Among the infamous gangsters who made their homes in Burbank that year was mobster Mickey Cohen, who had been released from prison after serving a partial sentence for evading income taxes. Cohen and others operated illegal gambling joints on farms in full view of local authorities.
Within a few years it was clear to most Burbank businesspeople that many of the city’s police officials were not terribly concerned with the presence of mobsters. For instance, once when two aggressive rookie policemen raided Cohen’s casino, they were promptly transferred to another beat. After further review, the Burbank Police Department brass decided there hadn’t been any gambling going on during the raid, but rather the rookie officers had only interrupted a fund-raiser led by a Jewish rabbi. The case against Cohen was dropped.
While residents of Burbank remained, for the most part, ignorant of the extent of organized crime and police corruption in their community, a small group of businesspeople formed a committee to clean up their city. The group hired a chief investigator who eventually turned up evidence that resulted in the resignation of the chief of police. One by one a majority of the city council members also resigned. Just like in the movies, the investigation had a happy ending. By 1954, with the help of a new police chief and new procedural rules, Burbank was once again a safe place in which to live.
After that, Burbank’s brief bout with organized crime was always mentioned in a positive vein, commending the city and its citizens for banding together to make their community safe. One article about the episode written by Andrew Hamilton in the August, 1970, Coronet magazine, quoted John Canaday, a Lockheed executive and one of the founders of the citizens’ group as saying, “It took major surgery to restore Burbank’s reputation. . . . Now the job of the crime committee is to remind the patient occasionally that he might need a medical checkup.”
Apparently the committee provided regular checkups and Burbank did its part by continuing to have a clean bill of health because the city’s crime rate remained nearly nonexistent from that point on.
Most Burbank residents lived in neighborhoods much like the one Dan and Carol Montecalvo lived in. Quiet streets lined with stately trees, older homes that housed conservative, working-class people very near the age of retirement. Burbank was older than most neighboring communities in Los Angeles County and by the late 1980s it was showing signs of wear. Although South Myers Street had an air of respect and dignity, certain parts of Burbank contained homes and storefronts that were run-down. As property values skyrocketed in nearby Los Angeles and elsewhere in the San Fernando Valley, homes in Burbank were older and smaller and therefore cost several thousand dollars less. As a result, parts of the city had become home to low-income, working-class people. During the late 1980s many of these neighborhoods were affected by a higher-than-usual number of burglaries. Even with the increase, though, statistics clearly proved that a break-in was less likely to occur in Burbank than in most cities in Southern California.
For most people, living in a city with one of the lowest crime rates in the state is a priceless advantage. But for officers at the Burbank Police Department the crime-free atmosphere was sometimes bittersweet. Although the department was often credited for keeping Burbank safe, there were many days when its officers were given nothing more challenging to investigate than a parking dispute or a smelly neighborhood pig.
Throughout 1991 only eighteen articles had been written about crimes in the city. One was a story about two men arrested for stealing coins from a convenience store’s muscular dystrophy jar; another told of actor Clint Eastwood’s decision to use his truck to forcibly move a car parked in his studio parking space. A third article detailed a neighborhood fight to force a man to remove “Arnold,” a miniature potbellied Vietnamese pig, from his backyard. Police officials were quoted in that story saying, “It isn’t a matter of the pig’s smell, it’s simply against the law, and if the law is violated there will be jail time to serve.”
The idea of serving time for housing a miniature pig meant one thing to residents of the city—Burbank police were not going to let any kind of wrongdoing go unchecked. The Burbank police force enlisted highly trained officers who in a larger city would have been quite good at solving crimes. With crime rates raging in Los Angeles, most of the officers in Burbank were frustrated at the thought of spending their afternoons and evenings at the local doughnut shop. They wanted a piece of the action, and were therefore apt to be particularly vigilant. People who had lived in Burbank longer than a year knew that as far as their city’s police officers were concerned it really was a crime to jaywalk.
Despite its lack of murders, Burbank had a number of detectives, all of whom worked on a rotating schedule placing them in a different felony crime division each year. At any given time two detectives were usually assigned to the homicide division and even then there was rarely enough homicide work available to keep them busy.
Often, since they were needed on just one or two cases each year, Burbank homicide investigators spent many hours taking training courses and special classes in investigative work. There were classes on perfecting the technique of fingerprinting, seminars on the science of blood back-splatter, and courses on collecting evidence. Because of this extra training, Burbank police officers ranked among the most highly educated detectives in the state.
But despite the education and vigilance, when a homicide did occur within the city limits, the department seemed to have trouble solving it. At least this was true during the late 1980s. In a city as large as Los Angeles, this kind of thing might go unnoticed. Dozens of murder investigations are suspended in Los Angeles each year and few complaints are made about it. But in Burbank, people began cracking well-meaning jokes about the inability of Burbank police to solve anything but the kinds of crimes that might involve potbellied pigs or stolen coins. Of course, all the training in the world doesn’t make up for hands-on experience. So the Burbank police were perhaps trapped in a vicious circle in which there weren’t enough homicides to give the detectives the necessary experience to solve them.
