“Good luck detectives,” Sam said to himself as Carson and Chuck saw themselves out of his lab.
Chapter Sixteen
Back at the office once again the detectives sat aimlessly at their desks. Carson was doodling on a piece of scratch paper and Chuck was playing solitaire on his desktop. “We got crap, Chuck. Until we get the victim's identification we're just pissing in the wind here.” Carson looked over at Chuck who seemed to be too engrossed in his game to have an opinion about the statement his partner had just made.
“Well? What do you say ole wise one?” Carson inquired in his tongue and cheek fashion.
Chuck closed up the screen on his computer and seemed to be doing some heavy thinking for a few moments. “I think once we get the name and a good address, the rest of the pieces will fall in place like a jigsaw puzzle. The motive is the key to the whole thing. Once we establish that, we'll close the case. Simple as that”
“Just that simple? God I wish I had your optimism. I hope you're right. I doubt it, but I hope you're right.” Carson said biting down on his cigar and giving a little chuckle.
“It's easy, try it some time.”
“Try what?”
“Being more positive instead of so negative all the time.”
“I've tried it, doesn't work for me. I prefer the realistic approach. Plan for the worst and hope for the best.”
“See that's what...
The phone mercifully rang to interrupt. Carson looked at Chuck and he motioned for him to go ahead pick it up. “Detective Carson, how may I help you?” Yes, we've been waiting on your call... No usable prints or DNA materials... Figures... Okay, thanks for calling.” Carson slammed the receiver down. “See what I mean Chuck?”
“Not good news I take?” Chuck laughed.
“How'd you guess? That was the lab about the bracelet we found on the steps. No usable prints or material that could be used for a DNA match. So much for that lead.” Carson looked down at the floor and shook his head.
“It was a long shot anyway,” Chuck joined Carson in his disappointment.
“Yeah, a long shot.”
“But look at the bright side. We got some exercise and fresh air.”
“No more of the positive stuff, I can't take any more. I like my way better.”
The detectives went back to what they were doing; Carson doodling and Chuck playing solitaire. An hour passed before the phone rang and brought them back to reality. This time it truly was some good news.
“Carson, how's it going this fine San Diego day? This is Tomas over at the coroner's office.”
“I guessed that Sam, and I ain't doing worth a damn. I hope you've got something.”
“As a matter of fact I do. I got an ID on your victim. Name's Charles Smithson. That's spelled S-M-I-T-H-S-O-N. He's been arrested a few times apparently, might get a lead on his whereabouts from his arrest record or from the DMV. Also, I was right about the victim being drugged. His tox showed massive quantities of Ecstasy, or X as its called on the streets. The date rape drug. Somebody shot this guy up with enough of the drug to get a whole room of potential victims high. The victim could have died from the drugs alone. I did some comparisons on the blunt wounds to different objects and they were definitely caused by a baseball bat.”
“That was Charles Smithson?” S-M-I-T-H-S-O-N, is that correct?”
“That is correct, my friend.”
“You said you thought the fatal bullets were .22, is that what you found?” Carson hastened to ask.
“Correct again old and wise one. They were pretty damaged but I sent them over to ballistics. If you find a gun, you might be able to get a match, hard to say.”
“So all and all we're looking for a baseball bat and a .22 pistol as far as weapons are concerned?”
“Looks that way Carson. I know that doesn't exactly make for an easy case, but that's what we've got. Also the X, don't forget about that. Somebody had to have a connection to get the drugs and also knew how to administer the hypo.”
“So, this is what we've got. A Charles Smithson shot between the eyes with a .22 pistol at close range, after he was beaten a another location with a baseball bat, after he was shot up with X. Does that pretty well sum it up doc?” Carson said rather softly, unusual for him.
“Yelp, that's about it. Oh yeah I did find a tattoo on his lower left calf. It was very odd in a way. The tattoo was of a “Hooter's” Girl, you know the restaurant where the beautiful young ladies wear those delightful outfits. Around the figure of the young lady was inscribed “Lola Forever.” Look's like it had been done recently. Don't know if that would be of help or not.”
“Could be, thanks,doc,” Carson, said as he hung up the receiver.
“Charles Smithson. We've got our ID. Now we've got to find out where this guy was living when he got himself whacked. Sam said he had a record, that's where he matched the prints. Also we'll check DMV and see what address they've got on the guy.”
“Yeah, not much but it's a starting place,” Chuck said a little too cheerfully.
“Let's just get to work.”
.
Chapter Seventeen
A man drove a red pickup truck into a self service car wash in downtown San Diego. He slowly got out of the truck, looked around cautiously as if he thought someone was following him. Satisfied that he was alone, he started to wash the truck, paying particular attention to the bed.
Satisfied with his work, he got back into the truck and drove down the street to a busy parking garage. He pulled in and went to the fifth level, found a spot, and parked the truck. He got out, glanced both ways and strolled on out of the parking facility. He walked down the street a few blocks, got on the trolly and disappeared.
His work was done. He only hoped he had covered his tracks adequately enough so he could get away before the cops came looking for him. He felt regret but had no time for it. He must stick with the plan and worry about his feelings later. There was much to do.
