Chapter 1

MARLA PRENTISS, SWF, 26, NURSE (RAPED AND MURDERED BY SERIAL KILLER)

The primary investigating agency involved in the gruesome murder case of pretty young Registered Nurse Marla Prentiss was the detective squad of the Clark County Sheriff's Department. All things considered, the CCSD was one of the best law enforcement entities in the nation and they had managed to put together a fine department with the mission of protecting the public and bringing criminals to justice with speed and efficiency.

Most of the actual funding for the department came directly from the Casino owners located in Las Vegas. That was only common sense from their perspective because they wanted a professional force to secure their investment in the gaming, housing and food industry in that mecca of entertainment and tourist trade.

My name is Amy Johnson and I am a crime reporter with the Las Vegas Daily Sun. I am fairly well known with the Sheriff's Department because my job calls for me to stay close to the headquarters in order to "scoop" the competition for details on the newest and most grizzly cases of criminal violence in their jurisdiction. I guess I am lucky to be young and fairly attractive although not in the category of the "Show Girls" down on the strip. My boobs are a lot bigger than average which seems to be more in demand these days and my legs and backside are shaped like a dancer's well-toned figure. I think that is because I run almost three miles every other day and sometimes compete in the half-marathons for the benefit of Children's Charities in the local area. Just between us, before I got on the Sheriff's Department beat, I didn't have much sexual experience despite my good looks because I was shy around boys and didn't have much of a yen to try it on with any of my female friends with a desire to make me their "closer than friends" friend. Some of them were real stunning in the looks department and I sometimes wondered if I was being a bit too picky over gender distinctions.

I graduated from the University of California with a degree in Communications and this job with the Nevada print media giant was my first attempt at gainful employment. I didn't seriously consider babysitting, flower arranging, or even working at Jack in the Box as real jobs but just a way to pick up some ready cash to buy stuff like lipstick and tampons. My generous daddy paid my expenses for food and housing while I was getting my degree but I didn't hit on my parents for the funds needed to buy all the extras.

It took me five years to get my degree but I put that down to the fact I had gotten pregnant in my third year and had to get an abortion to put me back on my academic track. Before you start berating me for my terrible behavior, I have to tell you that it was the result of getting raped at a frat party after being slipped a drug in my drink by a couple of rape-minded jocks with no sense of pity for innocent girls. I followed my counselor's advice and kept it quiet because they were well-connected with the fact they were both on the first team and their parents were alumni. The University agreed to pay for all medical costs and arranged for me to pick up my studies the following semester with no reduction in my grade point average. I told my parents it was just a terrible flu that was causing me to postpone my studies one semester and they followed my request that they would just let me recover on my own.

That Christmas vacation, my parents were all questions but my thin appearance and the changed look in my normally fun-filled eyes kept them off my back and life went on without any major changes in routine. The entire incident had shaped me and made me determined to be a fighter for victim's rights in the criminal justice system. The best way I could do that was by investigating and writing about violent crime and I was happy to head to Las Vegas and take the entry-level job offered to me. I felt certain that Las Vegas was a "hotbed" of violent crime and there were plenty of nasty criminals that needed to be exposed to the reading public.

Before I was assigned the Marla Prentiss case, I covered the riot at the indoor mall downtown and did a good job on writing about the girls that had been shamelessly groped and interfered with by the roving bands of dark-skinned males totally out of control. It was one of those situations where they were mostly juveniles and homeless to boot. It was a problem that seemed to exist in any big city where sex is a commodity to be bought and sold and where human trafficking was more common than the city authorities would like to admit.

My experience in school enabled me to empathize with the young women and I did my best to write an expose of the rotten underbelly of Las Vegas never seen inside a casino.

My immediate supervisor at the newspaper was a middle-aged reporter called Jack who hadn't written a good article in many years. He was divorced and a bit of a boozer although he didn't drink at work. He was good enough to give me a lot of excellent advice about where not to go and who to avoid if I wanted to get promoted in my job. I am ashamed to admit that I felt so sorry for him that I gave him a couple of blow-jobs in his car when we were out on assignment together and I knew he loved it but he didn't pester me to do more and I kind of liked that about him. I was sort of still a bit depressed over my experience in college and I generally didn't let my relationships progress much beyond a blow-job, a hand-job, or even letting a guy press his dick between my cheeks without going inside my brown eye. Most guys were more than satisfied with that just as long as they got their rocks off and I was smart enough to give them a "happy ending" that put a smile on their silly faces. I didn't see Jack as being a threat at all because he was so beaten down by his ex-wife, his lack of respect on the job and his drinking that he just saw my pretty mouth as a sort of generic female opening to take care of his need to get a happy tingle and didn't have any personal interest in me at all.

