Dr. Morton immediately was drawn to this particular sojourner into the after life because he appeared to have a broken neck. Not something you see that often the doctor muttered to himself as he began his examination. This guy’s injuries could have been the result of a fall. A accident perhaps, but how did he end up in the ocean? Maybe he was a victim of his own making, a suicidal individual who took a plunge off the Coronado bridge into the chilly waters below.
Maybe he was killed somewhere else and then dumped into the ocean. The doctor would get to the bottom of the situation, he always did. He carefully examined the victim’s neck and discovered that it had been twisted with great force. Not the sort of thing that would happen if our stiff had been a victim of his own demise. This was the sort of thing done by a martial arts expert. A violent twist that probably caused death immediately.
Upon opening up the chest and examining the lungs Dr. Morton discovered that there was no water in the victim’s lungs. This meant that he was dead when he was tossed into the ocean. Another peculiar thing the doctor noticed was ligature marks on the body’s lower legs like a weight or something had been tied to them. But dead bodies have a tendency of breaking free from weights sometimes in the violent ocean currents, especially when they are secured by someone unfamiliar with that sort of work. Someone didn’t want out friend’s body found, that was obvious.
The official finding once again would have to be homicide. “What’s going on in this town?” Morton asked himself as he continued to covort with the dead. “So many murders, more than I’ve ever seen at one time. And poor Carson and his partner Chuck are up to their eyeballs in dead bodies.”
Dr. Morton had no idea at the time this victim was related to the rest. He was just another Latino kid probably a result of narcotic related activity. Someone with an expertise in killing had done the deed on this young man. It could have been a hit by one of the big Mexican drug cartels that had been gaining a foothold on the Southern California drug market.
This was a matter for the detectives to discover, his work was done until the next dead body arrived, which wouldn’t be long the way things had been going. He turned out the light and bade his guests a good night. It was time for his supper, a special time of evening when he would hole himself up in his tiny office and enjoy meal of his own preparation. The doctor considered himself to be quite the cook. He always said he would have been a world class chef if he had not decided on the medical profession instead.
Chapter Thirty Seven
The Body Count
As Dr. Morton had so aptly put it, Carson and Chuck were up to their eyeballs in murdered bodies. They needed a score card to keep up with the dead. They sat perplexed at their downtown office trying to sort the whole dilema out. A chart of the dead was posted up on a board so they could peruse them at their leisure, occasionally adding information as the case developed.
On the board were Frank Desio, attemped murder, presumably by Roy Harris Jr. now deceased. Probably paid to do the job. Suspects were Dr. Bill Riley and Frank’s wife Maria. Roy Harris made the list as well. The only suspect was Raphael Fuentes, a patient of Dr. Bill Riley. Next was Rick Sanchez, dead under unusual circumstances. The canvass had uncovered one lead, Dr. Ben Wyen, supplied by the bikini lady. His alibi turned out to be be legit, so they didn’t think he had anything to so with the murder. However, Mrs. Sanchez had said Bill Riley had called the morning of her husband’s and asked what time he was leaving for the office, very strange.
Last but certainly not least was Fred Sanders. He was blown to hell in his car which turned out to be registered to Dr. Bill Riley. Obviously, he was at the top of the detective’s list of suspects. Riley had the motive and the opportunity. The whole Vietnam thing was a good motivation for the killing of Frank and Roy Harris, but what about Sanchez and Sanders. Their murders didn’t seem to fit in with the other two. The detectives never found out anything in their investigation that lead them to believe Sanders and Sanchez had any plans on disclosing their actions in Vietnam to the authorities.
Just then the phone rang. It was the hospital. Apparently there had been another attempt on the life of Frank Desio. How bizarre. The good news was that Frank had survived and was going to be fine. An unknown doctor had administered an overdose of morphine to Frank. Luckily a nurse came in and through her quick actions and the response of the other nurses and the attending physician had miraculously saved Frank’s life.
Frank was awake and coherent and was wanting to talk to Chuck and Carson. He said he had some very important information he needed to discuss with them. He said he knew who tried to kill him.
You didn’t have to tell Chuck and Carson twice about a good lead. This could be the break they had been waiting for and in an instant they were out the door heading for the hospital.
Chapter Thirty Seven
A Break At Last
Frank was resting quietly surrounded by his doctor and nurses when Carson and Chuck arrived to hear what he had to say. They didn’t have a clue as to what his testimony would be but they needed a break in this case desparately.
Waiving them into his the room, Frank asked the doctor and nurses if he could be left alone with the detectives, they reluctantly granted him his wish. He was looking very unconcomfortable in his bed hooked up to all manner of lifesaving and sustaining devices. He started to speak but could only manage a whisper. He motioned for the detectives to come closer. “I saw him,” Frank said just barely audible.
“Who did you see? Go on, Mr. Desio.” Carson said motioning at Frank to try and go on.
“But I thought, no it couldn’t be. It must be a dream,” Frank said with a look of terror on his face. “You, I said. That’s all I could say, and pointed my finger at him.”
Chuck asked Frank to continuue. “Who was it? Who did you see?”
