by Pete David
I entered Sunset Memorial Park, a green oasis surrounded by industrial and office complexes in the shadow of I-25. Towering pines, spruce and elms dominated the landscape of luminous grass. I drove down a black top road that split the velvet Verde like an extended rip in a pool table cover. Clumps of red, yellow, and white flowers in small vases dotted the lawn, memorials to friends and loved ones. The road names of Tulip, Rose, Canna, and Daisy added to the botanical atmosphere.
A group of mourners gathered on a hilltop near the back of the cemetery. I parked as close as possible along a section of road lined with tall cedars. Despite the view, the sounds of traffic on the nearby interstate and a powerful antiquated riding lawnmower spoiled the tranquility. I climbed from the car, struggled up the hill, and picked my way carefully to avoid the dual rows of head stones lined up like dominoes. My legs, inactive for too long, longed for me to break into a sprint, but the climb to the crest of the hill brought back the ache in my ribs.
Andy came from a huge family. A crowd of relatives and friends had already formed a ring around the casket hovering above the rectangular void. I positioned myself at the perimeter of the tent. Thanks to my height, I could see Andy’s family members seated on white folding chairs at the edge of the hole.
The wind picked up as the service started. A whiff of diesel from the lawnmower drifted over as leaves in the overhanging trees began to rustle. The cacophony of sounds drowned out most of the priest’s prayers. That was fine with me since I had already detached myself from the words with memories of Andy. I mentally prepared an optimistic summary of the murder investigation in response to the anticipated inquiries from Andy’s father.
Following the service, Sarah’s mother, Barbara came over and hugged me. “Our family will always be grateful for what you did. I’m so sorry about Andy.” I followed her gaze to our right and saw Andy’s dad making a beeline straight for us. Barb started down the hill before Mr. Lujan arrived to grasp my outstretched hand. I offered my condolences.
He held on to my hand with a solid grip and guided me conspiratorially over to the shade of a large elm tree, away from the departing crowd. “My son was fond of you, Arch. He said you were a good detective.”
I could see the redness and swelling in his eyes—parents shouldn’t outlive their offspring. “Not nearly as good as he was. He was a good friend and mentor, Mr. Lujan.” I addressed him formally; a courtesy extended not just to a friend’s father, but to a man, who like many others with the same last name had served in state politics for years. Having lost his wife a few years before, Pete Lujan now spent his retirement gardening or fly fishing in one of the northern mountain’s famous streams. Andy had dragged me along occasionally when he met his father for dinner.
Gripping my shoulder, he peered into my eyes—his intensity reverberated in my soul. “When my wife died, I didn’t think I could survive, but I consoled myself knowing my kids would help me make it through. Despite Andy’s becoming a cop, I never expected to outlive my son.”
I nodded and waited.
“Do the police have any leads?”
“Not at this time, Mr. Lujan, but the investigation has just started.”
“Arch, you find out who killed my son.” His grip tightened on my shoulder.
“I will, Mr. Lujan. I’ve got a suspect. He’s a man Andy knew who may have had a motive to kill him. I’m trying to connect the dots and build a case.”
“Thanks Arch. That makes me feel better.” He released his grip and slowly limped away, his shoulders hunched as if he would topple over with the slightest push. He stopped and turned back to me. “I still know a lot of people in the government. You let me know if you need any help, Arch.”
“You have my word, Mr. Lujan.”
I saw Andy’s older sister, Beverly, and headed her way. A schoolteacher in the Albuquerque public schools, she represented all the good embodied in human beings. Andy had admired her more than anyone else in the world because of her dignity, intelligence, and humility. With her dark hair, cut short around a plain face, she teetered on the verge of being pretty, but age had begun to tip the scales.
Several funeral guests lingered around to pay their respects. Finally, Beverly saw me and I greeted her with a genuine hug despite the acute discomfort in my ribs. She pulled away. The tears brimmed in her eyes, the same emerald color as Andy’s, but bolder. The mascara threatened to dribble down her cheek.
“I’m so sorry Bev.”
“Thank you, Arch.”
“You know if there is anything I can do…”
She forced a grin of thanks. “The police don’t have a clue who killed him.”
“It’s still early in the investigation.”
She held my arm. “Will you help?”
“I promised your dad I would. I’m already working on it.”
She nodded and stared down to the row of cars. Following her gaze, I saw Barbara Carson’s Camry pulling away from the curb. Bev had a hateful look in her eyes. “I’m certain his death had something to do with her family.”
“Maybe. I’ll find out for sure.”
She gave me a pat on my arm and turned to locate her husband and children only to encounter another line of funeral attendees waiting patiently to mumble words of consolation.
I wanted to catch Barbara, but the BMW already headed toward the cemetery exit. The walk back down the hill loosened my muscles and eased some of the soreness. The pain pills and caffeine from that morning’s coffee engaged in a tug of war to keep me in limbo between tired and alert. By the time I reached my car, the pills won the battle and forced me back to my apartment for a nap.
Chapter 23
My cell phone’s jingle woke me from a chemically-induced slumber.
“Hi, it’s me, Jesse.” Just hearing her voice cleared away the mist from my brain.
“Hi Jesse. I was sleeping.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You need your rest.”
“It’s fine. I’ve been sleeping for hours. Those pills you gave me were potent.” I sat up at full attention.
“Are they helping with the pain?”
“As much as possible. I’m glad you called.”
“I wanted to go see my sister, but I can’t drive for long periods alone. You know, because of my cataplexy. I take the medication, but there’s always a chance of a seizure. Since I’m off tomorrow and Monday I was wondering if maybe you could drive with me. We can take my car.”