It was now time for his big getaway. Oh yeah, he had a plan okay and it was a good one, as most escape plans are in theory at any rate. The murderer laughed as he thought of the beauty of his plan. No way it could fail. “Everyone thinks I'm somewhere else when the killing took place, no way in hell would they ever suspect me,” he said out loud as he got off the trolley, walked down to Broadway and caught the bus heading for the airport. “I'll be on that big bird and gone, before anyone knows what has happened.”
The bus rolled up in front of the airport. The killer walked casually in, retrieved his luggage out of a locker he had rented the day before, got his boarding pass and headed for security.
Chapter Eighteen
“Good afternoon, I'm Detective Carson and this is Detective Brown,” Carson introduced himself at the Parson's residence. “We would like to speak to Valerie Smithson.”
Confused and still sleepy from being aroused from her slumber, Mary Parson inquired of the detectives,” What? What is this all about?”
“Is Valerie home?” Chuck interjected.
“I'm her mother, what's this all about?”
“Ma'am, we need to speak to Valerie, is she here?” Carson, growled starting to get a little irritated.
“Oh, no, no. She's at work. But could I help you?”
“Perhaps. We're here concerning a Charles Smithson,” Chuck answered as politely as possible.
“What's that no good bum done now? He don't live here. We ain't seen his butt in seven years, then he shows up causing all kinds of problems.”
“May we come in, ma'am?” Carson said trying himself to be a little less gruff.
“Sure, come on in. Excuse my appearance, ya'll woke me up, I work nights at the Navy Exchange.”
“You guys, want some coffee,” Mary asked as she showed the detectives to the den and offered them a seat. “I really need me a cup of joy, as my granddaughter calls it.”
The detectives both agreed they too would like a cup of coffee, black, and made
themselves comfortable.
Mary, came into the den with the detective's coffee, handed each a steaming cup, and had a seat in an old chair. “So what's this all about detectives?” She said looking from Carson back to Chuck and back again.
“Well ma'am, we regret to inform you that Charles Smithson has been killed. Sorry for your loss,” Chuck said solemnly.
“Sorry for the loss? Thanks for the good news,” Mary yelled, happily and unexpectedly. “I'd like to shake the hand of the man or woman who rid the world of that trash. That boy was born a burden to the world. Was missing for seven years, we thought he was already dead, but he showed up again, telling some kind of cockamamie story. Somebody was after him and his life was in danger.”
“You didn't believe his story?” Carson inquired, surprised by the whole story that was starting to unfold.
“Heck, no. He was a liar from the word go. Brought nothing but misery to my daughter and his whole family. Charles is dead, hot dog. Good riddance, to bad rubbish, as they say.”
“Ma'am, who were these people that the deceased said were following him?” Chuck asked, still a little confused.
“I didn't get it from the horse's mouth, you understand, but according to Valerie, my daughter, and Charles' sister, Maria, it was something to do with a cell phone that contained some information that somebody wanted. That idiot had Valerie and my granddaughter, Muffin, as we call her, meet him at a park over in Chula Vista. He was sneaking around like a character out of one of those old spy movies. Had a hood over his head and dark glasses on talking about his life was in danger and their lives would be in danger to if the bad men who were looking for him knew he had a wife and daughter. Just crazy talk, that's all it was.”
The detectives looked at each other, not knowing what to think, finally Chuck asked, “What time will your daughter, Valerie, be home Mary?”
“She has to take Muffin to her ballet class tonight. Normally she'd be at home by six, but tonight she won't be home until around nine tonight probably.”
“Tell you what, we'll leave you a card and you get her to give us a call and set up an appointment. We, obviously, really need to talk with her,” Carson said as they headed out of the door.
Back in their unmarked unit, the detectives sat for a few minutes quietly thinking as they drove to their office in downtown San Diego. “That was kind of bizarre, don't you think Carson?”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. You never know how people are going to react in these situations. She definitely had no love for the victim, that's for sure.” Carson sorta laughed, but the situation was far from funny. They had one dead guy, beaten with a Louisville slugger and shot between the eyes with a .22, and a mother-in-law who just acted like she could have been in on the job.
“You hungry Chuck,” Carson said uncharacteristically.
“Yeah, I could eat, why?”
“I had a taste for some chicken wings, say from Hooter's.”
“Oh, yeah, the tattoo. Lola, unusual name. Like in the song by the Kinks from the seventies. Most definitely, and I wouldn't mind checking out some Hooter Girls while we're at it.
“Rough job, but somebody's got to do it.”
They laughed and headed to the nearest Hooters. Of course Lola didn't work at the nearest restaurant and they ended up visiting four locations before they found the mysterious lady.
Chapter Nineteen
Lola Perez was having a typical evening at work, waiting tables and visiting with men who seemed more interested in looking at her “Hooters” than ordering wings off of the menu. Such was the nature of her business, she accepted it, but still it was annoying sometimes. She had been sad of late, her boyfriend of over two years had disappeared. They had had a couple of fights, but she didn't think he would just up and leave her. She hadn't heard from him in over a week, she hoped he was okay.
