“Every car in the District, plus half the Highway Patrol, went in on that, Mick,” Spanner said. “But aside from that, it’s not very funny. Lou and I were just talking about it.”
“Tell me,” Mickey said.
“Off the record?”
Goddamn, I knew there was something!
“Sure.”
“You heard, I suppose, about the guy who’s been raping women in Manayunk and Roxborough?”
Mickey nodded.
“From what I understand, he’s the same guy who dumped the woman in Fairmount Park.”
“Raped her first, you mean?”
“Not quite,” Spanner said. “This is a real sick guy. Getting sicker, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Mickey said.
“He’s not even screwing them anymore,” Spanner said. “What he’s doing now is getting his rocks off humiliating them. Pissing on them, and worse.”
“Jesus!” Mickey said. “Worse?”
“What he did last night was put a knife to her throat and make her take it in the mouth. Then when he couldn’t get his rocks off, he pissed all over her. Then he tied her hands behind her back and dumped her out on Forbidden Drive.”
“Nice fella,” Mickey said.
“Sure as Christ made little apples,” Natali said, “unless they bag this scumbag, he’s going to kill somebody. Cut ’em up, probably. I’m afraid he’s going to start going after young girls.”
“Jesus,” Mickey said. He felt a little sick to his stomach when he thought of some slimeball doing something like that to a nice girl like Mary Travis. “You got anything going?”
“Not much. No good description. All we know is that he’s a white guy with a van. And likes to wear a mask,” Spanner said.
“You didn’t get that here, Mickey,” Natali said. “What I’m worried about is that I don’t want to give the sonofabitch any ideas.”
Mickey made a gesture signifying that he wouldn’t violate the confidence.
“Who’s got this job?” Mickey asked.
“Dick Hemmings,” Spanner said. Mickey knew Dick Hemmings to be a brighter than usual Northwest Detective, which was saying something because, with a couple of exceptions, Northwest Division had some really good detectives.
“Who was the cop who answered the call?” Mickey asked.
“Bill Dohner,” Spanner said. “I don’t know where you can find him until he comes in tonight, but Dick Hemmings is in court. I got the feeling he’ll be in there all day.”
“Well, then I guess I’d better get down there,” Mickey said. “And start earning my living.”
He returned to the coffee machine alcove and washed out his cup, then put it in the rack. Then he picked up a telephone on one of the unoccupied desks in the detective squad room and dialed a number from memory.
“City desk,” a male voice came on the line.
“This is O’Hara,” he said.
“Mr. Michael J. O’Hara?” Gerald F. Kennedy, the city editor of the Bulletin replied, in mock awe. “Might one dare to hope, Mr. O’Hara, that there is a small germ of truth in the rumor going around that you are no longer withholding your professional services?”
“Fuck you, Kennedy.”