Criminal defense attorneys in the area also began cracking jokes, only theirs were a bit more macabre and unfair. One attorney in particular liked to say, “The best advice I could give my clients is this: If you’re going to kill someone, dump the body in Burbank. That way they’ll never catch you.”
Three unsolved murders in the late 1980s are legend in Burbank. In 1987, Sheriff’s Deputy Charles Anderson was shot and killed in February when he interrupted burglars ransacking his Burbank home. Despite involving the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, Burbank police had still not solved the case four years later. The second happened when a local jeweler was gunned down in his store five months after Anderson was killed. No suspects were arrested and four years later the case was also still unsolved.
Then, on May 13, 1988, police found an exotic dancer dead in her Burbank apartment. The young woman’s death came just six weeks after Carol’s murder, which although similar to that of the off-duty sheriff’s deputy had given police no real leads and no quick solution. The case interested citizens because although the dead dancer’s neighbors said they had heard the young woman screaming and gagging, police ruled her death a suicide. Not until three years later—after a lawsuit by the woman’s family—did police admit she had been a homicide victim and formally suspend the case for lack of evidence.
Still frustrated over the lack of suspects involving the two 1987 murders, and with no obvious suspects in their newest case, the hours after Carol Montecalvo’s murder were something of a low point for Burbank police. By then, many of them were perhaps desperate to solve a homicide. So when police ran the rap sheet on Dan Montecalvo the day after Carol’s murder and discovered a printout that could paper a wall, they believed to a person that they had solved the crime.
Chapter 9
While the police began to focus their investigation on Dan Montecalvo in the days after Carol’s murder, Suzan Brown rememb
ered being secluded with three of her friends, staying indoors day and night. Tension hung heavy throughout the cluttered, poorly furnished rooms. None of them talked about what happened the night of March 31, but Suzan found herself doing more drugs than usual and arguing most of the time.
The Monday after Carol’s murder, Suzan contacted her landlord and informed him that she planned to break her lease by moving immediately. No, she didn’t mind losing her deposit. No, she didn’t care if breaking her lease meant losing him as a reference. She was moving. If burglars were breaking into homes in the area and killing innocent residents, then she would have to find somewhere else to live.
Of course, the irony in all this was that by Suzan’s assessment no one was more capable of burglarizing a home than Suzan and her friends. Especially thanks to Ron Hardy’s influence. By Suzan’s recollection he had helped her with several neighborhood break-ins.
This very subject was often the topic of conversation in those days after Carol’s murder. In between taking large hits of speed and dangerously reversing the effects with massive amounts of alcohol, Suzan spent many hours trying to talk about their past escapades. Ron Hardy, however, had no interest in such conversations.
“Hey, remember that time we got the television, VCR, and a wad of cash from that home around the block?” Suzan would say, taking a drag from her cigarette. She was sprawled out on a torn sofa, the bulk of her legs hiding spots where foam rubber poked through worn places in the upholstery. “What a night!”
Ron glared at her. “Shut up, will ya?” he’d shout. “What’s wrong with you?”
Suzan would look at him, a strange expression contorting her features. She was glad to be leaving in three days. Ron was beginning to get on her nerves and she had long since lost interest in him as a sex partner. “Just the truth, man,” she muttered.
“Shut up!”
Ron stormed out of the room and Suzan shrugged. Why was he afraid of the truth? She remembered him having helped orchestrate several burglaries. As far as she could remember, there had only been two times when someone had come home while they were busy taking the goods. Of course, by her recollection they had taken care of that problem. The first time no one had lived to tell about the story.
Moving restlessly on the sofa, she was alone with her thoughts. Suzan remembered the last time she’d seen Carol Montecalvo alive. She had brought an order of Avon to the Montecalvo house and followed Carol into the den. There, she had watched hungrily as Carol had opened a safe and then a cash box, from which she had retrieved enough money for the Avon order.
As Carol had ushered her neighbor to the door that March afternoon Suzan hadn’t been able to get the image of the cash box out of her head. Must be hundreds in that thing, she thought. Then suddenly Carol said something that caught her attention. “. . . lotions and other makeup so I’ll be all set for Hawaii.” Suzan had turned to stare at her.
“Going away, huh?” Suzan had said, raising one eyebrow.
Carol had patiently repeated herself. She had always felt Suzan Brown was in dire need of God’s help. As always, she was willing to be kind to the woman in hopes of showing her what Christian love was all about. “Yes. We’re going to Hawaii at the end of the month.”
On March 31, when Suzan hadn’t seen the couple walk past her house, she figured they had already left for their vacation.
Now Suzan sat trancelike on her dingy living room sofa recalling the conversation. “How did everything go so wrong?” she whispered to herself.
At that moment, Suzan stood up, walked to her wheelchair, and wheeled herself into the kitchen. Suddenly, she no longer remembered what she had been thinking only a moment earlier. Something about Dan, about eliminating witnesses. Something about a cash box and being gone to Hawaii at the end of the month. The details had vanished. Suzan shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
Why had she been thinking such a strange thought? They hadn’t burglarized the Montecalvo home. In fact, they hadn’t ever burglarized anyone’s home. Why on earth would they have to do away with witnesses? Suzan dismissed her thoughts, reached inside the refrigerator, and poured herself a glass of milk.
