“So Mr. Harris Sr. is deceased, did I understand you correctly?” Carson inquired.
Mrs. Harris answered, “Yes, he’s been dead about three months I guess, I don’t know. He died in an accident on his job. He was a welder at NASSCO. They say it was an accident, but I still don’t believe it. He worked for that company for twenty years and never had so much as a scratch. But they say it was an accident. Paid me double on his insurance, that’s all I know.”
“So your son, Junior, did he take the death of your husband well? Did he blame anyone for his death? Did he feel, as they said, it was an accident?” Chuck asked, fishing for information.
Mrs. Harris answered vaguely, “I don’t know. He became real distant after his father’s death. Then he started seeing Dr. Riley and taking them pills, and after that we didn’t much talk at all.”
“When was the last time Mr. Desio was over to house and was it a routine visit or did something unusual happen?” Carson probed.
"It was a few days before Roy Sr. died. They were in the back bedroom, but I eased up on them and heard what they were saying. I guess you could say I was being nosy, but I wanted to hear. I felt I had a right to know, “ Emma continued. “They were talking about their days together in Vietnam. Both of them were involved in a massacre in a small village.” It was very painful for her to tell the story, she paused and then proceeded. “They said a number of villagers had been killed and some of the marines were killed too. They had lied about it ever since, afraid of what might happen to them and the others involved. My husband and Frank wanted to go to the authorities. They had carried the secret of the cover up for over twenty five years. It was making them crazy.”
Quite confused by the story Chuck asked, “So did your husband ever go to the authorities about the incident?”
“That’s the thing, Roy died a few days later. He never got the chance,” Mrs. Harris replied. “They even had a club called the “Magnificent Seven”. It was a group whose members lived locally that served in the same unit in Vietnam. I never understood the name, just thought it was a name they liked.”
She got up from her chair and retrieved a picture off the living room wall. She showed it to the detectives, pointing out each individual in the process. “This is my husband Roy. This is Frank and Dr. Riley.”
“So, Junior’s doctor was in the same unit as your husband and Frank in Vietnam?” Carson asked.
Mrs. Harris answered matter of factly, “Yes, of course, he was the corpsman or “Doc” as they used to call them.”
“Just one more question,” Chuck intervened. “When your son was found at the motel, he had five thousand dollars in cash in his possession. Do you have any idea where he might had gotten that kind of money?”
“Lord, five thousand dollars?” Emma said really at a lost. “That boy never saw five thousand dollars all total in his whole life. Never had a job, never had any money. No, I have no idea.”
“Okay,” Carson said, “I think we have enough for right now. We’ll be back in touch if we have anymore questions. And again sorry for your loss.”
The detectives said their goodbyes and left Emma Harris a card so she could call them if she wanted.
They left the Harris residence knowing more than they wanted to know. They had hoped this case would end here.They were hoping they would find all the answers, to all the questions they had, and tie this case up in a neat little bow. Fat chance, now they had uncovered a whole new set of questions to be answered. They even had a doubt in the back of their minds that Emma’s husband Roy’s death had been an accident. Call his death a homicide and add the attempt on Frank, made for a nice little case of conspiracy.
Chuck and Carson had some new questions to ask when they caught up with the good Dr. Riley. Maybe he’s the one that gave his unbalanced patient five thousand bucks to run down poor Frank Desio. Maybe the wife, Maria, had given the boy the money to kill her husband. It was time to pay Dr. Bill Riley a visit. Time to rattle his cage, shake it and see what came out.
Carson looked at his watch, “Hell it’s supper time, Chuck. I think Dr. Riley will keep until tomorrow. My wife is making my favorite, roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy and corn on the cob. The hell with this case tonight, I’m hungry.’
“I know what you mean I could eat a horse, as they say,” Chuck said.
“Hell, we’re not having horse, but how about some roast beef?” Carson inquired.
Chuck asked somewhat surprised, “So you’re inviting me over to eat?”
Carson just laughed and headed towards his house. It had been a long day.
CHAPTER NIGHTEEN
Rick Sanchez
The sun was just peeking through the clouds to start another beautiful day in Chula Vista, California. Rick Sanchez and his wife of twenty years, Connie, were sitting down to eat breakfast when the phone rang. It was Bill Riley of all people. “Hey, Rick, just wanted to update you on Frank. He’s out of intensive care and in a regular room, looks like he’s gonna make a full recovery.”
“That’s great, Bill, good to hear that,” Rick said chewing on a piece of bacon.
“Just wanted to let you know. Sorry to interrupt your breakfast. By the way, what time are you leaving for the office this morning?” Bill inquired.
“Regular time, why?”
“Oh, I thought you might have time to stop by and see Frank. That’s all. Holler at you later.”
Connie looked at Rick curiously, “Who the hell was that, this time of the morning?”
“Bill. Just letting me know how Frank was doing.”
“Oh, that’s nice. How is Frank doing?
“ He better. He’s out of the ICU. Looks like he’s gonna be fine.
