Joker's Wild

By David C. Palmiere

Just what does a manically depressed man do to alleviate his ongoing bouts of depression?Seek professional counseling?Been there.Take medication?Done that.Yet unbelievably, there was another way to achieve the desired effect.One-night stands ought to do the trick quite nicely. But wait. There's more. He would bring along his kinky suitcase stuffed with erotic women's uniforms for his newfound lady friend to wear!But wild and lustful nights can't go on forever. Mania never lasts. He would soon need more than casual sex to satisfy his frayed and twisted mind.It was time to up his game!He would soon manage to work even more madness into his routine. But how? After all, there are only so many women's uniforms a guy can pack into a suitcase! Wait a minute! Yes. What a great idea! The urge to kill would soon come calling! Wow! Talk about taking your ecstasy into another stratosphere!And because of his newfound ecstasy, the City of Pittsburgh would soon have a growing body count of women dressed in kinky uniforms turning up quite dead.And very soon he would have a calling card / nickname that fit his unique behavior quite well.The Joker is wild.And he would soon get wilder. Kinkier. Crazier. And yes. Even more depressed at times as well.Joker's Wild is a roller-coaster thrill ride that will leave you continually guessing at The Joker's real identity.Yes. Who would be crazy enough to carry out such carnage time and again?And more importantly…Would anyone in the City of Pittsburgh be able to stop him from bringing out his kinky suitcase and creating even more carnage?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647013530

Book preview

Chapter 1

Forty-one-year-old Detective Jake Moyer’s royal-blue eyes had suddenly turned ice cold. He and his partner had arrived in a back alley in a very shady section of downtown Pittsburgh only to then find a very dead girl lying underneath a plain white cover on a gurney. A quick once-over of the situation told him the girl’s body was still lukewarm, which told him that his Jane Doe had been killed recently.

You better come over here, McCoy, he told his new partner, some swanky-looking redhead with a made-to-bang-every-day body who had somehow made detective.

What is it? thirty-seven-year-old Valerie McCoy asked him as she made her way over to the body.

Moyer sighed as his partner came gingerly over to the gurney. The two had been made partners three weeks before, and this was going to be their first murder investigation. Val was a very swanky redhead with real sweet-looking green eyes, but Moyer had serious doubts about her ability to handle a tense situation like this.

The two worked out of the Zone 3 division that patrolled Pittsburgh’s South Side and downtown areas. The City of Pittsburgh itself was made up of a lot of small suburban communities from points all around, and horrid sights like this were thankfully few and far between. But Moyer obviously had no idea of how big this first murder would prove to be in the days and weeks to come. Right now, all he wanted to do was not stare into his partner’s groovy-looking green eyes and fantasize about stripping her naked.

The black and white boys told me a few seconds before you got here that our Jane Doe has a purse on her person. He scratched at the side of his head, which was showing just a slight trace of gray, and knelt beside the gurney. I’ll let you do the honors on this one.

Val’s head shot backward as she, too, knelt beside the gurney. Looks like someone must have been in a hurry to kill her to leave evidence like this behind, she said, lifting back the sheet, which covered the body. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

Moyer reached his right hand up to his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting. The victim had once been a very pretty girl. Upon arriving on the scene, he had initially checked the victim’s body temperature by feeling for a pulse on her wrist but decided to let Val remove the upper portion of the sheet, which then exposed the actual body for the first time.

Christ, he groaned, looking down at the girl’s face. The girl is wearing a schoolgirl uniform.

Val reached for the victim’s purse, which was positioned over her right shoulder, and placed the white sheet back over the victim’s face. Do you think it’s significant? she asked.

Moyer shrugged his shoulders. Could be, he presumed. Check the purse for some ID. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

Val nodded and rummaged through the little brown purse until she hit pay dirt. I think it’s a school ID, she said, holding the laminated card into the air as if it were a winning PowerBall ticket.

Let me see that, Moyer said, sticking out his right hand.

Val complied and handed over the ID. Moyer then turned on his police-issued flashlight and squinted his royal-blue eyes to view the contents of the card. Jake Moyer was a big pain in the ass, Val thought to herself as she waited for her partner to speak again. He was also very chauvinistic and had a rather narrow mind when it came to world itself. He firmly believed most people would stab you in the back if given the chance. But he was also very cute and very single. His current dating status stood to reason though. The guy was totally in love with himself.

This is a Point Park College ID, he told her, shutting off his flashlight. Our Jane Doe was apparently a girl named Jasmine White.

Val then took back the ID in hand and did a quick scan of it herself. This picture was taken last week, she pointed out. The date on the ID states that the picture was taken in late August of this year.

