Chuck jumped on the computer and started to work, checking his e-mail, while Carson pored pointlessly through a stack of papers. Chewing on a cigar butt, he mumbled to himself and cursed under his breath. “Damn freaking case, piece of crap. Wished I’d never heard of "
His ramblings were suddenly interrupted by a ringing phone, the tone sounded exceptionally loud in the otherwise quiet office. “Detective Carson, may I help you?” Carson muttered.
“Hell yeah, you can help me. I’m on fire, can you come and put me out?” The voice said on the other end.
“Who is this? I don’t have time for jokes, it’s too damn early in the morning,” Carson bellowed.
Dr. Morton laughed and replied, “This is Dr. Morton over at the morgue. Just trying to have a little fun.”
“Oh, hi, Doc. Thought it was some wise ass. I was just fixing to light you up,” Carson said, still a little peeved. “ To what do I owe the honor of your call, this morning?”
“Got one on the table just for you. A Rick Sanchez, allegedly a victim of a heart attack. But in the course of my autopsy I have discovered he was actually murdered, a victim of an air embolism,” Morton explained.
“An air what?” Carson stammered.
“An air embolism. The victim was injected with a large quantity of air, which caused an air bubble that traveled to his heart and caused the poor man’s death.” Morton further explained. “I immediately thought of you, Carson.”
“ I appreciate you thinking of me, but my partner and I are knee deep in another case,” Carson protested.
Dr. Morton, a very persuasive individual, eventually talked Carson into coming over to the lab to take a look.
Carson and Chuck entered the morgue apprehensively. All the dead bodies, covered with sheets gave them the creeps. No matter how many times Carson made this sojourn into the undead, it still reminded him of a scene from one of those old horror movies. The kind where the dead get reanimated and rise up and start eating the living.
Chuck felt pretty much the same, he was newer at the game than Carson, and just tried to remember it was a part of his job, as unpleasant as it was. It didn’t remind him of an old movie, the dead bodies just threatened the contents of his stomach might not remain there.
Before they could get more than a few steps from the door, Dr. Morton came waddling up with a cheery good morning. His greeting seemed somewhat out of character considering their surroundings. “Good morning, detectives. So glad you could make it. Boy do I have a good one on the table over here. Can’t wait to show you, “ Dr. Morton beamed. “Carson, who have you brought with you, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Carson went on to introduce Chuck in a dutiful manner and indicated he was very busy and could we please get on with the proceedings.
Morton did proceed and in great detail describe the manner in which poor Rick Sanchez had come to meet his death. He bragged about how “not many coroners would have caught this and he was the best.” The detectives listened, the technical talk bored them, but they got the idea. This was no heart attack, it was murder.
“This had to have been done by someone who really knew what they were doing. A physician, or other trained medical personnel, perhaps a professional hit man,” Morton went on, and on.
Finally Carson had enough and interrupted the doctor. “We got it, we got it. The man was killed, okay. Do you have a name for a next of kin, and an address?”
Dr. Morton gave the detectives Rick’s address and said he had a wife, Connie.
Carson and Chuck thanked him, said their goodbyes and left the house of death, scratching their heads. Little did they know as they made the walk to their unmarked unit, this case would be the first in more to come.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Connie Sanchez
“Hello, I’m Detective Brown and this is Detective Carson from the SDPD,” Chuck said, standing along side Carson at the residence of Connie Sanchez. “We’re here about your husband Rick. May we come in?”
Connie stood awestruck momentarily, but finally said, “Yes, of course officers, come on in.”
The house was immaculate considering the fact she had just lost her husband. There was a table full of food presumably brought by well wishers. A subtle air of gloom permeated the room, the lights were dim, death was present. Connie wore no makeup, her face lined with tears, bloodshot eyes sat above bags as big as suitcases. Her hair was unwashed, but somewhat combed, she spoke almost in a whisper from a soul tired to the bone. Her clothes were wrinkled and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“What’s this all about?” Connie inquired. “I’ve just come from making funeral arrangements, the burial is in two days, can’t this wait?”
