . . .Especially those really young girls that I saw over there in theupright storage cabinets?” asks Agent Willow in accusatory fashion.“You know, they have a term for people like you . . .”
The agent’s description is cut off abruptly by the oldman, as he raises his voice and says, “I can assure you that there wasnothing sexual going on with them. However, I do recognize a certainlevel of innocent beauty that they possess, and I think I managed topreserve and display that beauty in the best of taste. Now I will admitto having to undress them for the initial preservation process as wellas having to redress them from time to time for display purposes, butthat was solely done with artistic license in mind.”
There is a slight pause after the professor’sexplanation, before he decides to add, “and I’m sure that they havefully enjoyed their newfound state of personal awareness.” (The old manwinks his eye in dastardly fashion).
“Artistic license? Is that what you call it?” yells the agent with a glare in her eyes . . . “You sick F*ck! I should blast you full of holes right now!”
Claussen: “Yes, I’m sure you would like to. However, I knowthat your dedication and sense of professionalism would never allow youto act out in such a lawless way.”
The professor comes to a stop, and then nods his headin the direction of a viewing panel that’s mounted to a wall on theleft, just over Catherine’s shoulder. The plaque beneath the viewingpanel read:
~ Hardonum Gratis ~
Agent Willow keeps her firearm raised and aimed at theman, as she turns her head to glance at the booth’s contents . . .
Inside the booth, an exotic dancer of Asian lineageshows off her skills, as she playfully leans over a seated businessmanto provide an eternal lap dance. The stripper’s long black silky haircascades down between her shoulder blades as she plants her raised kneeat the edge of her patron’s chair. A tiger-striped G-string adornedwith dollar bills creeps its way up into the dancer’s perfectly formedbackside; the firm curvaceous rump is bent over just inches away fromthe viewing panel, for the gratification of her viewers!
The professor has taken special care to add a sense ofrealism to this display, despite the limited area that he has to workwith inside the booth. Adding small details such as a neon light thatfeatures the silhouette of a woman that’s seated in a martini glass onthe wall; a small hardwood dance floor that is raised up behind thefigures and serves as the backdrop to the piece; red overhead lightingthat creates a sexy, yet sleazy atmosphere; and of course there was therotating mirror ball that’s mounted to the ceiling of the roomreflecting brilliant points of light that move over the figures’ stillbodies. All of these details surely give the viewer a sense that theyare actually standing inside some seedy gentlemen’s club!
As Catherine absorbs the scene before her, the professor speaks out from beside the woman . . .
“Lucy, or “Cookie” as you may know her, was anexcellent subject to work with. She certainly possessed the physical aswell as the inner beauty that I long to capture in my work. (Startswinding up his camera) The most difficult part was coating her inenamel and then applying the body glitter to her little behind while itwas still tacky. I then sprayed an additional light coat on just toinsure that the glitter would always stay intact.”
Startled at the comment, Agent Willow glances at thedancer’s tush to find that it did indeed sparkle under the booth’stheatrical lighting!
Claussen continues: “The unfortunate fellow seatedbeneath her was selling insurance in the neighborhood door to door. Ididn’t need any insurance, but I was looking for a patron for thisdisplay. I guess he has a more permanent position now, and the fringe benefits aren’t all that bad, as you can see! Or, should I say, fringed benefits?”
“So . . . this is what you did with her?”the agent asks in shocking dismay as she now recognizes the missingAsian girl, her daughter’s missing roommate, in side profile.
Claussen: “But of course! Would you rather see her up there dancing for those animals every night?”
“What? Are you totally out of your mind? Do you have any sense of remorse for what you have done here?” questions the appalled agent, still gazing at the horrific sight before her.
Claussen: “Well, at least Lucy deserved a position in myprized collection, which is more than I can say for that blonde hussystanding in the booth that’s next to hers! The only reason I went backfor her was to cover my tracks!”
Agent Willow glances wide eyed at the professor afterhearing his last statement, then slowly begins to back away from himwith her gun still raised. Now feeling more dreadful than ever,Catherine reluctantly peers into the next viewing panel . . .
The agent quickly gasps in shock with a look of abjectterror at the first sight of Jamie, turned into a display figure! Thissame woman shared a conversation with Catherine just four short daysago, but now stood hopelessly processed and posed, like so many othersbefore her.
Agent Willow feels her stomach start to roll and she unexpectedly throws up a little bit in her mouth!
“You sick f*cking bastard!” she yells, as hereyes begin to well up with tears. “She’s . . . she’s dead isn’t she? .. . Dead just like all of the others!”
