The Elegant Corpse

When Roger walked into the police office, FBI agents were rushing out of the case analysis room.Clarke Miller stood yelling into the phone, redder than usual, while Smith stood beside Marianne staring at a map of Los Angeles displayed on a computer screen.

She points to a spot on the screen. "Blackjack clubs, Santa Monica and Wilshire areas. They found a mummified body in an old disused bathroom."

Roger felt sick. "identity?"

"uncertain."

"New corpse or old corpse?"

"Brand new. And Roger, he's wearing a dress."

***

Thank goodness he didn't know this person.Although he shouldn't be grateful for that, logically, Roger was tired of the old ghosts.

"Sergio Hernandez, from Silver Lake," said someone on the coroner's team.Beneath that eerie, peeling varnish was a young man of stunning beauty.Wearing a cute style that is popular nowadays, a thigh-length pink and black plaid skirt, black fishnet stockings, and black high leather boots with buckles.His arms were bound together cross-legged with straps, much to the excitement of the technicians, as there might be clues in them, while Roger stared at the scatterwhip and cane the victim held in both hands.

There was no flaw at the scene.The technicians were busy on all fours, holding evidence bags, flashlights, and various tools that seemed to be sufficient for exploring Mars, but Roger could tell from their expressions that the situation was not optimistic.Whoever placed the body in this room this time must have been as careful as it had been when Gary Williams' body had been placed in Roger's house.

Turning the body over, they found blood soaking through the pink racerback he was wearing. "So he was put in this costume after death," said Marianne.She frowned at the forensic doctor across the corpse. "So he had to wait until the rigor had passed before he could put shoes and other clothes on him."

The forensic doctor seemed intent on examining the victim's mouth and did not answer; as a result, she pulled out half a tooth.

"He broke his teeth in his haste, in his haste?" asked Roger.

"Possibly," said the coroner, in that noncommittal tone usual to doctors, "perhaps the tooth was broken in the course of the struggle. We won't know until we take it home for further examination."

"I want to go," said Marianne.She had been squatting next to the coroner just now, and now she stood up and looked at Roger. "Are you coming too?" she asked.

"Well..." Roger said while looking at the utensils in the hands of the victim.The cane seemed unusual to Roger—it was the kind used by British school principals to physically punish pupils in the 50s, a flexible cane about a quarter of an inch in diameter, and probably belonged Adult American male who collects nostalgic knickknacks like yo-yos.This thing can also be said to be a children's toy in the BDSM field. Maybe it is older than the victim.Someone's got quite a collection of BDSM gear, thought Roger.

The club was five blocks from where Jay lived. "I know someone who lives around here might know the victim," Roger said, taking a Polaroid from a technician.

"Would you like to take me with you?" Marianne frowned thoughtfully, watching the technicians mark a narrow drag trail from the doorway to the body.

"Well... he won't let go easily when there are strangers." Roger said.

There was that worried and quirky look on her face. "Are you OK?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't know," he said, "I'll call you if I get anything, or we'll see you in the lab."

"it is good."

"And Marianne?" Roger took out a pad and wrote Jay's address, and handed it to his partner with obvious guilt. "If I don't call within an hour..." he said.

She looked at the note and then at him. "I will go with you."

"Do not."

She stared at him, her little snow-white face with a sharp chin was almost trembling. "Then I'll tell Smith," she said finally.

It's unfair, but totally understandable. "You can wait in the car." Roger compromised.

***

"My God!" For a moment, Roger was so scared that he wanted to call an ambulance. "Liam!" Jay yelled out of breath.

The nurse named Liam immediately appeared beside Jay.Thank goodness he does seem to have some nursing skills as he checks Jay's pulse and gives him some medicine.Roger waited until his friend had fully recovered before sitting down, staring at each other sternly.

"His alias 'Santos,'" Jay hissed. "I didn't connect them when you asked 'Sergio' Hernandez."

"Sorry." Roger said sincerely, and put away the photo.

Jay breathed in the mask for a while, and Liam stood beside him, feeling his pulse with his index finger on his wrist. "I'm fine," Jay finally said, pulling his arm away and looking at Roger with pale eyes. "He stopped coming to work about a month ago. I thought, well, I Think he might have run off with another youngster at the club."

"Which club?"

"Fondango Club. There's something about Santos that doesn't say no," Jay said lovingly, his dark eyes welling with tears.

"He's here to sell." Liam said disgustedly, and Jay put his hand on the nurse's arm and comforted——

"The dead are the greatest, Liam."

Roger quietly noted the nurse's reaction. "Do any of you know that Santos is a transvestite?"

Liam gave a mocking laugh.

"Santos?" Jay laughed and coughed. He quickly put on his mask and said, "I wouldn't be surprised if it was me."

"Really?" Roger asked sharply.