“Ma’am we’re sorry for your loss and we know this is a bad time, and no what we have to say can’t wait,” Carson hastened to say.
Connie pointed to the couch and invited Chuck and Carson to have a seat. She inquired if they would like some coffee or a soda, they declined. She sat down in a chair across from them.
Chuck started. “As we said this is about your husband, Rick. He was presumed to have had a heart attack. That was the assumption at the time of your husband’s death. However, the autopsy revealed something else. Your husband was in fact murdered.”
A look of abject horror and disbelief came over Connie’s face. “Murdered? Oh my God, that can’t be true. I thought he just had a heart attack, that’s what they said. Murdered, who would kill Rick,? Oh dear Lord.” She buried her face in her hands and cried uncontrollably.
“We’re so sorry to have to tell you about this, Mrs. Sanchez,” Carson continued. “Did your husband have any enemies that you now of?”
Connie was still crying, but finally gained control enough to shake her head and say,”No, my husband didn’t have any enemies, that I know of. He was a Christian, God fearing man. The best man I ever knew. Oh, my God, who would want to harm my Rick?” The tears started to flow again, it would be a while before they could continue.
Connie finally was able to go on, it was very apparent that the detective’s questions had made a bad situation even worst. The death of her husband had been traumatic enough, but now that Rick’s death had been ruled a homicide, it was even more painful. The thought that someone would kill her husband was unfathomable, something she just couldn’t wrap herself around. Murdered, he was murdered, who would do such a thing and why? She had no answers, as Carson and Chuck continued with their questions.
“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around the house, shortly before you found Mr.Sanchez laying, gasping for air on the driveway?” Chuck asked, really hating to go on.
Connie answered, “No, I didn’t see anyone. It was just a normal day. I didn’t go outside until I found Rick.” She burst into tears again,
While the detectives were waiting once again to continue, Chuck let his eyes wander up on a mantle place, filled with numerous family pictures. He was thinking what a nice family these people had been, and what a shame the husband had been killed, when a picture caught his eye. A picture he knew immediately he had seen before. It was the same picture of the so called “Magnificent Seven” he had seen at the Harris residence. How odd.
He punched Carson and pointed in the direction of the picture. A strange look came over the detective’s face, a look like a door had just opened up. It was an “aha” moment, one that opened up a whole new line of questioning. Mrs. Sanchez was recovered, so Chuck continued.
“Mrs. Sanchez, I couldn’t help but notice the picture on your mantle, the one of the seven men in marine corps’ uniforms,” Chuck inquired, pointing at the picture. Which one is your husband?”
Connie nonchalantly replied, getting up to retrieve the picture. “Oh, that’s a picture of my husband and his old marine corps buddies.” Pointing at Rick in the picture, she continued, “That’s Rick right there. They called themselves the “Magnificent Seven”, I never did understand why, they just liked
the name, I guess.”
Carson pointed at Frank’s image and inquired. “Did you know Frank Desio? Somebody tried to kill him, just two days ago.”
“Yes, I heard about it. He and Rick were good friends. Poor Frank,” Connie said, lowering her head
Chuck pointed at the picture, “Do you know him?”
“Yes of course, that’s Dr. Riley. He was Rick’s psychiatrist, I think he needs a shrink, if you ask me,” Connie said with a harsh look on her face.
“I hate to ask this question, ma’am, but was there bad blood between Dr. Riley and your husband?” Carson asked.
Connie answered, looking at Carson strangely, “No, not at all, they were best of friends as far as I know. Do you think he had anything to do with Rick’s death. I didn’t like him at all, myself, but Rick said he was a former marine and they stuck together no matter what.” Connie stopped for a minute, with a look on her face like she was trying to remember something, “You know, the morning Rick died, Dr. Riley had called to give an update on Frank, which wasn’t strange in itself. But, Rick said he had asked him what time he was leaving for the office. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now.”