“No Agent Willow, you have it all wrong. Joy is in fact undead. She’s been treated with a special serum that will preserve her beauty forever!” assures the professor with a sense of pride.
“No, that can’t be! I’ve touched them: they feel coldand stiff and they even have a certain smell to them!” says the agent,tears running down her cheeks.
Claussen: “Yes, I’m afraid the chemical smell is a bit of aminor side effect from the embalming agent. But it isn’t all thatunpleasant and you do get used to it with time.”
Catherine keeps her weapon trained on the dirty oldman, as she sadly looks in at the vivacious plucky girl that she knewonly briefly.
As if mocking a Victoria’s Secret advert, Jamie (orJoy, as some knew her as) stands straight with two glorious featheredangel’s wings expanding out from behind her. The wingspan ends evenlywith the outside edges of the woman’s shoulders. A simple halo hangsjust above Jamie’s blonde hair, most likely supported from her head bya small, unseen piece of thin steel wire. Her head is down-turned, asif she was reveling at the beauty of her own naked breasts. Both of herarms are posed at downward angles, with both palms opened and splayedtowards the viewing panel. A pair of white hip-hugger panties withruffled lace around the thighs, offer this fallen angel her only sourceof privacy.
The three walls that surround the angelic beauty arepainted sky blue in color, with several impressionistic clouds (thatlook undoubtedly like they were painted with a generic stencil),adorning their surfaces. Giant foot-high piles of cotton cover thefloor of the booth, to make the figure look as if she were standing ona cloud!
It wasn’t so much the sight of the girl’s half nakedbody, or its lack of movement that disturbed the seasoned investigator.It was more likely the fake looking sheen of the girl’s taut skin,combined with the simple idea that this streetwise stripper had somehowbeen transformed into something so beautiful, so innocent and sovulnerable, that gave Catherine the goose bumps . . .
Caught up in the moment, Agent Willow fails to seeprofessor Claussen pulling up his goggles and getting his camera aimedand ready for the unsuspecting woman.
Then at the last second, Catherine notices theprofessor’s movement out of the corner of her eye; she suddenly turnsher head and cocks the hammer back on her weapon!
The agent yells out: “Drop the damned camera!”
*Flash!*
Suddenly, Catherine’s world turns instantly tobright blue! For the first minute or so, Agent Willow is only vaguelyaware of who, or for that matter where, she is . . .
As she quickly attempts to retrace her previousactions of the last few minutes in her bedazzled mind, the paralyzedwoman can barely recall ordering somebody to drop something . . .
“Drop . . . Drop the . . . Dropping . . . Drop the camera . . . Wait, drop the camera?” the woman wonders in confusion.
The agent can barely make out a shadow of somebodymoving about in front of her, yet the vision is far too unclear to makeout any detail . . .and the sound in her ears is muffled, as if shewere submerged in a swimming pool! She soon feels a distant ringingsound that vibrates in waves and pulsates within her body . . .However, at this point the woman can’t tell if the ringing sensation isin her ears, or if it’s coming from the back of her ass . . . and shecould hardly care less!
Meanwhile . . .
Professor Claussen had already set his special cameracarefully on the floor, just before the cell phone had started ringingfrom somewhere on the static woman’s body.
Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt!
The old man eagerly grabs the front of the woman’sblack suede sport coat, yanking it wide open. Claussen spends a briefmoment just relishing the sight of her clothed body, knowing that in afew hours, he will be able to feast his eyes on every part of her . . .only naked.
Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt!
“Well I could just imagine who that’s going to be,”says the professor, now reaching into the pockets of the woman’s coat,finding nothing but a lacey, pink brassiere. “Hey, where have I seenthat before?” he says, tossing the undergarment to the floor.
Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt!
Claussen pulls the back hem upward on the agent’s coat,and begins to pat his hands around Catherine’s firm backside . . .
Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt . . . Blibbitt!
“I can just imagine what kind of sensation that phonemust be giving you right now, darling!” says the professor with a grin.Claussen forces two fingers down into her tight back pocket and slidesthe phone up and outward. He quickly flips the phone’s cover open tocheck the caller’s I.D.
The professor chuckles to himself, then asks his frozenvictim, “It’s Emily Procton, darling; would you like me to take thecall for you?”
Catherine just stares forward from the abyss, stillholding her firearm raised in front of her, with her perfect breaststhrust outward.
Claussen waits briefly for a reply that never comes,and then says “No? . . . Well maybe I had better check your messagesjust in case.”
The professor proceeds to press through a series ofbuttons, until he finds access to Catherine’s messages, then clicksopen her latest voice mail.