I would never tell him this but I kind of liked his big thick cock in my mouth and didn't mind it at all when he flooded my throat with his stuff because he was always so polite and apologetic about it that I just wanted to hug him and tell him he could count on me whenever he needed a little help in that area. I met his ex-wife one day in the hallway at police headquarters and she gave me one of those knowing looks that let you know she was totally aware that her ex-husband's cock had been taken care of by my slutty mouth more than once. She made me feel so guilty that I just crossed my legs and looked out the window at the gritty street outside pretending I didn't get the picture.

My assignment to the Case of Marla Prentiss brought me into close contact with the Homicide Detective Squad which consisted of three men and one female cop. The leader was Lt. Buzz who I was told was Polish but his name was so long and complicated that he simply changed it to Buzz to make it easier for people to pronounce. He had the wildest moustache I had ever seen and I wondered how that would feel down there between my legs if he was ever so inclined. I was told to never bring up the subject of his wife by the female cop so I followed that advice sensing it was a sore subject. The female cop was Sergeant Brenda and she was the toughest woman I had ever met. She kept constantly cracking her knuckles which was something my older brothers did all the time much to my chagrin because I could never do it right. Her jeans were so tight that I swear I could almost see her female slit that was right next to the seam in the fabric. When she bent over the files, all the guys turned their heads to ogle her heart-shaped behind but my female radar told me she was more interested in me than any of the guys.

From the very first day, I wore nothing but short skirts to the Detective Squad and made sure that my skimpy thongs were easily seen when I was perched on the edge of the wooden chairs. I made it easy for the three guys and even Sergeant Brenda to get good shots at my pussy because I knew it was important for me to blend in with this bunch if I hoped to get the real scoop on any of the cases. I was certain Brenda knew exactly what I was doing but as long as I included her in the dispensing of goodies, she seemed to go along with the program.

Lt. Buzz was interested but he seemed distracted most of the time and I could understand it because the closure rate on the homicides was notoriously low. I felt certain it had nothing to do with the homicide squad but was more the result of the fact that the county was sort of a transitory region with people coming in from out of state all the time and it was difficult to stay up on all the possible criminals because they did their best to stay out of trouble inside the county. We had our fair share of informers who made a living on furnishing information but most of them were more geared toward the drug transactions, the whore trade and the scams that seemed to get more complicated every day.

I learned quickly that the best approach with the murder cases was to treat each one individually and go with the averages to find the killer or killers. The detective on the squad with the most experience was a detective first class called Murphy who could cite every murder ever committed in Clark County and when it was solved. His expression was pretty sour at the moment because the solve rate was dropping with the introduction of a couple of active serial murderers in the area from out of state. One of them preyed mostly on the girls on the street or the escorts that would meet their Johns at a hotel or a motel with no security to speak of. They stayed away from the big-name hotels and the casinos because that was all protected by the syndicate boys with their own methods of enforcing good behavior. Some of that had fallen down in the past couple of years because of the biker gangs and the influx of illegals into the area with loyalty to the cartels south of the border.

Murphy was probably the best-looking of the male detectives and he didn't seem to have any of the vices of the others. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, and according to Brenda he hadn't gotten laid for quite some time. The last really interested me because the first time I saw him I wondered about his organ size because he had the biggest feet I had ever seen on anyone. When he put his shoes up on the edge of the desk they seemed to dwarf everything else and I started getting a little antsy down there where the grass grows greener.

The last member of the squad was also the youngest. In fact, he was younger than me and looked more like an altar boy than a homicide detective. His name was Aldo and he had a bit of an accent that sounded either German or Russian. Brenda told me that it would be best to stay away from Aldo unless it was necessary because he had a bad reputation with women. When I tried to pin her down, she just shrugged her shoulders and whispered,

"He likes to hit the girls!"

I thought that was strange to have that sort of reputation and still be a cop but one never knows these days. Lt. Buzz pretty much gave me the same advice but he added that the reason was because he was being investigated for a double killing that saw two bad guys gunned down when he went to ask some questions about an alleged whore found right on the railroad tracks. Apparently, it was still being decided if it was a "good" shooting or if he needed to be brought up on charges of "excessive" force.

That was our happy group and I guess I was the unofficial coffee maker since I was the last one onboard.

