The Rain Killer

The gruesome murder of a Brentwood woman

whose body was discovered early this morning

near her home, the victim has been identified

as 41 year old Margaret Warren.

Police are withholding most details,

but Power News has learned the victim was stabbed

and mutilated.

Turning now to the weather, a series of Pacific storms

continues to roll into the southland.

- The San Diegan to Floritan, Santa Ana,

Anaheim, and San Diego, now leaving on track seven.

All aboard!

Oh, cutting it a little too close.

Oh my God.

Get the cops on the horn, fast!

- Police officer, nobody gets off, hey, hey, come on,

get your pinstripe asses back on the train

and don't fuck with me.

Get a team together and get a list of everybody

who got off the train, come on.

- Lieutenant. - Yeah.

- Capra. - Yeah.

How do you want to play this?

- What do I know, there was a fucking train.

Detective Capra, police.

Shit.

Every detail from the top.

- I found her just like that, checked back here

just before we left Union Station, that's all I know.

- Anybody in here see someone go through here?

- It could only happen on one of the older cars.

The new ones are laid out all different.

You think he knew that?

I don't know, it's possible.

The guy with the sunglasses.

You describe him for us sir?

Overcoat, hat.

Sunglasses with reflective lenses.

He seemed out of place.

Anybody else see this guy, huh?

Here you go, cap.

Shit.

We gonna write this up or what?

What's it look like?

- Well. - Okay.

You want to talk about it?

Reese, old buddy, piss off.

Pissing.

Captain Hacket, step into my office.

- A woman gets ripped on a train, there tend to be

a few questions.

I'm really not up for this.

- Elizabeth Collinger, senior editor, Christ.

Somebody prominent.

- I'm a fucking lifeguard in a slaughterhouse, man.

What have you got?

- A big zero, trainload of people, nobody saw anything,

the lab?

- They found a plastic raincoat on the tracks,

sold all over town.

He used it like a butcher's apron, it's untraceable.

No weapon, looks like we got ourselves a real smart psycho

and look at you.

I need some R&R, Lee.

- There's more, the ME says the wounds are identical

to a murder in Brentwood day before yesterday.

Don't tell me that.

I need you on your feet.

My office, eight AM.

Sober.

- There are much easier places to kill somebody.

He took a big risk, why? - Showing off.

Okay, I'll buy that.

- Brentwood murder didn't get much airplay.

Maybe he was trying to do something spectacular.

He wants our attention, he's got it.

So what do we do now?

Round up the usual perverts.

To start with, he may have a pattern.

Look for a link between the victims.

- No connection except they were all well to do women

of about the same age.

And the rain.

What about it?

- When they were both killed, it was raining.

There's something wrong with, oh!

Oh, somebody help me, oh!

No!

- How's it going, Roden, they check your ID

before you came in here?

Eh, what are you gonna do about a city

that gets its annual rainfall in just two weeks, eh?

New York, Boston, Chicago, those are real cities, Lee.

Is this the Wild Turkey talking?

- Oh, you'd rather talk about how silly we look

on this thing, huh?

- Look, this guy is smart, he's systematic.

The way he picks his victims, the risk of open places,

the close escapes.

No evidence.

The rain washes everything clean.

Maybe it turns him on.

Always made me feel like screwing.

- When you were looking for a link between the victims,

you didn't run it by the DEA, did you?

- DEA, no, why, what's drugs got to do with this?

- I don't know yet, but the feds are in on this.

You'll be working with an FBI agent from now on.

Captain, not for nothing.

This thing gets solved on the streets, not behind a desk.

Hey, he can't do any worse than we have.

When can I expect him, captain?

He'll contact us, cooperate.

Asshole.

What's up, Captain?

- FBI decided to part with a little information.

All three victims were in drug rehab.

Different programs and different years.

- Hey, it's the only common denominator we've got.

What's federal IO, captain?

She was a federally protected witness,

new identity in exchange for testimony.

It's possible the people she testified against found her,

but that doesn't account for the killing of the other two.

So where does that leave us?

- At least we've narrowed the field of potential victims.

Women between 30 and 50 from drug rehab.

Could be thousands of 'em, Lee.

So...

What about this hotshot agent?

The feds aren't your problem.

It's me.

Look, I'm sorry to bother you, it's business, all right?

You could be in danger.

I'm not trying to frighten you, listen to me.

Someone is killing wealthy women, former users.

I couldn't help--

Thinking of you.

- How 'bout this fucking LA weather, man, eh?

20% chance of rain, oh, wait a minute, here we go.

Get a load of this, will you?

Now this looks more like a fashion show

than a bunch of ex-junkies, right?

Goddamn assertiveness training.

Now who's got Maggie?

Captain, somebody's on my tail.

He's getting close.

Close in, close in!

- You move, I splatter you, you cocksucker,

don't fucking move, don't fucking move.

Take it fucking easy, there you go.

What are you doing here tonight, eh, eh?

Got nothing better to do, out for a little stroll, eh,

you cocksucker, eh?

Oh yeah, oh, oh, what do we have here, what the fuck

do we have here, what, are you the lone fucking ranger

or what?

Federal agent, you dumb shit.

- Lieutenant. - Hold it, hold it.

Check out his ID.

- Come on, man, he looks like a fucking ad for GQ.

Wesley Dalton, special agent.

- Shoot, what the fuck are you doing here, man?

She was our decoy.

You all right, Maggie?

Yeah.

Okay, you'll be all right.

You want to fuck around, man, you want to work solo?

Bullshit, this is what happens.

I work alone 'cause of apes like you.

I'm an ape, I'm a fucking ape?

Lieutenant, not here, not now.

I'll take my weapon.

His gun.

Stay away from me, cowboy.

A female officer nearly gets killed

while you rough up a federal agent.

You make it sound so bad.

- Vince, I've looked the other way, lately,

but there's a limit, you're going back in the game, right?

Yes, yes, coach.

- Okay, you work with Dalton and that's that.

There's no second choice.

Mr. Dalton?

- He's a lightweight, captain, he couldn't find his ass

with both hands.

Listen, Dalton...

I'm sorry.

Forget it.

- Well, here they are, 007, scumbags on parade.

- Now what's this, the comic relief?

No, this is the cream of the crop, pal.

- You don't think we're gonna find a guy in this bunch?

They fit the general description.

All right, who's got the smallest dick?

Number six, what are you, a fucking comedian?

Nice, taxpayers know about this?

Not that it matters, but it's mine.

You got style, Wesley, you got style.

Where we going?