Emily’s voice: “Catherine, it’s me. I hope everything’s allright, since you didn’t answer. If you need help, don’t be afraid tocall for back-up. Otherwise, I should be there any minute, as I justturned onto Pine Hollow Road . . . Watch your back ok? I’ll see yousoon!”
“And so we shall!” agrees Claussen, with a sinister smile.
Jack flips the phone shut, and then slips it into his own pocket for proper disposal at a later time . . .
“Well Catherine, it looks like your partner is going tobe here soon, so I’d better get you out of sight for the time being,states Claussen. “Now, I would normally save this part of the processfor later,” warns the professor, now withdrawing a long hypodermicneedle from his back pocket. He pulls the protective cap off of the endof the needle, and squirts the excess solution off into the air. “ . .. But, considering the fact that you’re quite a formidable opponent,along with the fact that Emily will be here any minute, I just can’tafford to take any chances.”
Claussen lifts the back hem of Catherine’s jacket oncemore and pokes the needle into her behind! The professor pushes down onthe plunger, forcing the fluorescent light green serum into herbloodstream.
“There we go, Agent Willow, all done,” says theprofessor, now replacing the protective cover over the needle andslipping it into the woman’s coat pocket. “Now I believe you’ll findthis experience quite pleasurable,” says the old man, now running hisfingers through the woman’s strawberry blonde hair.
During this entire period, the agent notices a slightlycool tingling sensation creeping throughout her entire body on somedistant, almost subconscious level. Within seconds, the rewardingsensation grows and Catherine begins to yield to its seductivelyoverpowering force . . .
Professor Claussen reaches down and places his handsaround each hip, offering embracement for the reaction that is about totake place.
“Just let it take you over, my dear; I’ll be there with you,” assures the old man.
What had started as a minor twitch between her legssuddenly turns into a rhythmic spasm of her anus and pussy in unison!Catherine’s butt cheeks suddenly clench together beneath the tightdenim material of her jeans, as her eyes grow open just a little bitwider. . .
“Oh, oh, oh . . . Oh my god!” screams the agent in silence, as she sinks into the most incredible orgasm she has ever had.
On the outside, Claussen peers over the woman’sshoulder, and looks at her pretty face in side profile; her blue eyesslightly flutter, then suddenly opened wide with her pupils dilating totheir fullest. The professor steadies the woman in place as he feelsthe woman’s hips begin to buck upward uncontrollably, causing her bodyto slightly sway from side to side from the repercussion . . .All signs that her ultimate orgasm was well underway.
“That’s it darling, let it out . . . I still have you.” Claussen whispers in the agent’s ear.
Even with her ass and pussy convulsing repeatedly,Catherine somehow manages to notice the pressing feeling of the singlemiddle seam that runs down over her backside, in-between her legs, andthen up over her crotch. She never thought that a single strip of denimcould ever feel so good, as her pussy melts against the constrictingmaterial. It’s an involuntary reaction that Catherine is willing toaccept!
Before the agent gets a chance to recede from the firstwave of pleasure, a second round begins to pulsate throughout her body.Oddly, as stimulated as the woman was, she couldn’t help but notice thesudden darkness that was overshadowing her already limited vision.Within seconds, the brave investigator would simply surrender . . .sinking into a state of limbo forever.
On the outside, Professor Claussen listens for thetell-tale “gasp” as the lovely agent’s last breath escapes, and herhips slowly grind to a halt.
Catherine stands stiff, with her weapon still raisedand pointed at the wall in front of her. Her body still tremors fromthe faint after shocks, which will soon end as well.
The professor reaches his leathery hand down betweenher legs, feeling the noticeably damp spot beneath her zipper, and thencracks a smile.
“It works every time!” says the old man, as he rubs the hardness of his own crotch . . .
The professor reaches under the agent’s armpits andclasps his hands together just below the woman’s breasts. As theprofessor leans the woman back against his chest, the weight of herperfectly formed tits falls upon his hands, causing him to lose alittle bit in his boxers!
Professor Claussen proceeds to drag the woman back downthe hallway towards his lab, as the heels of her boots scrape acrossthe floor in frozen protest. Catherine’s strawberry blonde hair tickleshis chin and nose, as he notices a strong scent of apples . . . Mostlikely from the type of shampoo that she used that morning.
As the pair pass by several more lighted enclosures,they are greeted by the blank stares of Claussen’s previous victims,who wait proudly in silent resignation, as if knowing that AgentCatherine Willow would soon be joining them . . .
...To Be Continued in: Eternal Prom Night (Part 1)
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