Bully

by Gonzalez, J. F.

“He also testified Doug washed the vehicle in question meticulously the day after Raul was murdered,” Manning interjected. “He also said that was unusual for Doug, that he seemed obsessed with keeping the car clean.”

  “I got a look at the way Doug Archer lived,” Tom said, glancing at Manning. “And in my estimation, what you just described fits with what I saw perfectly. When I went into his apartment yesterday I observed a very neat, very orderly apartment. Nothing was out of place. The apartment was spotless. I imagine that was a personality trait, and that he was meticulous about everything he owned or used. And here’s something else.” He stepped toward Manning. “Doug’s statement to the police...he gave several of them. In the first one he indicated that he went cruising to West Hollywood in his own vehicle, a 1975 Chevy Nova. His third and fourth statements are remarkably different, though. In those, he stated he went cruising around in general and did not mention a destination. He also said he drove his uncle’s vehicle.”

  “That was when he started telling the truth,” Manning stated.

  “Why wasn’t the first admission brought into evidence?”

  “Why the fuck should you care?” Manning was fuming. His face was getting red.

  “Because I think the prosecution deliberately withheld evidence from the defense to ensure Douglas Archer was convicted in Raul’s murder.”

  “Why the hell would the prosecution try to do that?”

  “To divert attention away from what was going on at the Valesquez house.”

  A new voice, deep and rumbling, joined the debate. “And what purpose would that serve?”

  Tom spun toward the owner of that voice, an older gentlemen with white hair dressed in a grey suit. He had been watching the exchange with great interest. Tom didn’t recognize him, but the fact that he was sitting with several current members of the Gardena city government led him to believe he was a retiree of the city. “I don’t know yet,” Tom said. “But I want to find out.”

  “This suggestion that cops were involved in criminal activity at the Valesquez place is pretty serious, Tom,” Little said. “You sure you want to stick with that?”

  “You bet I do.”

  “Care to name your source?”

  “Not now I don’t.”

  “Why not?” the older gentleman asked.

  “I want to keep my witness safe.”

  Manning was fuming. One of the men who was sitting next to him was whispering in his ear, perhaps in an effort to calm him down. The ex-Police Chief kept his smoldering gaze on Tom Jensen and Franklin Navarro as he muttered. “Bunch of bullshit is all this is. Bullshit! We got Archer dead to rights! We got a confession, we had witnesses claim under oath that he was a customer of Eva Valesquez. We had a motive and now we have a confession in the man’s own handwriting! What more do you want?”

  Tom nodded at the coroner representative who was present. “There’s no plans to autopsy Doug’s body?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Think there’s a possibility?”

  The coroner contemplated it. He glanced at the man sitting next to him, who shrugged. “I wasn’t part of the district attorney’s office at the time all this happened,” the other man said. “But I am now. I say go ahead.”

  “You’ll just be wasting your time,” Manning protested again.

  Tom turned to Little. “I’d like a handwriting expert to compare the penmanship on that suicide note with Douglas Archer’s writing.”

  “What?” Manning barked. He looked completely taken by surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  Tom ignored Manning, trying to get Little to see the seriousness in his features. His boss read his gaze and there was a flicker of understanding in his dark eyes. ‘Let me see what I can do,” Little said.

  “Fucking bullshit!” Manning stood up. “You guys pay me and my associates a goodly sum to act as consultants to help give you advice on this case and provide insight on what we investigated back then and you ignore everything I’ve tried to tell you. If that’s how you want to do it, fine!” He gestured for his companions to follow him and they did. He turned back to the white-haired government representative who was sitting with the coroner. “I’ll be filing my report with your superior this afternoon. They aren’t going to be happy.”

  “You do what you have to do,” the government official said.

  Manning cast one last poisonous look at Tom Jensen, Franklin Navarro, and Gary Little and, in the accompaniment of his associates, left the conference room.

  When they were gone, Little looked grave. “I doubt if Getz is going to be calmed down, but we’re still going to have to see him. We need to talk. My office, now!” He looked out at the waiting crowd of detectives, who sat silent and stunned during the confrontation between Jensen and Manning. “Meeting adjourned!”

  Fourteen

  IT WAS GARY Little’s idea that they have a video-phone conference with Robert Valesquez in William Grecko’s office. It was Tom Jensen’s idea to have David Bartell present.

  After meeting with Getz in his office and enduring his threats to have him and Gary fired if they did not immediately cease their investigation, which Gary gave lip service to, they met Franklin Navarro in the hallway. Bill Walker was talking to Franklin near the water cooler. “If it isn’t the man with the big balls!” Walker grinned when he saw them approach.

  “Biggest balls in the department,” Tom said wearily.

  Little nodded at Franklin. “You ready?”

  Franklin nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So the case is officially closed?” Bill looked anxious.

  “According to Getz it is,” Little said, heading down the hallway. Tom and Franklin followed him, leaving Bill to scratch his head in confusion.

  They set off on their separate routes, which they had agreed to before talking to Getz. Franklin left to follow up on the few remaining witnesses on Tom Jensen’s list, specifically Jerry Valdez, and Tom and Gary squeezed into Gary’s Toyota for a trip to West Hollywood to pick up David Bartell.