As she sat there, drinking her milk while her obese body overflowed from her wheelchair, Ron walked into the kitchen. He looked at her disapprovingly as he moved to the cupboard and began searching for something to eat.
“You done flapping your jaws?” He spat out the question angrily.
A blank look filled Suzan’s face. “What?”
Ron turned to stare at her. “You done talking about all those break-ins? You finally gonna shut up?”
Suzan seemed genuinely confused by Ron’s comment. “What break-ins?”
Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. He had realized in the past year that she was not just one woman, as he had first believed. She seemed to be two and possibly three women. Depending on her mood, Suzan seemed to have at least that many personalities.
Chapter 10
Once Burbank police knew about Dan’s criminal background, it was just a matter of time before they discovered other similarly interesting bits of information about him. This process began in earnest four days after Carol’s murder, when Burbank Police Sergeant Don Goldberg paid Dan a visit in the hospital.
On occasion, the two men ran into each other at Genios, an Italian restaurant in downtown Burbank. During the year before Carol’s murder, Dan had started buying Goldberg a drink during these occasions. The two men would chat a while and eventually they developed something of a camaraderie. The difference was that Goldberg went there to eat; Dan went there to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for alcohol.
The idea of Goldberg visiting Dan in the hospital was the direct result of a meeting Detective Lynch held with several of his officers and other department personnel. Lynch, who at that time was in charge of the investigation, had briefed them about Carol’s murder, strongly suggesting that Dan’s history of bank robberies and other charges made him a worthy suspect.
As Lynch told the officers how badly they were in need of evidence to be sure of Dan’s involvement, Sergeant Goldberg was struck by a bothersome memory. He waited until Lynch was finished before speaking.
“Lynch, got a minute? In private?”
Lynch caught the seriousness in Goldberg’s voice. He nodded toward the others. “The rest of you are dismissed. We’ll let you know how it goes.” He motioned for Goldberg to follow him into his small office.
“What’s up?”
Goldberg’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the office window. Usually he didn’t involve himself in this early level of an investigation. But Goldberg liked Lynch. He was one of the best detectives the department had ever had. If anyone could make good use of the information Goldberg was about to disclose, Lynch could.
Finally the sergeant drew in a deep breath. “Might be nothing,” he said, still looking out the window. “That guy, Dan Montecalvo. I know him; talked to him a few times over at Genios. Asked me a lot of questions—always about the same thing.” Goldberg paused again. “I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing.”
“What’d he say?” Lynch asked, leaning back against the edge of his desk. Even though Goldberg was his superior, the two men had worked together on several cases and had never been affected by the difference in their ranks.
“The Anderson murder. He wanted to know how access was made, what was taken, how many shots were fired, whether we had any leads.” Goldberg turned away from the window and stared directly into Lynch’s eyes. “Now, why would a common guy on the street need to know so much about a burglary-homicide?”
A knowing look came across Lynch’s face. The answer seemed obvious. The Anderson homicide had been just a few blocks away from the Montecalvo home and it was unsolved. If Dan had wanted to kill his wife, and if he knew enough information about the Anderson murder to make the details appear similar, he might have the perfect alibi.
Goldberg shook his hea
d. “Like I said, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe the guy was just paranoid, worried it could happen at his house.”
“He was worried all right,” Lynch said sarcastically as he grabbed a notebook and began scribbling. “He knew his house was next on the list.”
Lynch finished writing and stared down at his notes. “Goldberg, I need a favor. Could make a big difference.”
The sergeant nodded, turning away from the window and leaning against the office wall. “Whatever you need.”
“Dan knows you, right?”
Goldberg nodded again and smiled. “Pretty well. The guy’s kind of quiet until he’s got a few Jim Beam’s in him. After that Danny boy could talk up a storm.”
“How ’bout visiting old Danny boy over at St. Joseph’s. Ask him about Carol’s murder.” Lynch paused. “Oh, yeah. Something else. We found a few life insurance policies in Dan’s briefcase. Might be nothing, but see if you can find out how much they were for. See if they were having trouble in the marriage, that kind of thing.” Lynch thought a minute. “No uniform or anything, okay? Just a social call of sorts.”
Goldberg chuckled and ran a hand over his bald head. “Hey, maybe I should bring flowers or candy; a sympathy card from all the boys at Burbank police.”
Lynch shook his head, pulling a small electrical device from the top drawer of the desk and handing it to Goldberg. “I have a better idea. Wear a recorder. Who knows, we might all want to share in that conversation.”
When Sergeant Don Goldberg knocked on Room 456 that April 4, the recording device Lynch had given him was strapped across his chest, completely out of sight. Goldberg had no problem with the procedure. As long as Dan had not yet been arrested, it was perfectly legal to record the conversation without his knowing about it.
Final Vows Page 8