The answer was something that both amazed and perplexed the detectives. They had assumed he would say Dr. Riley or maybe even Maria, Frank’s wife. She was not present at the hospital and under the circumstances this seemed odd to Carson and Chuck.
“It was him,” Frank said wild eyed. “No, it couldn’t be. But it was. It was the Vietnamese guy we tortured in the village back in “69. It had to be him. He had a horrible scar on his face, just where I cut him. And when he raised his hand to his lips two of his fingers were missing. I had cut his fingers off, trying to get him to talk. It was him, I swear, it was him!”
Carson said hoping to sooth Frank‘s nerves. “Now, calm down, Mr. Desio. Are you sure that’s who it was? You were heavily medicated.”
“You got to believe me. It was that fucking guy from Vietnam. He’s come back to kill me, to kill all of us, “ Frank cried out, pleading for the detectives to believe him.
Chuck said in a further attempt to calm Frank. “Okay, okay, we believe you Mr. Desio, don’t we Carson.”
Carson shook his head in agreement, but at the same time didn’t believe what Frank was saying, or didn’t want to believe. How could that be. A man from a small village in Vietnam was now in San Diego killing ex-marines, How absurd, but it could be.
Seemingly at the same time, the detectives looked at each other with a strange realization. The description of the murderer sounded like someone they had just interviewed. An individual who’s alibi had cleared him. He wasn’t much of a suspect anyway. “The plastic surgeon to the rich and famous,” Carson and Chuck said almost in unison. Then they both shook their heads in disbelief.
Frank continued to ramble on about the ghost who had tried to kill him. Eventually his medication caught up with him and he fell into a deep sleep. He needed his rest. He had been through a lot, a brush with death so close he could reach out and touch the reaper. He had cheated death twice in the last few days.
Not knowing what to believe at this point, the detectives eased out of Frank’s room and walked unsteadily down the hospital corridor, still reeling from the bizarre news they had just heard. They walked in silence across t
he hospital lot to their unmarked unit. If what Frank had just said was true and that was questionable, they needed to check a little further into the background of Dr. Ben Wyen. He certainly fit the description Frank had given, an Asian man with a hideous scar and fingers missing from his right hand. Could be our guy. They certainly were going to take a hard look at him.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Bill Can’t Escape His Fate
Bill Riley was just finishing up with his patients for the day. Mr Langley was spilling his guts while laying prostrate on the doctor’s couch. Bill looked at the official time clock on the wall and saw it was five o’clock. It was the end of Langley’s session and the end of another long work day. He bid his patient adieu and receeded into a back office he used for a bar for a little taste before he headed home. He had a big night planned with a flight attentant he had met a few days ago.
He poured himself a Crown Royal and sat back in his easy chair to enjoy it’s contents. A big smile came over his face as he thought about his prospects for the night. Ah, life was good he thought to himself as he took a sip of Crown. He was the man, he had it all. He had the money, the women, and a great life.
Draining the contents of his glass, he put the empty in the sink and headed out of his office. His receptionist was still there finishing up some work on the computer. She smiled and told him to have a good evening. He would, there was no doubt. It was going to be a great evening.
The elevator bell dinged announcing it’s arrival and Bill got on to take the ride down to the parking garage. The elevator was empty except for an old man who smelled like stale cigars. The two passengers nodded at one another, not saying a word just looking up at the display, watching the floors go by.
Bill exited the elevator after waiting for the old man to get off. He watched him amble down the walkway of the parking garage and pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it. He took a big drag, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs and blew it out forcefully. Bill looked at the cigarette in his hand and coughed violently. “These things are gonna kill me some day.” He took another puff and said, “Ah what the hell.” He took a few more drags, dropped the butt on the pavement and stamped it out. He headed for his BMW that was parked in his assigned spot not far from the elevator.
Singing an old Beatles song, Bill strutted across the parking lot like a peacock. He was the man and one particular flight attendant better look out tonight, cause “big Bill” was heading her way.
There was someone in Bill’s back seat, but he didn’t notice as he got in his car. He was too busy noticing himself to notice. He couldn’t have stopped what was about to happen even if he had realized death was hiding in his back seat. It was time for him to meet his maker.
Before he knew what hit him, a gun with a silencer was placed against his head and two rounds were pumped into his brain. Bill slumped over in his seat in a pool of blood. So much for his great evening with the flight attendant, all his hopes and dreams were squashed in an instant.
His assassin slid out of back seat, got into a waiting vehicle and drove out of the parking garage unnoticed.
Chapter Thirty Nine
On The Hunt
Chuck and Carson were on the trail of the killer now, as unfathomable as the whole thing seemed, they had to follow where the trail led them. The plastic surgeon to the stars, this Dr. Ben Wyen, seemed an unlikely suspect. Frank’s remembrance of his attacker could just be a drug induced dream. But he was so certain that what he saw was in fact real.
The first order of business was to somehow discredit Wyen’s alibi witness. If they could do that the detectives could put him at the scene of Rick Sanchez’s murder. They were in their unarked unit heading over to do just that when the call came in on Chuck’s cell.