“Glad to hear that. I like Frank. That asshole Bill…
“Now Connie, be nice. He asked me one curious thing, though. He wanted to know what time I was leaving for the office. I told him, regular time. When I asked him why, he said maybe I might want to stop by the hospital to see Frank
“He’s an odd fellow, I always said that.”
The couple settled back into breakfast mode and their conversation drifted away from Bill Riley to everyday concerns such as bills and their oldest daughter’s bad marriage.
Their oldest, Veronica, had married a real bonehead. This guy was the worst, refused to work, drank way too much and was sometimes abusive. Rick had threatened to kill him on a few occasions, just trying to scare him, but he didn’t listen. The bad thing was Veronica was pregnant with her first child. This made the whole situation twice as bad. It was at the point where the girl was probably going to have to come home. Rick and Connie hoped and prayed the marriage would work out, they had to believe.
The couple joined hands and prayed a very fervent prayer for their daughter. They prayed for good health and blessings over their household. They hoped God would hear their prayers. Veronica desperately needed help. They said Amen and it was time for Rick to get ready to go to the office.
Rick grabbed a quick shower, brushed his teeth, shaved and was picking through the closet looking for something to wear, when Connie came in the bedroom. “Have you seen my blue suit?” Rick inquired, still looking through the contents of the closet.
“That shabby old thing,” Connie said playfully. “Yes, I put it in the cleaners yesterday. Just wear the brown one. I think you look very handsome in it.”
“Okay, you talked me into it,” Rick said, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. “You always did have good taste in clothes. Now help me pick a tie.”
“Very well,” Connie said, grabbing a nice striped one from Rick’s tie rack. “I think this one will do nicely.”
“The striped one it is. A decision has been made,” Rick said giving his wife another kiss, this one on the lips.
“Hold on there, buster. You’ve got to get to the office, so don’t start something you don’t have time to finish,” Connie said, smiling a somewhat sexy smile.
“I could call the
office and tell them I’m running a little late.” Rick said, stroking Connie’s hair.
“Get to work, we’ll play later,” Connie said, starting to leave the bedroom.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Rick said, still trying to hug his wife.
She broke loose and left the bedroom. Rick finished getting dressed and headed downstairs. It was another routine day for him. He had a good job, with a very good firm in downtown San Diego. He was blessed with a beautiful wife and three great kids. All his prayers had been answered. Except for the situation with his oldest daughter, his life was perfect. Of course the tragedy of Vietnam was always with him and always would be. No matter how much he prayed and asked for forgiveness, the guilt was with him constantly. He hoped God forgave him and he tried to live the best life he could.
He gave Connie a big kiss and hug. He headed out the door towards his car, parked in the driveway, singing to himself, laughing about the playful incident with Connie. He was thinking about how much he loved her. She was his rock.
Connie opened the door abruptly. It seemed Rick had forgotten his briefcase and she was trying to catch him before he left. A scene she couldn’t imagine greeted her. Rick was laid out on the driveway, gasping for air. She screamed, “ Rick, Rick, honey are you all right? Rick!” She went to him and shook him but he was unresponsive. She ran inside and called 911.
Rick died on the way to the hospital. The prognosis was heart attack.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bill and Maria
One good turn deserves another, the old saying goes. Maria and Bill had started seeing each other a few months earlier. She didn’t love Bill, far from it. She just did it to spite Frank. The whole thing really repulsed her, but on some level she found the affair extremely exciting. The sex was great she had to admit. The guilt was a whole different matter. She still loved Frank, but she hated him at the same time. So when Bill approached her with his plan, she had mixed feelings for sure.
Bill had only started seeing her so he could manipulate her and bring her in on his murderous plot. He wanted Frank dead to silence him once and for all but also he knew about the big life insurance policy Frank and wanted some of that cash.
After sex when they lay in each other arms, Maria would bitch about Frank. “Fucking Frank and his whores, I hope they all die and burn in hell, Frank along with them. That bastard. God I hate him.”
Bill would stroke her hair and tell her what she wanted to hear. “ It’s all right baby. I’m here for you. You know that. That sorry ass Frank. He should pay for the way he’s treated you.”
The whole ugly truth came out one night. They were in bed talking when somehow, but purposely, Bill confided the dark secret Frank, him, and the others had been carrying all those years.
“Oh, my God! That’s terrible. I had no idea.” Maria said shocked and crying
“It was a terrible thing, true enough, but all of us have too much to lose if Frank spills the beans. It was a long time ago but it was a war crime. We’ll all go to prison, including Frank. So you see I can’t let him do that. I won’t let him.”
Plans, good ones at any rate, take months to develop. This one was no different. Bill didn’t just one night say, “Hey, let’s kill Frank and collect his insurance money.” The whole devious plot developed in slow motion, in increments, little by little. It was originally just a seed, that was nourished and grew. Maria didn’t even realize she was being used, Bill was very clever and skillful at his craft. He was a psychiatrist, after all. He manipulated people for a living, so this was an easy thing for him to do, and he did it well.
But even good plans don’t always work out and this one had been botched from the very beginning. Frank was still alive. Bill gave Maria a call to break the news. Maria was beside herself with anger that the whole thing had been handled so badly. “I told you it was bad idea to use one of your patients to do the job. You can’t depend on pill head, maniac depressant, psychos. What were you thinking, Bill? Now what are we going to do?” Maria droned on, seemingly for days.