CRIME OF PASSION

CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS

PART II

I guess you could say it was Detective First Class Murphy that "broke" me in on the workings of the Homicide Detective Squad in more ways than one. Of course, he was the walking encyclopedia of all the facts and history of the crime of Homicide in Clark County, Nevada and I pumped him for all of the hard, cold facts with ruthless persistence. However, I carried our relationship a bit further than strictly professional because I wanted to get closure on my curiosity about his hidden tool size just to see if it correlated to his shoe size. His shoes were so huge that they had to have been custom made because no company could afford to make a size that big for a minute part of the population. It was something that I had dabbled in in college and was fairly certain my theory was infallible.

Murphy was one of those characters that kept everything to himself unless he was pressured to divulge information. I had that sort of personality that just kept digging and digging until I got an answer and he was a tough nut to crack but once I got him talking he was a regular chatterbox making certain I had every last little tidbit of inside scoop on the case in question.

I was hot to trot on the Marla Prentiss case and he did his best to shield the facts but gave it up when I started to work on his libido in a way that he didn't suspect I was the one making all the moves. I have to admit one thing led to another and before long I had both hands filled with his business and it was enough to say both hands were filled and busy. My theory about size relationships was once again confirmed and I was a bit concerned my oral capacity would be unable to handle the volume.

At least he was a complete gentleman and patted me on top of my head and told me,

"That's a good girl!"

I know it is silly but his words spurred me to make greater effort and I managed to get most of it inside my warm, wet mouth pushing my tongue to one side to make enough space for the bulk of his thickness. Lubrication was certainly not a problem because the combination of his copious pre-cum and my own saliva acted to help him to slide with resolute authority far enough down my throat to trigger my gag reflex. After that, he eased up a bit probably because he knew I was young and tender and had not serviced enough cocks to have superior skills in that area.

He didn't hesitate to pull up my short skirt in the back and slip his big hands under the elastic band of my French panties to find my back door so quickly that all I could do was stare up into his smiling eyes knowing that he would eventually get around to stuffing me back there when he got around to it. It was enough to make me tremble with anticipation because my only experiences with anal fun and games were with me in complete control and I could tell the boys when to stop and when I was uncomfortable. I got the distinct impression that with Murphy my preferences would be second to his own desires and in all truth I think I liked it better that way.

I considered my assignment to the Homicide Squad to be a big break in my career and I was determined to make the most of it no matter what it took to make it a success.

After the big guy drained inside my chap-stick covered lips, I did my best to swallow it all down but had to half- run and half-scamper to get a couple of paper towels from the restroom to wipe off my previously immaculate blouse and my dreadful pointed chin. I could see Murphy smiling at me with amusement and it kind of pissed me off because I was still trying to clean my blouse but I acted like I thought it was funny as well and he started to fill me in on the murky details of the case that were hidden in his head and not in one of those shaky case reports that often had a lot of holes in them.

I saw in the dresser mirror that the muscular Murphy was still sporting an erection of some distinction and that he was more than interested in the way my cheeks were jiggling as I scooted around the room sans clothing. In a way it was comforting to know I had an admirer of my sinful flesh so close in my guilty nakedness.

At some point, Murphy put his equipment away and I breathed a sigh of relief because I was not all that confident that I could handle too much of something of that magnitude. I think Murphy liked the fact I was relaxed now and he started to spill the beans about the case. I wasn't quite sure if it was because he had stuffed my mouth without mercy or if he just needed to bounce his ideas off someone who wouldn't ridicule his gut reactions to nuances of the crime scene. In any event I was ecstatic that he trusted me enough to give me the details because now I was able to sort out some theories of my own that had been haunting me ever since I first saw the photos of the happy female victim after she was chewed up and spat out by the serial killer of young women far too young to die.

The first point that had mystified me even long before Murphy and I sat down on top of the mattress and started playing "show me yours" with our goodies and with our facts was the fact that there was not enough blood splatter in the crime scene to tag it as the dead certain location of the crime.

Murphy told me,

"Listen to me when I tell you, doll-face, that this prick, whoever he is, got all his jollies somewhere else and then transported the whole mess to the crime scene just to throw us off the scent."

In all honesty, it was, word for word, the exact same scenario that was running through my mind because I had made an effort to sort out and classify the level of chaos in crime scenes of violent passion to help put a face on the bad guys and close down a serial killer before he ran his score up at the expense of innocent young females. It looked like the well-hung Murphy and I were on the same page about the crime scene not being quite right as the actual place where Marla Prentiss had met and lost everything to a vicious killer with blood-lust in his eyes and depraved and unnatural urges on his mind that needed female flesh to slake his thirst.

Poor Marla had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We studied the crime scene photos spreading them all out on the bed and I saw up close and personal how the poor girl had no chance to stop the killer from slowly tearing her to pieces as he satisfied his lust using her body to boost him into a frenzy of blood-letting even as her soul was consumed in his violent sinful excess.