Terrific, Moyer complained. We have a very dead girl wearing a schoolgirl outfit who was a student at one of the most prestigious colleges in the city. And to top it off, we won’t know if there was intercourse of any kind until the medical examiner does an examination of her body.

Val placed the girl’s purse and school ID into a clear evidence bag and sealed it. What does your gut tell you? she asked her partner.

That I should have picked a different career, he lamented and then frowned.

Val swallowed hard as the two started to walk down the long and dark alley. The prelim indicated there was no evidence of a struggle anywhere in this alley.

I’m not surprised, Moyer said but didn’t elaborate.

Val suddenly stopped walking, rubbed her chin, and made a clicking sound with her lips.

Moyer turned and faced her. You thinking about something? he asked her, hands on hips.

It might sound silly, she said.

Out with it, McCoy, he instructed her.

Val took a step back. The alley was dark, but it was hard not to catch a glimpse of her partner. Jake Moyer kept himself in great shape. As if he hadn’t told her about his well-toned figure a thousand times the past three weeks. He bragged constantly about being able to bench-press three hundred pounds and never shut up about the endless number of push-ups he could do on a daily basis.

Jake Moyer, crooked personality and ill-tempered nature notwithstanding, was a total hunk. But would it hurt him to give her a little credit from time to time? Val had graduated first in her class at the academy and had been a patrol cop for nine years before being promoted to the rank of detective a month earlier.

She had earned her stripes the hard way, especially since she was a woman. She had to do everything twice as well as her male counterparts just to gain an inch of respect within the ranks of the department. Her only wish was that her partner would give her the just due she deserved.

I was thinking that she could have been a hooker, she said at last.

Moyer snorted out the side of his mouth. You can’t be serious? he said with a wild look in his eyes. You might be beautiful, McCoy, but you have a lot to learn.

Val blinked her eyes a few times. Jake’s choice of words to her just then were the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given her, but he still sounded so crass.

I would like an explanation, she demanded, tapping her right foot on the pavement. You sounded kind of chauvinistic there.

Moyer laughed again. I’m sorry, he said in a half-truth. I shouldn’t have made a comment like that.

Well, she said, smiling on the inside, I guess that’s a start.

Moyer let out a heap full of air. Val McCoy was very pretty, but she happened to be very engaged. He liked Val a lot but was frustrated by her choice of men.

Are you really going to marry him? He wanted to know.

Val raised her right eyebrow. You’re asking me this now? Besides, I don’t think it’s any of your business.

It’s not, Moyer agreed. Again, I am sorry.

Moyer lowered his head as he gave his apology, and it made Val feel nervous. Jake Moyer certainly knew how to make her feel bad. Look, Jake, she began, I am flattered you like me, but we’ve had this talk before.

Moyer nodded, indicating that he remembered their previous conversations on Val’s dating status. What can I say? he said, throwing his hands helplessly into the air. I guess I am a little envious!

His boyish mannerisms made Val laugh. You are a pig, Jake, she said, trying to hide her smile. But you still haven’t told me why you think our girl couldn’t be a hooker.

Hooker’s usually don’t carry around college IDs.

I know that, Jake, she said, folding her arms across her chest in a fit of defiance. But maybe this girl was new in the area and decided to moonlight after school hours.

Moyer shook his head in frustration. I don’t think so, he told her. The evidence suggests she was killed somewhere else and then dumped here.

Val let out a shrill and looked deeply into her partner’s eyes. Evidence, she said. You mean like her outfit?

Yeah, he said. "Also, there were no drugs on her person, which would have suggested that she came out here to hook up with a dealer, which leads us back to a possible rape or other sexual encounter.

Plus, he continued, I guess I am having a hard time believing a girl attending Point Park College would find herself in a bad area like this without meeting with foul play first. He paused for effect then finished his thought. It’s almost as if our killer wanted us to find the girl here. He wanted us to know that she went to Point Park College.

Val nodded in agreement. Leaving her body here like this does seem like a pretty bold statement on the killer’s part.

Moyer pulled a pack of smokes out of his windbreaker and placed one into his mouth. I could be wrong, but I think our killer fully wanted us to find her here dressed like this too, he said, lighting the cigarette. There are crazies running all around who get off on this kind of shit. I bet you the son of a bitch is playing with us.

Val thought about her partner’s theory for a second. But how did she get into the schoolgirl uniform in the first place? she questioned. I mean, you don’t think she would walk around in downtown Pittsburgh so scantily dressed, do you?