  Fifteen minutes into the ride Tom’s cell phone rang. It was William Grecko. “We’re set. One hour. You bringing Bartell?”

  “We’re on our way,” Tom said and hung up.

  Tom had kept tabs on Bartell last night. An LAPD detective named Ben Peart, who was a friend of Tom’s friend Miles, had watched David last night. Ben reported that Bartell was relatively quiet. “He asked for a pint of Scotch, so I got him some,” Ben related. “He spent the night in his room getting sloshed and watching old movies.”

  When they arrived at David Bartell’s room, he had just gotten out of the shower and was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans. Without the make-up he looked like a fat, white-trash guy on the downhill side of fifty, which was sad, considering he was only a year or two older than Tom. His long, blonde hair hung in thinning tendrils about his pale shoulders. “Who are we going to see again?” he asked, rubbing his eyes groggily.

  “We’re having a phone conference with Robert Valesquez,” Tom said.

  “Oh.” David frowned. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “David, this is Gary Little,” Tom said, tilting his head toward his superior. “He’s the task-force leader. He’s very interested in what you have to share with us, as well.”

  “So long as we still have our deal,” David said, those sea blue eyes locking with Tom’s.

  “If what you tell us this afternoon corroborates with Robert’s statement, I’ll buy you a liquor store,” Gary said.

  “Goody!” David Bartell clapped his hands together. His face instantly brightened. “Let me finish getting dressed. I need an aspirin, too. My hangover is killing me.”

  “Maybe you need to quit drinking,” Gary suggested as David retreated to the bathroom.

  “I can’t quit now!” David called out from the closed bathroom. “I’ve got too much to live for!”

  Gary and Tom traded a glance. Tom grinned slightly. “At least he’s got his sense of humor about all this,”
he said in a low voice.

  When David Bartell was dressed—in faded blue jeans and a loose, billowy white shirt, black boots, and no makeup or jewelry, just two simple gold stud earrings in both ears—they headed to William Grecko’s law office in Orange County.

  The receptionist ushered them into the conference room, where a man in his late twenties dressed in a white shirt and tie, was connecting a laptop computer to an overhead projector. William Grecko walked in a moment later clutching a file folder, dressed in a dark suit and a blue tie. He motioned for them to sit down. “As soon as Jimmy gets the connections up we’ll be ready to go.”

  It didn’t take that much longer for Jimmy to get the internet connection up and he quickly set up the video cameras. Once done, their video conferencing capabilities were set. “Robert will be sitting in front of his computer with one of those little web cams on his monitor,” Jimmy said, handing William a remote control device. "When he calls, answer the phone and put him on speaker, then tell him to log into the chat room on his computer. Tell him to make sure his camera is on. I have our equipment ready to go.”

  “We’re going to be transmitting ourselves over the Internet?” David Bartell asked. He looked genuinely interested in the technology.

  “It’s a crude form of video conferencing, but it works,” Jimmy explained. He nodded at William. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cube.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy,” William said.

  A few minutes later the phone in the conference room rang. William answered. “Robert! Hold on a minute!” He put the phone on speaker and set the receiver down. “Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear.” Robert’s voice sounded strained as it came through the speaker phone.

  “Just a second.” William fumbled for the remote control and a moment later Robert’s face filled the big overhead projector. Tom heard David gasp and glanced at him. David looked completely awestruck.

  “Can you see us?”

  “I see you,” Robert said, looking tired and troubled. It looked like he was in his home office. The room was darkened slightly and Tom could make out the sun shining through the drawn curtains. Robert was dressed in a tan polo shirt and he looked like he was focusing on them intently. “Is that David Bartell?”

  “That’s me,” David said, peering up at Robert on the large screen. “Damn, Robert, you got old.”

  Robert didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked nervous. His eyes glanced around, as if searching out each face in the room. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

  William Grecko leaned forward. “Robert ... as I told you last night on the phone, the situation is...”

  “Delicate? That’s the wrong word for it, William.”

  “It’s worse than that,” William said, looking directly at Robert. Tom glanced at Little quickly. Gary related on the drive over that William had given Robert the details of Doug’s death and Robert hadn’t taken the news very well. “This is Gary Little, head of the task-force that was created to help solve your brother’s murder.” Gary nodded at Robert, who gave him a cursory glance. “These men are here under possible threat of losing their jobs, Mr. Valesquez.”

  “They closed the case, didn’t they?” Robert said.

  “The order came this morning, Mr. Valesquez,” Gary said calmly.

  “Fuck!” Robert turned away briefly, fighting back his anger. When he turned back to the camera it was with a look of grim determination. “So what’s the deal, then? You guys are going to be the heroes and tell me that you’re going to look into this on your own?”

  “We’re alerting the FBI this afternoon,” William Grecko continued. “Time is of the essence. The case is officially closed as far as the Gardena Police Department is concerned, and there’s no doubt the FBI has already been notified by the police chief. I’ve already got a call with my contact there regarding our latest findings and we need your help.”