I tried to put myself into Marla's position and in my mind I saw Murphy as the killer mounting me from the rear and stretching me to my limit to accommodate his needs. My heart was pounding and my special spot between my legs was throbbing with a need of my own but I was just role playing and it was thankfully not the real thing. I wondered if I would have to eventually give Murphy that prize that I knew he wanted but didn't ask for because he was afraid of rejection. I looked at his thick muscular chest and middle and considered the power of his long sturdy legs and hips that would require me to spread out to an impossible angle just to accommodate him between my legs. I was grateful that he had actually been a perfect gentleman up to that point taking only what was on offer and not pleading or begging for more like all the boys back at college that had only one thing on their mind when it came to one-on-one togetherness.

The forensics was a complete mess.

It was impossible to get around the fact that the blood was so contaminated and mixed that positive results were not likely to be accepted by any jury member with half a brain. The killer had been generous enough to leave the murder weapon behind but it was such a common yellow plastic "box cutter" that all of the normal avenues of investigation were of no use. There was no doubt that the serial killer was teasing us with his sense of invincibility having no fear of ever being caught.

The razor edge was still sharp after cutting through a plethora of poor Marla's defenseless skin and arteries as he played with her in an eternity of pain and suffering. Amy looked at the small tool sitting inside a sealed plastic envelope. It didn't look all that dangerous but she could imagine the blood spurting in every direction as the madman wielded it with deadly intent.

There was a possibility that the small amount of unidentified DNA found on the body belonged to the killer but it could also belong to anyone else who had been in contact with the way she was transported to the supposed crime scene or to any one of many contacts she had made after her last shower. Her job in the dermatology clinic meant she came into contact with many different sources of DNA in the course of her work and there was no point to start a difficult job of elimination before at least trying to match with suspects that would crop up in the normal scheme of the process.

Murphy showed her how the killer had "ridden" the girl using the small knife and managed to couple with her at the same time bringing him sexual and unhinged mental satisfaction in an obscene frenzy of chaotic depravity. She took the big man's weight on her back and felt his business erect and ready to do severe damage to her trembling core. A whimper escaped her lips and the detective seemed to snap out of a trance and released her patting her head to let her know it was only a demonstration.

Amy knew after that she would be willing to perform for the detective and hope that he would be restrained in his training both physically and with attention to bringing her up to speed on current investigations.

CRIMES OF PASSION

CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS

PART III

The trip to the morgue was not one that I particularly wanted to undertake but the entire squad was making the journey to see if they could possibly "brainstorm" some sort of approach from the clues the remains instilled in their thinking process.

The main morgue was located in the courthouse annex in the basement or I should say the sub-basement because it was actually under the parking garage that was home to the many official vehicles that all of the law enforcement agencies used on a daily basis. The body had been retained in the main morgue because it was needed for periodic case analysis and from time to time new testing was initiated to clarify a point that was still a bit "grey area" on the original autopsy.

It was Doctor Lee that had signed off on the original autopsy and one could tell from the visible frown on his face that he couldn't believe the words that he had spoken himself months ago when things had seemed more routine than now when so many other factors had come to light. The elderly man realized that he had fallen victim to the erroneous assumption that the thing was just a sexual street crime done at random to easy prey in the abandoned underpass.

Now they had new facts that pointed to the "box cutter" serial killer. We knew that she was in actuality his fourth known victim in the Las Vegas Metro area identified from the similar patterns of mutilation used in all the crimes of violence against women. In all the cases, the serial killer had taken his "trophy" of one nipple removed with surgical precision and the training of a surgeon with serious skills. Hopefully, there were only four victims but with the way these mind-altered freaks disposed of their bodies, there was always the chance there were more but not discovered as yet in out of the way places.

It was Aldo that had to run out of the viewing room and vomited violently in the trash can in the hallway much to the amusement of both Detective Murphy and Sergeant Brenda.

Lt. Buzz kept a straight face but I think it was only because he was the person in charge and didn't want to join a subordinate in such foolishness. I think they all expected it would be me running out to the hallway tossing my cookies but I was used to blood and gore after working a volunteer job with a respected church-sponsored assistance for crime victims organization. I needed to do something to keep my sanity right after my rape and subsequent distressing abortion and life-changing correction in attitude. I had been extra careful to hide the shame of being a rape and sodomy victim because I could see up close and personal how the tag was so destructive to young women with lives ruined because of pity.

I was really grateful to Murphy for not sharing my easy conquest and easily spreading legs with the other team members because I had a sense they all thought I was a slut in hiding and were just waiting for confirmation so they could treat me with outright derision and downright rudeness.