"What's wrong?" Jay asked.

"Just one of the clues," Roger said. "Is he a masochist?"

He saw Jay take a quick glance at his nurse and belatedly realized that the question might be rude.But before he could fix it, Liam shook his head with a smile.

"Santos does everything," Liam said casually, "but he doesn't like being whipped. It's not in his nature."

"So although he's in the circle," Roger said anxiously, "it's not...do you know him well?"

"I don't know much about it." Jay quickly answered the nurse who helped him.

"He's a bus," Liam said. "We all know that kind of guy. That's what he does, you see, for money. He doesn't understand the way we live, and Jay Mr. Yi. He's here for the money."

"For money? Has he ever recruited abused people?"

"I don't want to say, Roger," Jay said, "Santos has family. Please, friend, don't make it harder for them."

"I won't, Jay. Could Pete know him?"

"Pete? Maybe. I've never heard them talk about each other, but it's possible."

"Thanks, Jay. If you don't mind, I need to know everything you know about him and report it."

Jay sighed, and his nurse put her hand on his arm.There was something protective and intimate about this little gesture.Roger wondered how Liam would react to someone trying to take advantage of Jay.He kept the thought in his head for later, and said, "Jay, did you notice something was missing?"

Jay's eyes scanned the messy room they were in. "No."

"Like... um... some special items. Props."

"Ah." Those pale eyes looked at Liam.

"I have the key, Mr. Corso," Liam said quietly, "if you want to see it for yourself."

Roger felt a pang of self-loathing for his doubts, but his mind as a cop couldn't be cut off. "Thanks." He pulled on his gloves as Liam led him down the stairs to Jay's "dungeon."Roger was on the lookout for Liam's every move, his fingers relaxed alertly, ready to reach for his gun--as he always did whenever he was in danger.

"Please wait here." Roger said when Liam opened the inner door.If he didn't show up within an hour, Marianne might bring the entire SWAT team and armed tanks to Jay's gate, so he wasn't afraid of being trapped, but he was a little bit ashamed of being rescued.

The dark eyes rested on him. "Yes, sir."

Of course Roger knew all about Jay's "playroom".St. Andrew's cross by the wall, benches and wooden horses, and slings in the corner.He passed them one by one, dazedly feeling nostalgic, and finally came to the "toy" cabinet.

"Do you have the key?"

Accompanied by another "Yes, sir", Liam's expression was not very polite, and he stepped forward to open it.

It looks like everything is there.There is something hanging on every hook, and the drawers are neatly arranged.Jay wasn't too fond of sticks, just a solid one he got from some Singaporean policeman for caning adults.It was boxed and hung on the wall, alongside the Harvard fraternity's memorial paddle and a cricket bat.

"Thank you," said Roger.He followed Liam upstairs.When Roger said: "Jay, I hope you don't mind, but I have to ask about your whereabouts last night", the young man's back stiffened with dissatisfaction.Instead, Jay just chuckled behind the oxygen mask and told him—

"I guess there's some tape to back me up, right, Liam?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Yes, sir," Liam said quietly.

Of course they would give each other an alibi.Roger solemnly thanked the two of them. With the stiffness in his knees, neck and back, he walked down the long steps along the handrail equipped with a wheelchair elevator, opened the heavy wrought iron gate, and got into the car .

Marianne watched him recover.Thank goodness she didn't ask if he was okay.He's clearly not well, and doesn't want to talk about it.

After they pulled out of the driveway, he dialed another number.

***

"Hello," a weak voice said, "Chu Hao is a big emergency."

"Peter, this is Roger."

"Roger?" He heard the rustle of the other person getting up from the bed, and could almost see him trying to gather his thoughts. "What's up?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to call you so early, it's about the case."

"Oh, oh, sure, Roger. No apologies."

"Do you know a young man named Sergio Hernandez?"

There was a brief silence.He heard Pete probably put on a dressing gown or slippers. "You mean Sergio?" The voice of the glass, Pete must be making coffee.

"I hope you haven't disturbed your rest," said Roger.

"No, no, I should be at this point. You see, there seems to be this young man named Sergio a few years ago. Was it a few years or a few months? I can't remember him last name. Give me an hour while I get some coffee before I call the office and ask them to go through the books."

"Thanks Pete, words like that really helped."

"Roger, do you know that I signed a non-disclosure agreement with the employees? Is this only between you and me?"

Roger felt that it was almost impossible to hide these things from his superiors, but he could ensure that the source of the information was kept secret. "I understand," he said.

"Thank goodness. I'm afraid of getting into a lawsuit." Now Roger could hear the soft murmur and hiss of Pete's old coffee machine.

"Give you some time to wake up and call me later. Let's have lunch together."

"Great, I'll call back."

The phone hangs up.