“They can’t connect Junior to us. I was his doctor so quite naturally he would have medication with my name on it. I paid him cash in old bills. The police can’t prove a thing,” Bill assured Maria. “You worry too much.”
“You better be right. I’m glad Frank is still alive. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into to this shit,” Maria said, getting madder by the minute.
“I’ll handle it, “ Bill said.
“You better,” Maria replied, then hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Dr. Jeremiah Morton
The city morgue was quiet and serene at one o’clock in the morning, just the way Dr. Jeremiah Morton, Senior City Medical Examiner liked it. No distractions, no annoying phone calls, just dead bodies, each with its own distinct story to tell. Most would think the lab after midnight to be a morbid and even creepy place, not Dr. Morton. He thrived in this macabre environment, looking like a character from Creep Show, he fit right in.
His silhouette resembled Alfred Hitchcock, reminiscent of the old television series popular in the nineteen fifties. He had a huge nose, bulging red tinged piercing blue eyes, and a double chin that made his face look like it was folded over his extremely thick neck. His body was short and squat, and he walked with a waddle, muttering to himself as he went from corpse to corpse. He sometimes spoke to the dead, asked them questions. They never answered.
This night he had on the table a victim by the name of Rick Sanchez. A corresponding name tag was secured on the toe of his left foot as a reminder of his identity. Dr. Morton didn’t need the tag however, he knew all his guest’s names by heart. “So Mr. Sanchez, how did you come to be on my table tonight? I see from your chart, your alleged cause of death was heart attack. How boring. I think not.”
Seems the doctor remembered a case where a colleague had killed his wife by inducing an air embolism. The victim, his unfaithful wife, appeared to have died of natural causes. She had gasped for air shortly before her demise and seemingly died of cardiac arrest. But the medical examiner became suspicious. He noticed a small needle marked on the poor dead woman’s neck.
So when he did the autopsy, he immersed the body in water. He dissected the veins leading to the heart and found the cause of death, an air bubble. The technique is similar to plunging a bicycle tube in water and looking for the bubble indicating where the hole is located. The bubble traveled through the veins to the heart and caused the woman’s death.
What brought this to Dr. Morton’s mind was in fact a small mark on the victim’s neck. Upon further examination with a magnifying glass, proved to be indeed a small needle mark. Very interesting, Dr. Morton thought. “Now where in the world would you get a needle mark on your neck?” He inquired of Rick Sanchez, who of course didn’t answer.
He proceeded with the autopsy and he did indeed find an air bubble. This along with the needle mark on the victim’s neck, led him to the ultimate conclusion that this individual was murdered. So much more interesting than a plain ole heart attack, he thought. His morgue needed a little excitement, it had been quite dull of late.
The police would have to be informed, there would be an investigation. He would get to testify in court about the cause of the victim’s death, he loved it. Dr. Morton had been a witness in court many times, but he never grew tired of it. Going to court was the only excitement he had in his otherwise mundane excuse for a life.
Poor Dr. Morton had never married, or really had a girl friend. He always said he wished he had been blessed with a little good looks, instead of only brains. He was a very lonely man, which is why he always preferred to work nights. The thought of being home alone night after night was very distressing to him. The one thing that kept him going was he was extremely good at his job. How many coroners would have caught an air embolism?
The next morning he would give his old buddy Carson a call. He and Carson had worked many cases together through the years.
He knew him before he made detective, still a rookie in uniform. Carson would get to the bottom of this mystery.
Chapter Twenty two
Chuck and Carson
Downtown San Diego was a peaceful place early that morning. The sun was just peeping through the clouds, a few cars ventured out as well as a few joggers. The bums were just waking up, some pushing huge shopping carts filled with various and sundry recyclable items. The less industrious were foraging through trash cans in search of breakfast. A scruffy little dog wandered aimlessness down the street, just missed getting ran over, he finally sought refuge in the safety of the sidewalk.
Detective John Carson pulled into the SDPD lot, showed his badge and drove his old 1976 Coupe Deville into the garage and found a spot. He got out of his old classic car, ambled over to the elevator and pushed the button. He was waiting patiently when Chuck came roaring through in his Porsche 911. He quickly found a parking spot and ran over to join Carson, who was still waiting patiently for the elevator to come.
He waved at Carson, flashing a big smile. He was dressed immaculately as usual, and patted Carson on his shoulder. “You ready to solve this thing ? I got a good feeling today is the day,” Chuck beamed.
“What are you so damned cheerful about?” Carson grumbled.
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day, I had a great meal last night. I sure appreciate that, tell Veronica thank you again for me,” Chuck said excitedly.
Carson replied, “Glad you enjoyed it. I’ll tell Veronica. I hope you’re right about the case, cause I’m about burned out on this one.”
The detective’s office was pretty much deserted, only a couple of diehards busy working on case files and drinking hour’s old coffee from Styrofoam cups. They nodded at Carson and Chuck as the two entered the office, looking like overworked zombies propelled by windup mechanisms.
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