Bully

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  David looked at him drunkenly. “Fucked you up, didn’t it? Now you understand? Now you know why we didn’t go to the cops?”

  Tom could barely speak. “Yeah, I understand all right. Jesus.”

  He understood all too perfectly.

  Eleven

  HE ALMOST MISSED Robert Valesquez at the airport, but thanks to his position as a detective, Tom Jensen was able to get past the security checkpoint at LAX and, in the company of an airport police officer, headed to the United Airways Terminal where Robert was due to depart on a two p.m. flight back to Pennsylvania.

  He was running on adrenaline since leaving Peanuts at noon, where he had left David in the care of the bartender with strict instructions that he wasn’t to go anywhere until he was sober. He’d told David he was going to send another detective over to transport him to a safe house—a hotel room somewhere—and that he didn’t want him to speak to anybody about what they’d talked about. “And don’t worry,” he’d said before he left. “You can trust the guy I’m sending out. He’s an old friend from my days at LAPD.”

  “Like they’re any better?” David had replied drunkenly.

  Tom placed a call to William Grecko outside the bar and got his secretary. William wasn’t in; he was in court. Tom had asked where he could get in touch with Robert Valesquez and was informed that Robert was due to leave Los Angeles this afternoon. After getting the flight information, Tom hung up and drove to LAX like a bat out of hell.

  Tom’s mind was racing on the drive over, trying to sort through everything. So far he was alone on this. His partner, Franklin Navarro, was still questioning the other children who had lived in the area where Raul Valesquez resided and hadn’t reported back to him yet. Once Tom talked to Robert and got verification from a witness who wasn’t in a constant state of inebriation like David Bartell, he could report his suspicions to Franklin, who would know how to proceed. He’d been with the Gardena PD far longer than Tom, and he would know the idiosyncrasies of the city government and the police brass. He’d know where to tread without stepping on toes. Most importantly, Franklin would believe him unequivocally. Tom couldn’t have a better partner.

  Tom scanned the flight numbers on the departing gates they passed, and when he reached Gate 17 where Flight Number 782 was scheduled to depart, he began to look for Robert Valesquez. The airport police officer who accompanied him stood beside him. “Find your man yet?”

  Tom’s eyes rested on Robert, who was sitting in a gray plastic chair, dressed in tan khakis and a white polo shirt. He nodded. “I see him.”

  Robert looked up as they approached him. Recognizing Tom, Robert became suspicious. “Detective Jensen?”

  “If you don’t mind I’d like a word with you,” Tom said.

  Robert glanced quickly at the airport cop standing with Tom. Then, folding the newspaper he was reading, he placed it on the seat next to him. “Sure. I assume this has to do with the case?”

  “It does,” Tom said, stepping closer. “Why don’t we step aside and chat for a minute.”

  Looking puzzled, Robert picked up his carry-on bag and Tom led him away from the waiting area. The airport cop followed along, staying a step or two behind. When they reached a common area that appeared to afford a measure of privacy, Tom stopped. “I understand you’re heading back home, so I won’t keep you. I just need to ask you a few very important questions and I’d appreciate your complete honesty.”

  “Of course,” Robert said, and Tom could read the uneasiness in his eyes.

  “Why did you move out of your house so suddenly that early summer of 1977?”

  “I already told you that in the deposition,” Robert began, looking nervous. “I...my mother and I...we didn’t really see eye to eye in a lot of things and...”

  “Spit it out,” Tom said. “Don’t give me a bunch of bullshit. Just tell me!”

  Robert stopped, and Tom could tell that Robert saw the look of anger that was no doubt evident on his face. Robert grew pale and he quickly composed himself. “Fine. But it’s like I said, I already related this in the deposition. I didn’t like what was going on at the house. I never liked it, and I knew that Mom’s drinking and the drugs were affecting Rudy and Raul. Mom and I fought over it all the time, and I told her it wasn’t good for the kids for her to ... to bring her customers to the house and— ”

  “Tell me about her customers,” Tom said. “You saw them, correct?”