Moyer took a long drag off his cigarette. Assuming she wasn’t a hooker, he said, coming up for air, which her ID strongly suggests she wasn’t—he shook his head as he ran the scenario around in his head—no. I really don’t believe she would walk around in downtown Pittsburgh dressed like that.

Val was about to speak on the matter some more when she heard Moyer’s cell phone ring.

Hold your thought, McCoy, he told her, grabbing his cell phone from off his belt clip.

Moyer answered it. Hello, this is Detective Moyer. Can I help you?

There was a slight pause. Detective Moyer, the girl’s voice on the other end finally said back to him. I was given your number by one of the dispatch operators. The woman told me that you might be able to help me.

Moyer sighed and flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground. I’ll try, he assured her. What is your problem?

I’m a student over at Point Park College, the girl said in a hurry, and my roommate never came back to our dorm room tonight. I am worried that something happened to her.

Moyer thought about giving the frantic girl the tried and true standard police procedure in situations like this: a person wasn’t officially considered missing unless twenty-four hours passed. But he didn’t. Instead, Moyer turned back around over to where they had found Jane Doe moments before, a.k.a. Jasmine White.

A sick feeling of shame and agony came over him as he started to connect the dots in his head, but Moyer managed to continue with the conversation. What was your friend’s name, miss? he asked, knowing full well what the girl’s answer was going to be.

My friend’s name is Ashley Gibbs, the girl said, throwing a curve.

A few minutes later, Moyer was still trying to roll his tongue back into his mouth when he gave his partner the bad news. I think you had better call that fiancé of yours, he told her, placing the cell phone back onto his belt.

Val titled her head sideways. Why?

Moyer let out a heap full of air and replied, It appears your future stepdaughter never came back to her dorm room tonight.

Chapter 2

Thursday, September 19

Daddy, my daughter Ashley, who was eighteen, going rapidly on thirty-five, said to me as the pace of our discussion picked up. I didn’t mean to cause you guys any trouble.

How could I stay mad at such a beautiful young lady? But despite my feelings on the matter, I was still quite irked at Ashley’s behavior, which just happened to be the most frustrating part of my evening.

Ashley was my only child from my first marriage. My first wife, Donna, died suddenly and without any warning when Ashley was only eleven, and I have struggled for years for a way to make my little girl smile. But now that Ashley was of legal age and in college, well, my little girl was usually nothing but smiles these days.

I might be slightly biased, but I think Ashley is the most beautiful girl in the world. She is the spitting image of her mother: Tall, about five foot ten, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a wire-thin figure most girls would probably kill for. I love her with every fiber of my being, but the young lady currently had me speechless.

It’s all right, Dom, My fiancée, Valerie, said to me as the temperature in my dining room dropped ten degrees in five seconds flat. We know Ashley is fine now. That’s the important thing.

Leave it to Val to be the voice of reason. The woman had been a godsend to me since she came into my life and a perfect motherly figure for Ashley to boot, but the two certainly like to gang up on dear old dad from time to time. Tonight was quickly proving to be no exception to the rule.

"It’s not all right. I felt the need to point out, attempting to save some face. One girl from Point Park College has already been killed, Ash. And I just want to make sure that are you safe."

My daughter’s big deep blue eyes widened to the size of manhole covers, and before she could speak again, she took a step backward on the freshly waxed wooden dining room floor before she fell flat on her face.

I’m sorry, she apologized, sinking her head in shame. I had no idea Jasmine had been killed last night.

Did you know her, sweetheart? Val asked of my daughter, whose frightful body language appeared to be worsening by the second.

Despite my trepidation on the pressing matter, which just happened to be because of my daughter’s safety, seeing Val play the role of mother made my heart soar with delight. I never thought I’d find love ever again, but Cupid had somehow managed to shoot his arrow straight into my heart one night when I first saw Val slinking her way around a local dance floor. We met at a fireman’s charity ball here in Brentwood two years ago, and my heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal.

I love Val a lot. Although I wish her job wasn’t so dangerous. She had been promoted to detective a few months before with the Pittsburgh Police Department, and I must admit that her current job description worried me a lot. People who wear badges get shot in the line of fire. Period.

But I knew this was no time to start up with the timeless, and always futile, argument of employment with Val. We had gone over the dangers of her job countless times since we had met, and I was getting nowhere fast with my line of reasoning. Besides, I just lost my cushy teaching gig a few months ago due to the local budget crunch here in the almost-always-friendly confines of Brentwood Borough. Val and I were scheduled to get married next April, and even though her job description scares the hell out of me on a daily basis, I have come to one steadfast conclusion: weddings don’t pay for themselves. Val makes a good salary being a detective which pretty much meant I was going to have to grin and bear it. Val’s dangerous job, which takes her into some rather shady areas, was also currently paying for my comfy three-story abode that I have lived comfortably in for the past ten years. I thought I’d clarify this tenuous situation as thoroughly as I could. It helps me cope with my fear.

