Edward Lee - Dahmer's Not Dead

Dahmers Not Dead

by Edward Lee & Elizabeth Steffen

Kindle Edition

Necro Publications

2011

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DAHMERS NOT DEAD

1999 by Edward Lee & Elizabeth Steffen

DEDICATION:

To Doris June and J-Fer.

Also, for Debra Miller, Patricia Bradley, Vette Myers and the rest of my federal and civilian friends who indulge me in my eccentricities and animal adventures. Thank you!

And for R.K.

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PROLOGUE

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN, JULY, 1991

PV-Two-Zero-Seven, do you copy?

This is Two-Zero-Seven, I read you. Go ahead.

PV-Two-Zero-Seven, are you 10-8?

Roger.

Proceed to AB on North 25th Street, Building 1055, Unit 213 for possible Signal 22. Investigate and report.

Roger, but whats the scoop?

Possible domestic complaint. Standby for complainant descript via case number filed by PV-Two-Zero-Eight Tenants name is Dahmer, Jeffrey, 31 years old, white male

10-4, Chase groaned. Two-Zero-Seven 10-6 to North 25th Street. Out.

What a pain in the ass, he thought, hanging up the mike. He stubbed out a Winston and honked the cruisers horn. Kick me too, why dont ya? In moments Chases partner, Sergeant Dallas Gollimar, returned to the patrol car with two coffees and a bag of Burger King Double Whoppers with Cheese. What! Gollimar snapped.

We just got a goddamn call, Chase complained.

Youre jivin me, right? Its twenty minutes before shiftchange!

Chase started the shining white Dodge Diplomat, an old car but ever reliable. He and Gollimar were good cops, as far as street cops went. You gave them shit, theyd give it right back to you, but you treat them decent, theyd do the same. Theyd seen their share of the tough stuff on this victor beat, and never balked. They knew what they were doing, and they knew the job. Only thing they hated was punt calls twenty minutes before they were off shift.

We just got a Signal 22, Chase said. Christ, I dont even know what the hell that is.

Unknown Trouble, Gollimar told him, getting in, slamming the door. I havent heard that one in years. Usually they turn out to be domestics.

Thats what dispatch said. Chase lit another Wintson. You ready for this? Two-Oh-Eight just copped some kid running down the street screaming. The kid had his hands cuffed behind his back, had bruises on him.

Two-Oh-Eight? Whos that? Thats Beer Gut and Karp, aint it?

Right. Chase pulled out onto the hot bright street; the traffic was a bitch, but you got used to it. Daylight raged across the windshield. So they pick this kid up, and the kid tells them some guy tried to kill him in his apartment, some guy named Dahmer, North 25th Street. And we gotta check it out.

Bullshit! Gollimar exclaimed. Its twenty minutes before we go off! Those fuckin guys are always punting their shit to us. Let them take the call!

Cant. Its in our loke, Weisers orders. Beer Gut and Karp are writing up the in-pross paperwork right now; they had to take the kid to the hospital. The kid had bruises, like I said, and claimed hed been drugged.

Drugged? Oh, man. This sounds like a crock of shit. Somebody always drop-kicks their garbage calls on us. Ill give you ten to one, Beer gut and Karp are both slugging coffee and donuts and laughing it up right now, those fat sons of bitches.

Chase shrugged, cruised past The Pier Three Annex, a restaurant hed never be able to eat at. On 32.5 a year and city taxes going up fifteen percent? Stuckeys was more like it. And Burger King. But A jobs a job, he realized. Things could be worse.

Hey, man? he asked. Wheres my Double Whopper with Cheese?

A terrible, terrible smell, all the time now, the old lady told them. Chase and Gollimar had met her on the landing, not the super but some old crone in a shaggy robe. And the noise! You boys wouldnt believe it.

What kind of noise, maam? Gollimar asked.

Likepower tools or something like that. A big saw.

Power tools? Chase wondered. Okay, so the guys building something. The only thing that smelled was this call. They got them all the time like this. A lovers spat. The girl gets pissed, runs out, talks shit about her hubby or boyfriend, then has a change of heart. They kiss and make up. All charges dropped. Only difference here was the complainant was a guy, which either meant he was gay or he had one tough girlfriend with the first name Jeffrey. But what else had the old lady said? Something about a smell? I dont smell anything, Chase observed.

Neither do

Ho! Chase jerked back and nearly yelled just as theyd taken another step.

There was a smell, all right. Faint but pungent. Disgusting. It brought Corporal Jack Chases memory back to childhood days, when he and a friend named Lee had been rummaging around behind the old, closed McCrorys in Newark. Theyd stuck their gallant young heads right into that open BMI dumpster and seen what were probably the remnants of a dead German Shepherd that mustve been rotting in the sun for days. The stench made them both flinch back and throw up in tall weeds

What is that? Gollimar griped.

It aint good, Ill tell ya that.

Whats this guys name again?

Chase checked his notepad. Dahmer, Jeffrey, white cauc., 31 years old. Works nightshifts as the Wokina Chocolate Factory on Toback Boulevard.

Gollimar rapped bare knuckles hard on the to Room 213. The smell seemed to treble.

Shit, the guy works nights, Chase reminded. Hes probably asleep.

Yeah, youre right. Hes probably

The apartment door clicked open. A sullen face seemed to hang there, perplexed. Unshaven, kind of pallid, straight light-brown hair.

Crazy eyes, Chase noted at once.

Yes?

Jeffrey Dahmer?

Yes?

Im Sergeant Gollimar of the Milwaukee Police Department, and this heres my partner, Corporal Chase. Mind if we come in and have a talk?

Chases eyes seemed to snag on a visual tick, peering over his sergeants shoulder.

Actually, I do mind, Officer. I work midnight shifts and Im very tired

Yes, sir, I understand that, Gollimar responded in what cops called report-speak, a cordial, polite tone of voice even when you werent feeling cordial or polite. But weve been asked to investigate a complaint filed by

Chases eyes suddenly bloomed like shocked flowers. He wasnt even sure what he was looking at when his instincts popped a hair-trigger in his mind. In a well-trained half-second move, he hit the thumb-snap on his holster, shucked his Colt Trooper Mark III, and bulled past Gollimar. He snapped the revolver into the tenants face, shouting, Put your hands in the air right now, put your hands in the air!

Gollimar recoiled. What the hell are you do

Theres something hanging in the closet and something really fucked up on the bed! Chase shouted. Check it out while I keep a bead on this guy!

Sergeant Gollimar drew his own piece. Hold him, he said, moving cautiously into the foul, three-roomed apartment. The place was a dump, filthy, and the stench, now, was almost overpowering. What in Gods name Then

The closet. Jack said to check the closet

Gollimar stared.

Its ashit, man, its something from a gag shop, he scoffed. They hung there absurdly. They couldnt be real.

The bed! came Chases next bellow. Look on the bed!

Gollimar turned. Something wasnt right. Suddenly his sweat was oozing and his mind fogged up. He looked down at the bed, which seemed covered with sheet plastic. Yes, he looked down and

stared.

These were no rubber party gags. They were real. They were severed limbs. And he knew now that the things hed seen hanging in the closettwo severed hands wired togetherwere just as real. An arm on the bed looked as though the bicep had been filleted out of it. A glance higher in the closet showed him more darkened things sitting on the top shelf, but by then you couldve put a gun to Gollimars head and he would not have moved forward for a closer inspection. Another glance, to the opposite corner of the bedroom, showed him a lidded 57-gallon industrial drum.