Dr. Bill Riley was dead, the voice on Chuck’s cell informed him. He hung up and sat in silence for a few moments, not believing what he had just heard. Carson looked at him like he had lost his mind and Chuck finally broke the news.
Carson sat in silence himself for a few moments and finally said, “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s goes a perfectly good suspect. Shot in the head execution style, my God. What the hell are we dealing with here Chuck?” But he knew what they dealing with and he knew they better catch him and quick, the list was getting shorter. They’d better find out where the remaining members of the “Magnificent Seven” lived and put 24 hour a day protection on them until they caught this maniac.
If indeed this Dr. Wyen was the one, his guilt was not going to be easy to prove. He hadn’t left a shred of evidence as of yet. In fact there was no evidence that Wyen was even a suspect. They had to discredit that alibi witness, but that really wasn’t proof of anything other than the doctor was a liar. They had to start somewhere so they continued enroute to the witness’s house.
Pulling up to the residence they noticed something odd. There was an undue amount of mail stacked up at the mailbox. Might mean something, could mean nothing. Carson and Chuck parked their unit and went up to the house to investigate.
The door creaked open upon their first knock revealing an unexpected scene. The house was a mess, papers strewn everywhere. The occupants had seemingly moved out and in a big hurry from the looks of things. No one was at home the detectives discovered as they walked through the residence shouting, “Police detectives, is there anyone home?” at the top of their lungs. There was no answer. The whole scene gave the detectives the creeps. .
As they entered the back bedroom they noticed what appeared to be signs of a struggle and a small stain on the carpet that was possibly blood. The closet door was open like someone had just been in it, but nothing seemed to be disturbed. Car keys and a cell phone laid on the dresser and a lady’s purse sat on the bed which was meticulously made. The curtains were closed and the bathroom light was on.
After a search of the entire home Carson and Chuck conceded that no one was home, living or dead. They were relieved that there were no more dead bodies at least. They had enough of those, but the fact still remained, something had happened to the lady of this house and more than likely it wasn’t good. They sent some uniform officers to do a canvass of the neighborhood in hope the neighbors had seen suspicious activity in or around the home.
Someone wanted this poor lady silenced for good. It wasn’t for sure she was dead but more than likely she was the way this case had been going. Seemed anyone connected to this case somehow ended up dead.
The detectives decided to go back to square one and start with the very first murder chronologically, Roy Harris. He was where the whole chain of events had started. Frank Desio’s first attempted murder was not a part of this chain, however the detectives were convinced the second attempt was. The subsequent murders of Rick Sanchez, Fred Sanders, Bill Rilley and the disappearance of a alibi witness were all connected.
Emilio Rodrigues and Raphael Fuentes were the two persons of interest Chuck and Carson wanted to take a look at first. Something about these two characters didn’t seem quite right. Both of their stories needed to be placed under closer scrutiny, especially Rodrigues. Why would he volunteer information about the death of Roy Harris several months earlier and point the finger at a possible rival gang member, Raphael Fuentes. The whole thing seemed just a little too convenient, but not proof of anything unfortunately.
The residence of Rodrigues was deep in the Latino hood not far from the Coronado bridge onramp. There was a group of “essays” working on a low rider car as the detectives pulled up in front and got out of their unit apprehensively. They were obviously cops, even though they weren‘t in uniform, everyone knew who they were.
Inquiring about Rodrigues from the group in front, yielded them nothing but hard looks. Of course at first no one had seen Emilio. But finally thinking the whole thing was funny, a big burly Mexican, wiping grease off his hands, broke the news to the detectives. What he told them shocked the hell out of them and at this point it took a lot to do that.
Seems Emilio Rodrigues was dead, they found his body after it washed up on the beach with a broken neck. It struck the group of gang members as funny that the guy they were looking for was dead and the detectives didn’t even know it.
Chuck and Carson couldn’t believe it, another potential suspect/witness dead. What next? That’s exactly what they discussed as they drove away. “Damn,” Chuck said shaking his head. “Everybody’s dead Carson, what the hell? We got no one left to question.”
"Let’s give this Raphael Fuentes another shot. Maybe he knows something about the death of this Rodrigues. What have we got to lose?” Carson said also shaking his head.
“I hope to God he’s not dead, is all I’ve got to say,” Chuck hastened to say. They needed somebody left alive to give them some answers.
Chapter Forty
The Doctor
The doctor sat alone in his bedroom, nursing a gin and tonic. He had been a busy man but his task was not yet complete. Two members of the group he laughingly called the “walking dead” were still alive. And he had also learned that the leader of the murderous group, Frank Desio was still alive. “Damn it,” he said taking a another drink and slamming his hand down on a night stand stand next to his bed. “That bastard just won’t die. I’ll make sure next time.”
He looked at his right hand and the two missing fingers, their absence had been a constant reminder of an event that happened some twenty five years ago. An event that shaped his whole life, that gave him a reason to live. After his wife had been killed he wasn’t sure if he could go on. But he found a good reason to live, revenge.
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