“Well, Mrs. Sanchez, we don’t know what any of this means at this point, we’re just beginning our investgation,” Carson said in conclusion. “I think we have imposed on you enough for now. I’ll leave you one of my cards. If you think of anything else or just want to talk, give me a call.”
The detectives said their normal goodbyes and again told her, “sorry for her loss.” They meant these words, both Carson and Chuck were good men who cared about people. They felt genuine remorse for the death of this poor lady’s husband and for Frank Desio, laying in the hospital. It was time to visit Dr. Riley. All the evidence pointed his way, a single finger pointing directly at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Dr. Bill Riley
Dr. Bill Riley was just finishing up with a session when the detectives barged into his office. His secretary tried to detain the two, but they would not be dissuaded and burst into Bill’s private office, scaring the hell out him and his patient.
“Wait a minute, you can’t just barge in my office unannounced. Who the hell are you and what is the meaning of this intrusion?” Dr. Riley said, knowing good and well who they were. He had been expecting them, but he still didn’t want them to think they had the right to push their way in his office unannounced , while he was with his patient too. He felt he deserved more respect than that. The hell with some detectives from the SDPD.
The detectives flashed their shields and Carson did a brief introduction. They watched as the terrified patient left the room, noticeably traumatized from their abrupt and unannounced intrusion.
“We’ll be asking the question here, doc,” Carson growled. “You just sit your happy ass down on your couch there. This might take a while.”
Bill sat on the couch, looking like he was the patient and the detectives were his doctor. He was noticeably nervous, sweating in the air conditioned office, and fidgetting with his hair. He looked back and forth from Carson to Chuck, not knowing where the assault was going to come from first. The detectives just looked at him for a minute. “So what’s this all about?” Bill finally broke the silence.
“I said we’ll be asking the questions,” Carson said again. “For starts, did you know your patients are dropping like flies? Two of them are dead and a third lies in the hospital knocking on death’s door?”
“I… I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Bill stammered.
“Well let us break it down to you, doc,” Chuck continued. “A Frank Desio who we understand is a patient and close friend of yours is in the hospital, a victim of a hit and run accident. Another one, Roy Harris Jr. lies in the morgue, seems he committed suicide. He is joined at that same location by Rick Sanchez who was murdered under somewhat bizarre circumstances. Any of this sound familiar?”
Bill, didn’t know what to say, he just sat dumbfounded for a few seconds. Finally he said, ”Junior and Rick are dead? I had no idea. When did all this happen?”
“They were your patients, right, doc?” Carson inquired, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, but I had no idea,” Bill played dumb.
“Where were you Monday around noon? How about yesterday morning, say at six o’clock?” Chuck grilled Bill.
“I don’t remember.” Bill said, but not very convincingly.
“Look, you can answer our questions here or downtown, you make the choice,” Carson said, almost yelling.
“Monday, I was with a patient, I think. Yesterday morning, uh, I was at home,” Bill said.
“You think you were with a patient, Monday. You’ve got to do better than that. We needs names and a witness, like your secretary, for instance. And yesterday morning, can anyone confirm your story that you were at home?” Chuck joined the questioning.
“I’d have to check my appointment book, and my secretary was out to lunch. I’m afraid I was alone yesterday morning. So I don’t know what to tell you. Do you think I had something to do with trying to kill Frank and the death of Rick? Is that what you’re saying?” Bill asked.
“We think you had a lot to do with these events, quite frankly,” Carson interjected. “We can’t prove any of it, yet, that is. We heard all about your little club, the “Magnificent Seven”, and we know all about what you guys did over there in ‘Nam. Frank was going to spill the beans, so you hired Roy Harris Jr. to run the poor man down with a car.”