  Robert started, than quickly rebounded. “Yes, I did. But there were so many that—"

  “You can name at least one of them for me, can’t you, Robert? Surely you knew a couple of them on a first name basis.”

  Robert looked startled and Tom recognized the look in his eyes, one he’d seen countless times in suspect interrogations. Got you! You know what I’m talking about!

  Robert sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked around quickly and his voice was a shaky whisper. “How the fuck did you find out?”

  “A little bird told me,” Tom replied. He had no intention of revealing his source. “So let’s cut the crap. Give me a name. I want to hear it from you.”

  Robert nodded, looking visibly shaken. “The only two I can remember clearly are Harold Oblowski and Billy Dennison. The others I only knew on a first name basis.”

  Tom nodded, feeling that sense of satisfaction as David Bartell’s story was verified. “Let’s forget about the other guys for now; we can deal with them later. Tell me a little something about these two, Oblowski and Dennison. Who were they besides Eva’s customers?”

  “They were cops.”

  The finality of hearing this from a witness with a sober mind was the taste of victory. Tom nodded, feeling invigorated now. “What city did they work for?”

  “They were Gardena Police Officers,” Robert said, looking more defeated and nervous now that the story was finally coming out. He licked his lips. “I’m sorry I never said anything before but...shit!” He turned away. Tom nodded at the airport police officer, who was standing five feet away, and the officer retreated back up the terminal slowly, still keeping an eye on them. Tom turned back to Robert, who was looking more nervous as he fumbled with finally telling the truth. “I knew my mom was involved in some heavy shit and that it was horrible, but ... shit, you gotta believe me, there was nothing I could do to stop it! Dennison and Oblowski weren’t the only ones in on it! Half the police force back then was involved and it went all the way to government officials, from the mayor to—“

  Tom’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The former mayor?”

  “Hell yeah, the mayor! People on the school board, priests and shit.” Tears sprung from Robert’s eyes; he was clearly upset at having been confronted with this. “It was big and...I still don’t know the extent of it, but when I found out it scared the hell out of me and I didn’t know what to do! When they asked me shit back when Raul was killed, I kept quiet. Dennison threatened me way early on, said that if I said anything about what happened at the house I’d be dog meat. When Doug Archer was arrested and put on trial I kept my mouth shut and basically said anything the prosecution wanted me to say even though I had a feeling Doug probably had nothing to do with Raul’s death. After awhile I actually convinced myself that Doug really killed my brother.”

  Despite the severity of Robert’s claims, Tom Jensen felt excited about the breakthrough. “So Doug was made the scapegoat?”

  “Fuck, yeah!” Robert said, his voice a throaty whisper as he fought to control his emotions. He wiped his eyes, blinking. “Shit man, I wish none of this happened. That’s one of the reasons why I left when I was seventeen. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t know what else to do, and I was threatened all the time, so I just stayed away from the house as much as possible and looked away whenever I was there. They left me alone because of that. I guess keeping silent was my way of cooperating.”

  A woman’s voice broke in on the intercom. “Flight 873 departing for Philadelphia will be boarding in a few minut
es starting with First Class and special coach.”

  “That’s my flight,” Robert said. He clutched his carry-on bag, his face red, eyes wet. “I gotta get going.”

  “Just two more things before you go,” Tom asked, his voice low, gentle.

  “Sure.” Robert looked like he wanted to retreat and bury his head in a hole.

  “You tried to leave once with your brothers. What happened?”

  “My mother and ... well, shit, those guys kept threatening to have me arrested! Said I could go away for a long time for kidnapping and I bought it. I didn’t know any better, so I brought them back.”

  “Were you threatened when you left for the first time by yourself?”

  “I was on the verge of being declared a runaway,” Robert said, hefting his bag. He’d regained some of his composure and his voice was stronger now. “I had one more year of high school left and I’d already settled on a military career. I knew the military was my only way out of there. I got good grades in school, but there was no way I could have afforded college. And there was no way I was going to live at home if I went to college. The military was my only way out, and if I was arrested for being a runaway, I didn’t want that on my record. So I came back.”