Lola didn't know any of his friends, so she couldn't call anyone to see if they had seen Charles. He was always secretive about his past and paranoid almost to the point of being psychotic. She accepted him for who he was and tried to understand his mood swings and fits of depression.
She was deep in thought when the detectives entered the restaurant. She didn't pay them any attention, just a couple of guys, like hundreds who frequented the establishment every day for dinner.
Realizing that they were looking for her was quite a shock, and what they had to tell her, and who they were, was even more shocking.
“I'm detective Brown and this is my partner Detective Carson. Is there somewhere we could talk privately.”
“What is this all about? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“No ma'am, you're not in any trouble, could we talk privately?” Chuck asked once again.
Lola directed them to a break room which was empty during the dinner rush. “Now what is this about, you're scaring me.”
“Have a seat, young lady, this is gonna take a while,” Carson all but ordered her.
Lola had a seat, still perplexed and fearful of what the detectives had to say.
“Do you know a Charles Smithson?” Chuck started.
“Charles? Oh my God, something has happened to Charles. Or did he do something? What did he do?”
“Calm down ma'am. We regret to inform you that Charles has been murdered. Did you know him well?” Carson asked as sympathetic as he could.
Lola just hung her head and softly cried. She had thought in the back of her mind something terrible had happened to him, but tried not to believe it. “He's was my boyfriend, and my best friend for the last two years.” She said through tears.
“Do you know of anyone who would wish him harm,” Chuck said sympathetically.
“No, but even though I lived with him for over two years, I didn't know much about his past or his life. He had seemed a little paranoid of late, but I just contributed his mood to his condition.”
“His condition, ma'am?” Carson asked, a little confused.
Wiping her eyes with a napkin from one of the tables, Lola continued. “He suffered from fits of depression and anxiety. I think he might have even been bi-polar, but he didn't take medication for it. I'd come home and he'd be hiding in the closet saying they were after him, don't let them catch me.”
“So you think he was a little unbalanced, to put it politely?” Chuck asked not meaning to be too blunt.
“At times, yeah, but I love him, loved him.” Lola began to cry again. “You would have had to known him. He was so full of life and he loved me too.”
Changing the subject Carson asked a question that totally shocked the waitress. “Did you know he had a wife and a thirteen year old daughter?”
“What?”
“He had a wife and a child, he never bother telling you?”
“Oh my God, no! He never told me he was married.”
“Do you think, like he said someone was after him. Someone who meant him harm?” Chuck asked getting back to the point.
“No, no, I don't think so. I never saw any evidence that anyone was following him. It was all in his mind. At least that's the way it seemed to me.”
“Did he have a cell phone?” Carson asked, remembering what the mother-in-law had said.
“Yeah, just to make calls, I guess. He wouldn't never let me use it or even hold it, like it was made of gold or something.”
“What did he do for a living? Did he work?”Chuck inquired, opening a new line of questioning.
“Yeah, he worked, not at a job or anything. He taught chess lessons at the house. He had quite a few students. But money never was an issue with Charles. He always had cash, even when he first started coming in the Hooter's.”
“Did he ever explain where his money came from?” Carson had to ask.
“He said his dad had died and left him some money. He was an only child and his mom had died of cancer a few years earlier. He was so lonely, I sorta felt sorry for him, like a little lost puppy or something.”
Chuck handed L
ola a card. “I think we have enough right now. We're sorry for your loss. If you think of anything else or just want to talk, give me at call.”
Lola took the card, looking like she had been ran over by a train. “Okay, I will. By the way, how did ya'll find me?”
Chuck sort of laughed. “The deceased had a tattoo...”
“Oh, of course, the tattoo.” Lola looked down at the floor. “Thank God for that.”
“Also, I almost forgot,” Chuck said quietly. “Would it be possible for us to take a look at Charles' things, his personal items, clothes, and stuff like that? We wouldn't need a search warrant would we?”
“No, of course not. That would be fine. I'm off tomorrow, come by around ten, if that would be okay.” She took a napkin, and scrawled her address and home phone number on it.
“That would be perfect, thank you.”
The detectives left the restaurant with a lot of unanswered questions. They needed to talk to the wife Valerie.
Lola was satisfied, even as shocked as she was about the death of Charles, that she had given the detectives the right answers. She went on back to work, not seeming to be affected by the news.
Chapter Twenty
Chuck's cell phone chirped on the drive back to the detective's downtown office. “This is Valerie Smithson, is this detective Carson? My mom said I was to call you as soon as possible. What is this about? It's about Charles right?”
“No, this is Detective Brown. We need to talk. And yes, it is about Charles. When will you be at home, ma'am?”
“I'm at my daughter's ballet class right now. I should be home by nine. My mom told me everything. Who would do such a thing. He was a piece of crap, but who would kill him?”
“That's what we're trying to find out, we'll see you at nine.”
It was just a little after seven so the detectives had some time to kill. “How about a burger, Carson, my treat?”
“In and Out, animal style?”
“Sounds good to me.”
The detectives sat in a nearby park, eating their burgers and discussing the case.