"I just knew of her, Ashley said by way of explanation. There are so many kids floating around the school, and it’s hard to keep track of everyone."

My daughter had on a pretty good poker face, but I could easily see she was going to crack before the hand played out.

I wish you could tell us why you decided to sneak out of your dorm room without telling your roommate, I said out loud and soon wished I hadn’t. Leave it to good ole Dominic Gibbs to ask a stupid question at such an inopportune time.

Upon asking my dubious question, Val looked up at me as she stood in the entryway of the dining room and placed her hands on her hips. Don’t push her, Dom. She then went over to Ashley, threw her left arm around her waist as if they were two long lost friends, motioned her over toward the dining room table, and finally helped my daughter sit her shaky frame down.

Ashley’s face quickly hit the tabletop upon doing so. I have to get back to school, she said into the wooden top, which normally acts as a four-seat dining room table.

As I watched her stew inches away from me, I suddenly felt bad for summoning Ashley back to Brentwood for this pow-wow, which was getting us nowhere fast. I’m just a concerned dad who was going to do all I could to keep my daughter safe. Could you blame me?

I know you do, honey, I said, taking a seat at the dining room table.

Val looked up at me again and let out a slight smile. She and Ashley had bonded as much as two females could long before, and seeing this touching scene, despite my daughter’s hesitation on giving me her exact whereabouts on the evening before, made me want to burst with pride.

Well, Val said, taking my daughter’s hand, your father and I want you to be safe. All we ask is that you keep us posted on what you are doing.

I smiled widely. Thank God I brush my teeth often, because I had just exposed a full cluster of choppers. I think you have learned your lesson, young lady, I said, throwing down my final decree on the matter. If you are going to leave school grounds, then all you have to do is call either me or Val.

My daughter’s head sprang up as if she was a jack-in-the-box. Thanks, Daddy, she said, rising from the table. Ashley then kissed me on the crown of my salt-and-pepper hair and grabbed her purse.

I gazed up at her, only hoping my teeth weren’t too menacing-looking. This situation was so ironic. I know what I’m about to say is going to sound like such a stagnant cliché of many generations of parents gone by, but I have to say it. Ashley was growing up so quickly. It seemed a few months ago that I changed her first diaper, and now I was watching her go off to college.

It seemed like such a good idea last spring to let her go off and experience some of the world on her own. Ashley was getting ready to graduate from Brentwood High School at the time, and I had already felt like I was losing my baby girl. The three of us had sat in this exact same dining room eight months ago as Ashley pleaded her case for living on campus at Point Park College for her freshman year. The school is only a few miles from my house by car, so the proximity was going to allow her to get back and forth quite easily. It seemed reasonable enough.

But Ashley wanted her independence at the tender age of eighteen! I wasn’t sure if I wanted to let go. Being a parent is so tough. I only hope we made the right decision by letting her go. Ashley held fast with her mantra that night last spring, and she and Val outvoted me, between a box of Oreo cookies and a quart of 2 percent milk, two to one. But this touching family moment occurred before I lost my teaching job, and the extra expense of paying for room and board at a pricy college was now breaking me. As if the lack of money in the Gibbs family bank account wasn’t bad enough, I had just learned earlier today that one of Ashley’s classmates had been murdered only a few blocks from Point Park College.

Talk about a parent’s worst nightmare come true.

Anyway, I took my daughter’s hand and squeezed it hard. Be safe, Ashley, I cautioned her. I just want you to make good decisions.

Ashley hugged me and then went over to Val and did the same. I love you both very much, she said in between the hugs and tears. But I had better get going before it gets too late.

Before I could say another word, I watched my all-grown daughter shuffle her way past me as she made her way over toward the front door. Before she left the scene for good though, Ashley turned and waved at Val and me. I promise I’ll pay more attention, Daddy.

I wanted to cry. My little girl was all grown up, and I knew I was going to have to learn to deal with situations like this. The older your kids get, the less they seem to need you.

Good Lord, that thought really made my eyes water. I’ve never wanted to cry more in all my forty-one years on earth. Before I could blather all over the newly stained dining room table though, Val got out of her seat and hugged me from behind. Ashley will be fine, she said into my left shoulder.

I reached back and rubbed her hand. It was comforting feeling the softness of her right hand, but I couldn’t shake a thought which had crept into my body about an hour earlier.

What do you know about the girl whom you found in the alley last night? I wanted to know.