“Then you killed Rick Sanchez outside of his own home. His poor wife found him dying on his driveway, gasping for air,” Chuck joined in.”And now you’ve got the nerve to sit here and say you don’t know what the hell we’re talking about.”
“I want my lawyer. I’m not saying another word,” Bill said getting pissed. “You can’t just come in here and accuse me of murder. You have no proof. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yeah, you get that lawyer, you’re going to need ’em. ‘Cause we’re gonna be back with the evidence and a warrant for your arrest,” Carson bellowed, trying to sound much more angry than he was.
“Get the hell out of my office. This interview is over, gentleman. You come back when you get that proof, or should I say, if you get that proof, cause I didn’t do shit,” Bill yelled.
“Oh, we’ll be back, you can bet on that. We’ll show ourselves out. You have a nice day now,” Chuck said sarcastically.
The detectives showed themselves out, leaving a shaken Dr. Bill Riley in their wake. He just sat on the couch for a long while, too upset to even move. He knew they couldn’t prove anything, but they seemed to know the whole story. He wanted to call Maria, but he was afraid they were monitoring his calls. His phone calls, oh hell. What about all the phone calls he had made to Maria and to Junior as well. Did they know about all of them? He was sure that they did. And that big mouth, Emma Harris, telling the cops about their secret club and what happened in Vietnam. Damn, Bill was afraid he was in deep shit. He was going to need a big shovel to dig himself out of this mess.
Meanwhile Carson and Chuck were discussing their interview with the good doctor in their commute back to their lovely downtown San Diego office. They both felt the interview went well. They had sufficiently rattled his cage. Oh, he was scared now, they could tell. Now is the time when suspects like him do stupid stuff. And when he started to do that stupid stuff, the detectives were going to be there, watching and listening.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Bill and Maria
“They just barged right into my session, I was with a patient, for Christ’s sake,” Bill cried to Maria, who joined him at a secluded back booth of a coffee shop in Chula Vista. “These bastards know everything, I’m telling you, Maria.”
“Calm down, Bill,” Maria said, hoping to soothe Bill’s frayed nerves. “Knowing and proving are two different things. Sure they probably know we talked on the phone a few times. You were Junior’s
doctor, so what. They can’t connect us to the money they found at the motel. Junior’s dead, so he can’t tell them you put his ass up to the shit.”
Bill was somewhat calmed by Maria’s words, but he still was terrified of what unknown things the detectives might discover. He was not as careful as he should have been. One thing that had shocked him was when the detectives had said Rick Sanchez was dead.
“You know Rick Sanchez, don’t you Maria?” Bill inquired.
“Sure he was a member of you guy’s little group of murderers. What about him?” Maria said, somewhat at a loss.
“Did you know he was dead?” Bill asked. “And the weird thing is, those detectives think I killed him.”
Maria was totally shocked. “They think you killed Rick? You didn’t kill him did you?”
"No, no, I didn’t have anything to do with it. But they think I did. I don’t have a clue who killed him, but it scares the hell out of me. I still have doubts about Roy Harris’ death being an accident and now this. I don’t know, Maria,” Bill said, looking very nervous.
Outside the restaurant sat Chuck and Carson, sipping on stale coffee, and eating day old donuts. They had been on stakeouts many times together so they knew the drill. Hours of boredom, followed by more hours of boredom, sometimes resulting in action, but most of the time not. But following Bill was the only alternative the detectives had. They had no other leads. They knew Bill and Maria were involved, they had the motive and opportunity, but they were lacking that one little nagging thing, proof. They had no solid proof.
This meeting of the two lovers didn’t prove anything but infidelity, a good motive for murder but obviously not proof that they were involved. The detectives felt if they continued to follow Dr. Riley he was going to do something dumb.
Bill and Maria sat in the coffee shop for at least an hour, engaged in a heated, sometimes animated conversation. They agreed that they shouldn’t meet anymore, at least for a while in case they were being followed. Bill told Maria goodbye and headed out of the restaurant alone.