  “And then Raul was killed and you played silent throughout the rest of that year until the trial, correct?”

  Robert nodded. “Yeah. But the day I graduated from high school I was down at the recruiting station. I shipped out two weeks later.”

  “So you weren’t at home when your mother died?”

  “No.”

  Tom nodded as general boarding for Robert’s flight was called. “Can I still reach you at home if I have to?”

  “Yeah,” Robert said, backing up toward the terminal. “If you have to. I’d rather you not, but...if you have to, I’ll talk to you.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said, meaning it. “And I’m sorry.”

  Robert looked at him, his features somber. “So am I, Detective Jensen. I’ve worked hard to put all this behind me. The last thing I want is to be dragged back into my mother’s shit. When I was in the military I tried to make sure Rudy was taken care of he was put in a foster home, you know. But it was already too late. Rudy was on the downhill side, but he wasn’t a menace to society like Raul was. He’s been a drug addict for twenty years now, and he’s doing life for possession of heroin. It’s his third strike—his priors are all drug offenses. Pretty shitty, if I do say so myself.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Tom said.

  “I did my best with him but that wasn’t enough,” Robert continued. “I had to focus on myself and bettering my life, and I did. I worked my way up the rank to Captain. I haven’t done too badly for myself. I refused to let my upbringing tear me down the way it did the rest of my family. And I always looked forward. To me, looking back was dangerous and it was a weakness. Because that’s what killed my mother in the end, Detective Jensen. It wasn’t the alcoholism or choking on her own puke as she lay in a drunken stupor on the sofa—it was looking back, letting herself be affected by her upbringing. Letting herself be affected by it made her the person she was, and that curse was handed down to Raul and Rudy. But I refused to let that path be handed to me, and if turning away from my family and not looking back, never coming home for the past twenty-seven years makes me a bad person, well then, I guess that’s what you can call me.”

  Tom regarded Robert Valesquez silently for a moment, their eyes locked together. Robert’s eyes were hard, brown flints. Uncompromising in their intensity. “I’m going to find out who killed your brother, Robert,” he said. “I have a feeling there’s more to what really happened back then, that what you told me is just the tip of the iceberg, but I can guarantee you that I will get through it, and I will find out what happened to your brother and why.”

  “Oh, I guarantee you that you’ve just reached the tip of the iceberg, Detective Jensen,” Robert said. “If my nerves were stronger now, I’d take you to a bar and tell you all I know and then some. But right now I have a plane to catch and my family to see. I need to see them, Detective Jensen. Unlike my mother, I love my family and I cherish my children. Being away from them like this for so long hasn’t been that great, especially in the wake of this investigation and the re-opening of the case. It’s brought back a lot memories I wish I’d kept behind me.”

  Tom held out his hand. Robert looked at it a moment, then shook it. His grip was firm. “I appreciate all the help you’ve given me. And I promise you I’m going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this.”

  “I appreciate the sincerity,” Robert said. He lifted his carry-on bag over his shoulder. “But let me offer you a word of advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  Robert put his sunglasses on. “Don’t be surprised if roadblocks get thrown up in your path.” Then he turned and headed to his gate.

  Tom watched him go, his mind racing. He couldn’t help but feel excited and a little scared by what he’d learned. His mind went back to that taskforce meeting a few days ago, when the former Gardena Police Chief strolled in unexpectedly, his features smug and a little threatening. Tom was certain now that Manning came back to make sure something stayed hidden, that nothing would be uncovered that would taint former police officers and government officials in any wrong-doing. Tom was fairly confident that his end of the investigation had escaped any scrutiny thus far, but he couldn’t take that chance. First step was to make sure David Bartell was safe, then he had to call Franklin and spill the beans to him. Franklin was a year or two younger than Tom, and had come to the Gardena P.D. from the LA County Sheriff’s Office, so he wasn’t old brass either. Still, he’d been at Gardena four years longer than Tom and definitely knew the political scene better. Once he got an idea from Franklin where they stood, he had to contact Danny Hernandez and, if it was warranted, get Danny somewhere safe. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do that with all of the witnesses he’d talked to, but—

  His cell phone rang and Tom answered it. “Yeah?”