Val kissed me on the side of my right cheek and started to rub my shoulders. You know the rules, she said, sounding like a schoolteacher who was about to scold one of her students. I can’t disclose any facts in the case to anyone.

I closed my eyes and let Val massage my shoulders some more. Like I said, Val is a great woman. I just can’t stand her job.

It’s so goddamn secretive.

* * *

Nice job, Renee. Ashley Gibbs moaned in frustration just after she reached her dorm room.

I only called the police because I was concerned, eighteen-year-old Renee Winslow said as she placed her dog-eared copy of a Death of a Salesman on her lap.

Ashley’s eyes fumed with disdain as she plopped her backside on her bed. She grabbed a pillow and sat Indian-style as she looked across the tiny room at her roommate of the past three weeks.

The two had become quick friends upon meeting each other the week before school started when freshmen came from all over the map in an initial attempt to become adults. The dorm rooms at Point Park College were old and rather small, but the cramped conditions usually forced roommates to become close. Sharing time and space is one of those tricky things young adults must learn to cope with on college grounds, and the two young girls quickly became fast friends in doing so.

Renee Winslow was such a nervous girl though. She chewed her fingernails when she felt fright coming into her veins, which was about every second of the day, and had a very bad habit of letting her silky black hair turn greasy from running her hands through it on a constant basis. Renee was from West Virginia and was a theater arts major. Both girls were given the title of gifted by school administrators after acing their entrance exams and were allowed to take classes usually reserved only for upper classmen.

"You knew I had a date with Josh," Ashley said, grinding the words out through her teeth.

Renee frowned and threw her book onto the floor. She began to twirl her hair madly with her right hand and sat up in her bed, which sat across from Ashley’s. Josh is a senior, she said, staring into the bare thread carpet, which covered the rickety old wooden floor that lay underneath.

So? Ashley questioned, shrugging her shoulders. We’ve been through this before.

It’s only been three weeks though, Renee relented, lifting up three fingers with her free hand to further bolster her verbal claim. Besides, Josh is six years older than you.

Ashley squeezed the pillow hard with her hands, wishing that she was squeezing Renee’s neck instead. That still didn’t give you the right to call the police! she decreed, steam coming out of her ears. My future stepmother, who is a detective by the way, got the call, Renee.

Renee looked up at her roommate in sheer panic. She was every bit as pretty as Ashley but was so fearful about everything. Last night had been very much like that for the pretty brunette. I’m sorry, she apologized, readjusting her librarian-styled glasses on her face. But it was after eleven o’clock and you still weren’t back.

Ashley aimlessly threw her pillow at Renee. I know, she conceded, cracking a slight smile. Joshua never showed up for our date.

Renee dodged the flying pillow, which caused her to swipe at her rapidly greasing black hair. That sucks, Ash, she said, rocking back and forth on the bed. Have you talked to him today?

No, Ashley lamented. I will see him in Mr. Hoffman’s writing class tomorrow though. Ashley then huffed and added, And that creep better have a good excuse for blowing me off.

Renee swallowed hard. She was thrilled to see that Ashley was all right. Jaded. But all right. I still can’t believe someone killed Jasmine, she said, changing the subject on cue. Everyone was talking about it today.

Ashley turned and let her head hit the bed where her tossed pillow would have been. I know, she answered. She lived right down the hallway from us.

Renee picked up her rocking pace and started to twist her long dark hair into a pretzel. The pretty brunette was scared. She just hoped in the days to come that she wouldn’t become scared to death.

Chapter 3

So you see, fifty-five-year-old Richard Hoffman told his creative writing class that Friday morning. Writing has a lot more to do about showing than it does telling.

Mr. Hoffman then placed his hands behind his back and started to pace to the back row of chairs in the classroom just like he had done for the past thirty years. The dapper-looking teacher, who had been dubbed the Silver Fox by his peers at the college because of his boyish good looks despite his full plume of white hair, gazed around his small classroom of students and decided to seek out one of them to further illustrate his point.

Mr. Evans, he called out, arriving at one of his student’s desks. Do you think you can elaborate on my point for the rest of the class?

Twenty-four-year-old Joshua Evans didn’t think he could. Joshua was a film major, who currently had no idea what his teacher was talking about. Point Park College was nationally renowned for its Pittsburgh Film Academy School, which had turned out dozens of eager filmmakers over the years who yearned to make it in the world of cinematography.

Joshua Evans was more than likely to sell life insurance policies for his father in the years to come than he was to make a feature film, but the young man was a fulltime dreamer nevertheless. Standing a little over six foot four, with sandy blonde hair, Joshua Evans was the typical rich boy turned