***

"So the rigor would appear after four hours or so? The killer would have to wait for it to subside, maybe another eight hours, and then dress the victim in women's clothing before trying to find a way into the club. That would mean at least ten hours before he was found. Eight hours ago, that is, at ten o'clock in the morning of the previous day, or earlier, he might have died." Marianne stood by the forensic table and counted.The room was full of grim-looking men in ill-fitting white coats, and Agent Miller and another of his men stood sternly watching.Roger thought that every time a serial killer killed a victim since they had been called in, they felt it must be their fault.He was silently grateful, thankful that he was just a homicide detective in the Los Angeles Police Department.

The coroner turned the victim on her back so she could see where most of the wounds were.

The whole back was bloody.Dark black and purple bruises, bleeding directly from the severely tortured places.The victim suffered fractured ribs and pierced skin.Where the skin was punctured was bloody, like an overripe tomato.

"Baseball bat," the medical examiner said with certainty. "I saw this kind of wound last year. A man beat his wife to death with a baseball bat."

She gestured at those marks, frowned and said, "There are other tools for committing the crime. These small wounds are left by it, see?" She pointed to a place and said, a dizzying sense of deja vu came over her face, Luo Jie recognized that it was the trace left by the nine-section cat whip.

"He uses a nine-tailed cat whip." He said in a voice that sounded very strange to himself.

The medical examiner, the two FBI agents, and Marianne all stared at him in surprise. "Maybe," the forensic doctor paused, and she continued to check, "There are strangle marks on the wrists and ankles, and the victim was bound. No bruises were found around the mouth."

"Wherever he was, the criminal didn't care if he yelled," Marianne said, "so he wasn't gagged."

He probably wanted to hear Sergio scream, Roger thought, feeling sick.A master wielder of the one-tailed whip whips the men, beats them to death, and enjoys their dying agony.

"Then, why mummies?" Marianne mused.

"No matter who did it, he knew what he was doing," said the forensic doctor, "but I guess the time of death should be earlier. From the perspective of skin condition, although embalmed, I think it should be earlier, maybe earlier Like eight hours."

In other words, between ten o'clock and twelve o'clock the night before.Jay's and the nurse's alibi are also covered, if Jay really has nothing to do with it.Roger had let Jay whip him once, and he had no doubts that Jay would do such a thing.But with Liam, he couldn't be sure.

"There's a cricket bat hanging on the wall in the basement I was in," he confessed to Marianne as they emerged from the lab upstairs, "but you'll need a search warrant to get it."

Marian glanced at the FBI agent running ahead of them. "When will it be?" She lowered her voice.

"Hopefully not," Roger said. "I'm looking at someone's file, and I'll see if I want to apply."

Clark Miller seemed a little silent.He climbed the stairs ahead, two steps at a time.Roger worried that before they could reach the first floor, the stout man would suddenly have a stroke and faint, hitting him and Marianne.

Once back in the case analysis room, more computers crackled.A close-up of Sergio's mummy's face was hung on the display board, and Roger reported to them what he knew about "Santos".

"So criminals have some sort of obsession with transvestites, but not transvestites?" Marianne said. "Does this fit the profile?"

"It fits what the profiler calls 'a man with sexual desire conflict disorder'." The profiler hesitated.

Roger held up a finger. "The act of fetishism is very ritualistic, and maybe it was part of the whole mummification ritual?"

The profiler wore a pair of thick bottle-bottomed glasses, blinked and said, "That's an interesting idea, Inspector."

Roger was relieved that Liam's file was delivered at this juncture, and he had a reason to stop probing them.Liam seemed fairly harmless, with no criminal record save for one arrest for lingering on the street, which is not uncommon among young people who hang out in nightclubs.

He called home at noon.The answering machine answered, and he left a message.A few minutes later, his cell phone rang and the caller ID showed his home number.

"Hey, I don't think I should just take your calls," Sean said, "You didn't say I could."

"Troubleshoot," said Roger, "but you can use my phone, or the answering machine if you want. I called you just to talk to you again, and I might It's late to go back."

"Holy crap, you're having terrible hours at work," Sean said, sounding like he was gnawing on something.

Roger always had a hard time controlling his impulses when he was tired. "I want you to keep your swear words to a minimum, at least not in front of me," he said.

There was silence on the phone.After a while, Sean said, "Come on." It was impossible to tell from his voice whether he really wanted to comply with Roger's request.The strange voice of eating came from the phone again. "Wow, this organic peanut butter is delicious!"

"Didn't you just dig the food out of the jar?" Roger asked.

There was another silence. "Then what time do you think you'll be home?"

"It will be late," Roger felt that the conversation was a bit out of control, "don't wait for me."

He heard Sean's slow exhalation, as if he was counting to ten silently in his head. "See you later." He said and hung up the phone.