Chapter 3

Day 3 (10 October 2018) Notes for Taxi Driver Task Force initiated on 8 October 2018

(Detective Trish Cavanaugh Badge 3446 SFPD)

My cheating ex-spouse, the loser louse, assistant district attorney Frank Feeney was all smiles over at the courthouse about getting his child-bride, the former Miss Daly City pregnant only ninety days into his wedded bliss and it being common knowledge he never managed to line his seeds up inside me in more than ten years of marriage leaving us with only an adopted child to show for family values. I knew Frank loved Diane as much as I and I had no complaint on that score, but it was like rubbing salt in the cut for him to get those little swimmers setting a new world record in getting miss Daly City’s belly swollen with child like they were a pair of teenaged honeymooners. It sure didn’t say much for my sexual success statistics at rumor control in the break room when the bored desk workers were looking for some exciting subject to discuss other than who had the most arrests for the previous month.

I knew the pricks down at the holding pen had a video of me down on my knees in an undercover assignment with a Hell’s Angel club trying my best to blend into the chaos of being another pretty mouth for the certified club members. I wasn’t proud of the details but it was a matter of survival and I wanted to get that next promotion more than saving my pride as a dignified member of the female police force.

I had changed the color of my hair and even got a nose job because of that silly video and only the old timers recognized me as the slut up on the screen for your viewing pleasure.

It was easy to look for the guiding corners in the forensic data to see the Taxi Driver’s techniques in locating, isolating and incapacitating his victims with plenty of time to enjoy his fun and games with them in private. I had started with a wide spread and now I had it a lot tighter on the matrix board that we used to tie in with the professional “profilers” reports that guided us into the right direction for finding our guy.

I had to admit that my board was a lot different than the other teams and I suspected it was because I was looking at the process from a woman’s point of view and did it from the eyes of the victim and not from the suspect.

The fact that the latest victim was from the other side of the Bay in a nice little apartment complex of two-story town-homes in a suburb of Oakland meant we got gifted with a pair of hot-shot detectives from the Oakland Police Department that seemed a bit pissed that they were sent over to San Francisco to the Task Force. Even the Oakland Police Chief made a point that the body was found inside San Francisco and that it should be the City by the Bay’s responsibility to find the culprit. I didn’t think that was a very cooperative attitude because we had sent several officer’s over to help them out when they had the crazy arsonist that caused a shit-pot of deaths in the black community and made it look like white nationalists were starting some sort of program to start a genocide program against the minority population. Of course, the black population in that part of Oakland was the majority so the concept of minority oppression was not very convincing.

One of the detectives was a big, ugly black guy called Mike and he always had a little unlit cigarillo in his lips making you think that he was one of those pricks that wanted to kill everyone around him with secondary smoke. The truth of the matter was that he had stopped smoking over a year ago and he just kept the unlit cigarillos around as a sort of security blanket to mollify his lack of a nicotine boost.

The other detective was a verge of retirement Polack called Kominski that was constantly cutting the hairs out of his nostrils right out in the open instead of going into the men’s room and doing it in private. It made me want to smack him right in his snooze so bad I could almost taste it and I knew it was both illogical and bad thinking because he was really a pretty good cop and just a little lax with his hygienic shortfalls.

I went with Kominski to the review at the FBI office downtown to get caught up on the separate FBI investigation that was looking into the connection of the serial killer to a string of female homicides up in Portland with a supposed Uber driver and a spate of female rapes and murders out in Las Vegas that were connected to a part-time valet at one of the upscale casinos right on the world famous “Strip”. I don’t want to mention the name of the casino in this journal because it is run by some Arizona friends of my shady ex-husband form all the way back in the New Jersey and New York area that were prohibited from being in charge of any gambling place of business in the State of Nevada. I had already seen how the New Jersey Games of Chance Commission had given that particular “family” a pass back east and I was certain there were forces that would do the same thing right out here in La-La Land unless there was some guy with balls at the California anti-organized Crime Commission that actually wanted to continue the war against the “Family” started by ball-busting brother Bobby Kennedy so many years ago, it was already like three generations in the past.