  It was Franklin. “Are you sitting down?”

  “Should I be?”

  “You might want to.” Franklin didn’t sound good. “Douglas Archer was found dead this morning. They think it was suicide.”

  “What?” The enormity hit Tom like a ton of bricks. He felt the color drain out of his face and he had to lean against a support pillar. The airport cop, who had retreated a dozen yards away during Tom’s questioning of Robert Valesquez, looked at him curiously and began walking over slowly.

  “Body is still on the scene,” Franklin continued. “Medical Examiner hasn’t gotten there yet and I’m on my way now.”

  “Give me the address.”

  Franklin gave him the address and Tom jotted it down quickly in a scratch pad he pulled from his breast pocket. Then he hung up and nodded to the airport cop. “I got to get out to a possible two-eleven in Torrance,” he said, already moving back down the terminal toward the airport exit. “Thanks for your help.”

  He tried to get to Douglas Archer’s apartment in Torrance quickly, but it wasn’t fast enough. As he raced over on the congested 405 freeway, he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that it might be too late to start taking precautions.

  FRANKLIN NAVARRO WAS waiting for him outside the apartment complex when he arrived thirty minutes later, and Tom saw that over half a dozen squad cars were already on the scene. Tom got out of the car and hurried over to the complex, showing the officer who was stationed at the building’s entrance his badge. Franklin nodded at him. Unlike Tom, he was fit and trim and deeply tanned from hanging out at the beach on his days off, and he had a full head of brown hair; a handsome man. “We got five minutes to take a look around and get the hell out of here,” Franklin said, as he led Tom down the corridor. “Torrance PD is officially in charge, but I just heard over the wire that the Valesquez task-force was alerted and guess who they’re sending over?”

  “Little and Manning?”
r />   “You got it, but you’re missing somebody. Guess again.”

  They stopped in front of an open apartment. Another officer was stationed outside and he nodded at Franklin in acknowledgement. The bustle of investigative and forensic activity was already underway. Tom could make out a team of detectives talking to neighbors across the complex, and he’d seen the Medical Examiner’s van parked outside, so he knew a forensic team was already inside the apartment taking pictures, gathering samples, going through the apartment methodically in an attempt to find evidence. “I’m baffled and amazed that you and I are already on the same wave-length. Who?”

  “Lieutenant Getz,” Franklin said; Getz was Gary Little’s superior. “We’re safe for now. I already asked Officer Murray and the forensics team to pretend we weren’t here.”

  “How’d you manage to do that?”

  Franklin shrugged. “I asked. Doesn’t mean they will, but you never know. Sometimes you just have to trust the good side of human nature. Besides, I’ve been a good boy since I’ve been here and haven’t been in their way, and I’d advise you to do the same. Now come on, I want to show you something real quick, and then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  Franklin led Tom into the apartment, which was well lit, extremely tidy, and well furnished. Tom’s first thought was that Doug had hired an interior decorator, it was that impeccable. In an effort to be independent, self sufficient and—most important to his psyche—a free man, Doug had taken an apartment for himself upon his release. His sister, Jessie, had offered to put him up in her Newport Beach estate, but Doug wanted his independence. Tom couldn’t blame him.

  Tom was still trying to come to grips with Manning’s involvement and how he would obviously apply pressure to the investigation—he’d no doubt already had by pulling strings with his old pals in the city government, who in turn had applied pressure to Getz and Little. Franklin lived six blocks away from the crime scene and was probably at home when he heard the initial call on the radio and rushed over on hearing the deceased’s name, then quickly called Tom. Tom wondered why nobody else from the task-force had arrived on the crime scene yet, and he asked Franklin quickly as they approached the body, which was seated in a slumped position over the kitchen table, a large chunk blown off its head, staining the table and floor with blood and brains.