One thing that I noticed was the fact that the girl had a great deal of dirt lodged under her fingernails and I hadn't seen any report in the file that listed the trace elements of nail residue on the body. I wondered if it was a simple lost file or if someone had not made that effort to be one hundred percent certain everything had been done to locate possible clues. I didn't make a big deal out of it to the others but I whispered it to Murphy on the sly because I knew coming from him it would carry a lot more weight than coming from the mouth of a newly assigned female who was not really a trained cop like all the others.

I listened to Murphy calling attention to the fingernails and the pathologist on call scurried around trying to locate a specimen analysis matrix to determine when and if the samples were taken. Unfortunately, her efforts only resulted in confirming that the key ingredient of forensics were missing and she immediately started the process that would probably take a least a week to organize and give us a picture of what was going on with the dirt under Marla's cold dead fingernails.

It didn't make any difference to me that Murphy would get credit for the catch because I was there merely in a support role and the investigation was really the squad with me just hanging on as a liaison to the media. I never brought up to Lt. Buzz that I had actually taken a minor in Criminal Justice in college and was seriously thinking of going into law enforcement work before I was made victim by a pair of "frat boy" jerks ruled by their dicks and not their peanut-sized brains. I was glad that I was continuing my Judo sessions that I had started back in California after the assault because it gave me enough confidence to walk down a dark street at night and not worry too much about some jerk trying to pull my panties down. I must have looked in the mirror a half-dozen times a day and told my reflection,

"Those days are gone forever."

We started to make some timeline charts for the victim and then for some of the prime suspects to see where the gaps were and who didn't have a good enough alibi for the time of the assault. Even with our repeated screening, we could only reduce the list to about fourteen candidates and that was just too many for us to keep an eye on and follow on a twenty-four hour a day schedule. We needed to get the cut down to about three main suspects and just wait for him to make a mistake and allow us to put him away for good.

Later that night, I let Murphy come up to have a nightcap in my new quarters and he right away started to break my squeaking bed springs into his version of indoor Olympics. I don't want to give the impression that I was complaining because in all honesty I had acquired a bit of a thing for Detective Murphy. It just seemed important to keep that urge submerged because I wanted to keep that fact from him at all cost. I felt certain he was the type to push a woman with a yen for his muscular body away from him because he didn't want to feel like he was being painted into a corner or anything like that.

When he was finished with me, Murphy slapped my ass hard and told me,

"Keep improving with your action, honey, and I am going to have to make you a permanent part of the squad."

I knew it was his way of making me welcome but I felt certain most of young female cops on the force would have been bringing him up on sexual harassment charges in a heartbeat. The times were changing and the old "dinosaurs" of the law enforcement field were retiring before they got into trouble with headquarters.

I needed to have a lengthy conversation with Sergeant Brenda about that subject at the earliest opportunity because I didn't mind literally bending over backwards to get along with my male co-workers but my memories of being taken advantage of by my early experience with sexist jerks made me cautious about relationships that were literally where I slept or worked every day. My reasoning was along the lines of thinking the fact I was not a cop with a real badge and gun would made me seem like "fair game" to the horny guys willing to take a chance with an available female right on the doorstep.

We had a generic profile of the killer that emphasized the fact he was probably raised by his mother or grandmother and had a hatred of women that went all the way back to this childhood. I tended to view this as far too simplistic and was probably some textbook mumbo-jumbo related to sexual shortcomings.

The profile was also flawed because it was derived from some faulty data from the first two cases which were corrected after the profile was published but nobody had taken the time or effort to correct the profile record. I had gone into the backgrounds of the fourteen remaining suspects and looked for those common threads that most investigators believed were rampant amongst serial killers. Of course, each case was different but the very nature of serial killers was that their selection and almost ritualistic destruction of their prey was a signature that identified them almost like some fingerprint found right in the middle of a crime scene. Talking about fingerprints, it was obvious that the killer wore gloves the entire time of his killing frenzy because not a single fingerprint was ever found of the "box cutter" serial killer at any of the crime scenes. It was beginning to look like the killer was doing his thing at another location and then washing up the victim's body before transporting it to the supposed crime scene staging it to appear like that was the location of the assault. That would explain the lack of sufficient blood splatter and the inability to find specific DNA that was not compromised for one reason or another. He had probably used condoms and after he was finished, was smart enough to clean the victim external and internally with DNA destroying cleansing liquids to insure lack of good forensic evidence. He had even washed their hair in various places on the body to remove any sign of his presence. The victim's clothing and all jewelry had been removed before dumping the bodies and it seemed likely the killer had stripped as well taking care to shave all of his body hair to prevent any hair evidence from leading to his later identification.