  “What do you need from me? And what’s the deal with Bartell?”

  “Nice to see you again too, Robert,” Bartell said sarcastically.

  “We need to hear from you and Bartell in exact detail what went on at your house,” William said. He looked stern, serious. His gaze was focused entirely on Robert’s image on the large screen. “Leave nothing out. If you do, Bartell will know. If Bartell leaves anything out, you’ll know. You two are being brought together to corroborate as much of the incidents that occurred at your house in the late 1970’s as possible.”

  “How is this going to help find my brother’s killer?” Robert asked.

  Tom Jensen answered that question. “Can’t guarantee it will help lead to your brother’s killer, Robert. What it can do is give us a deeper insight into the people who frequented your house during the time your brother went missing and was found murdered. Any information you can provide to us—things that happened at the house, no matter how minor they may have been at the time, everyday things that happened, visitors at the house, whatever. Lay it all out on the table. We’re casting a wider net than the original investigators did; they seemed to be more focused on building a case against Doug Archer than they did in getting to the truth. We don’t want to leave anything unturned. Okay?”

  Robert looked at Tom and sighed. He cast a quick glance at Dave. “I take it David told you stuff already.”

  “He told us about the prostitution ring that was run out of your house,” Tom said.

  Robert’s face lit up in shock. Tom felt David stiffen beside him. Gary Little looked curiously at him. Tom knew his bluntness would get their attention and it did. “That’s what it was, wasn’t it?” He asked David softly. “Raul’s mother ran a prostitution ring out of her house and she not only sold herself, she sold her son and his friends. Didn’t she?”

  David sighed and looked down at the table. “I guess if you put it that way ... yeah.”

  “You saying my mother willingly sold my little brother as a boy whore!” Robert’s voice rose, tinged with anger. “Where the hell do you get off—"

  Tom ignored him. “What else do you call it? David said he and Raul were routinely raped by your mother’s clients and that they showered them with money and drugs and they never said anything about it. He also identified several of them as former Gardena Police officers, so I’m also going to hazard a guess that in exchange for letting them have their way with her and her kids, they protected her.”

  The anger was quickly evaporating from Robert’s demeanor. “I can’t...I can’t believe this...” Robert’s expression told Tom this was the first time he was facing the ugly truth about his mother and that he was having a hard time dealing with it.

  “You didn’t know about it,” Tom interjected quickly, hoping this would lead to what he wanted to hear. “You didn’t know about it because you didn’t want to know. Denial can be a powerful thing; it creates a barrier between what you don’t want to know and the truth so you won’t have to face it. I understand why you made yourself unavailable at your house. You were disgusted with your mother’s lifestyle. You no doubt knew she was an alcoholic, you probably suspected she was at least a part-time prostitute and that the men she had over at the house were involved with other criminal activities, like drug trafficking. You probably knew some of her clients were cops, but you kept your mouth shut because you didn’t want to cause trouble. What you didn’t know was that your mother’s house wasn’t her own ... she was fucked up most of the time and had no idea who was at her house. All she cared about was the next drink or the next line of blow. If she had to put out for it, she did. I know that’s an ugly thing to consider about your mother, but it’s the truth and you looked away because thinking about it hurt you, didn’t it, Robert?”

  Robert’s features were trembling; he looked like he wanted to cry but was holding back. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. “No...” he said, his voice strained. “No, I can’t...can’t believe...”

  “I’d like to think your mother didn’t realize your brother was being abused,�
� Tom said, glancing at David, who had slouched down in his chair. “That she was too out of it to realize it. Because by then she was no longer in control of her own house. Only a select few of them were, and some of them were police officers. They kept your mother safe by supplying her with liquor and drugs and they ran their own little prostitution and drug ring out of her house while you were unaware of it.”

  Robert shook his head. “No, that isn’t right! It isn’t—”

  “Did you ever see your brother, or David and Louie, abused in any way?” Tom asked.

  “No!” Robert looked up at them again, his eyes lighting on David briefly. “No, I swear to God I never saw anything like that!”

  David’s features were dark. “It’s true,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “He was never around when...when we were...forced into having sex with those guys.”

  David’s confession was loud enough for Robert to hear and his tanned face went white. “My God...he’s telling the truth?”

  David’s eyes flicked to the screen and locked with Robert’s. “You were never around. Even Rudy tried to stay away from the house but...I didn’t know better. Louie didn’t know better...and Raul... f he knew, he was too afraid to tell us. He...he so much wanted to impress me and Louie, he...I mean...we were older than him and...he told us he had some good dope at his house and that’s all we were interested in. That’s how we became friends and...” David paused. The silence stretched as they waited for David to continue. Tom felt his stomach churn as he thought about what he’d just heard. He knew he’d been on to something as he started this line of questioning and now this suspicion was being confirmed.

  A tear spilled out of David’s right eye and rolled down his cheek silently. He looked up at the screen, his hands fidgeting on the table. “It was almost like...whenever you were around they...the guys that were Eva’s customers and her so-called friends...they behaved. And then...when you weren’t around...when Eva was passed out or something...I knew that if nobody was around they would... t was like everything goes.”