“Mine smells like a spice factory, so we don’t have a choice.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“I’ll pay for the gas and everything. We can stay over and get a hotel room. I’ll pay.”
I enthusiastically agreed. The thought of spending time with her sounded better than lying on the couch watching football with a beer and a heating pad.
…
She picked me up at 6:00 am the next morning and we headed west on I-40 as the sun rose behind us. It was a beautiful windless fall morning. She looked radiant. I tried not to stare. “So, what happens if you get an attack while you’re driving?”
“You ever experienced road rage?”
“Not me personally.”
“Well, this is the ultimate road rage. I start cursing and whatever is loose and available becomes a projectile.”
“Sounds very attractive.” I tried to sound facetious, but the vision of this beauty on a violent rampage was intriguing.
“Yes, if you’re into that kind of thing.” She laughed, as if reading my mind. “It’s really not very pleasant. But it hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“Well let me know if you feel an urge coming on.”
“The medication seems to be working, lucky for you.” She squirmed in her seat.
She talked non-stop about her relationship with Sarah and her parent’s divorce. “It was not an amicable split. I was old enough to understand or maybe accept it. As a young teenager, Sarah took it harder and never seemed to recover.”
�
��It must have been difficult even for you.”
“I had been through so much. My condition has proved to be a life-long challenge. I was only eight when they determined the cause of my irrationality. I fell into a deep depression, which meant years of anti-depressants in addition to the medication they prescribed to control my erratic behavior. I thought my life was over.”
“But you got through it. What helped you turn the corner?”
“Sports. Thanks to my height, both the high school basketball and volleyball coaches were heavily recruiting me to tryout. Volleyball stuck. My concentration improved and so did my grades. I got a scholarship to play college volleyball and was an alternate for the Olympic team.”
“Very impressive.” I turned to study her pleasant profile.
“I wasn’t quite good enough. There were too many better women athletes ahead of me.”
“How did you get into nursing?”
“With all the medical problems I had, it just seemed natural, although the commitment to it didn’t occur until my junior year in college. Up to that point, I didn’t know what to declare as a major. I graduated with a BS in nursing and then continued on to get certified as a surgical assistant before moving back to New Mexico.”
“So, you’re right in there during surgery?”
“Yes, I’m also registered for critical care work, so I can follow up with the patients who need it.” She glanced at the rearview mirror and blind spot before passing a slow-moving U-Haul.
“That must be challenging.”
“It’s also rewarding when you see patients recover.”
“Sounds like you will be a great help to your sister.”
Jesse got quiet for about five minutes with the mention of Sarah. “You’re from Phoenix, right?”
“Born and raised. Lived there until college.”
“Do you still have family there?”
“My parents and brother, and his family. My dad is a retired Phoenix cop. My mom still works part-time at a local dry cleaner. My brother, Bart, is an Arizona state trooper.”
“Wow, law enforcement really does run in your blood. Your mom is probably the only sane one in your family.” A smile flashed across her face.
“You may be on to something there.”
“Maybe your brother will pull us over. What a surprise that would be…” She glanced over with raised eyebrows.
“If you don’t slow down, there’s a good possibility.”
Jesse seemed content from the moment we hit the interstate. I got the impression that prolonged highway driving was not something she attempted very frequently due to her medical condition. The car occasionally lunged forward as she pressed firmly on the accelerator, an unconscious reaction that occurred as she engaged in animated discussion. Just as suddenly, she would let off the gas pedal when she glanced at the rising speedometer.
With a reluctant sigh, she suddenly acknowledged this phenomenon. “Sorry, I rarely get to cut loose on the interstate.” She began fiddling with a knob on the steering wheel. “I do have cruise control.”
I raised my hands in mock resignation. “Hey, knock yourself out.”
“It’s amazing how the law enforcement profession seems to be inherited. Did you always want to be a cop?”
“No, I wanted to play for the Oakland Raiders, but when I didn’t get drafted it was about the only option left with a Physical Education degree from UCLA.”
“Is your family close?”
“I haven’t spoken to my father or brother in almost a year.”
Her mouth dropped. “Because of the indictment? But you told me you were acquitted.”
“Yes, but they assumed I was guilty. I didn’t take any money or physically protect the criminals, but I condoned the activity by not turning in the crooked cops. I’m just as guilty, if for nothing else then by association.”
“But, they’re family. They should stick by you no matter what. Look at my dysfunctional family, and yet we’re there for each other.”
“That’s nice.” I meant it. “My mother calls me occasionally when my dad isn’t around. You can’t cancel a mother’s love no matter how badly you’ve acted.”
Jesse pouted. “She has to sneak around just to call you?” She shook her head.
We drove in silence for a while before she asked, “So how did you meet your wife?”
I told her about meeting Joanne during the autopsy of a prostitute’s body at the morgue. Benny and I were assigned the case. We arrived to inspect the corpse and encountered the Chief Coroner and his assistant named Joanne Summerall. The naked somewhat preserved victim rested on a gurney. Purple bruises marked the body and what remained of her head resembled a folded rubber Halloween mask. Having just concluded their autopsy, the coroner provided his summary that the victim had been shot at close range in the back of the head, explained by the exit wound in the anterior brain section. Fluids spilled out onto the gurney when the body was turned over, prompting the queasy feeling in my gut already building from viewing the mangled corpse and breathing the nauseous smell of embalming chemicals.
As a distraction, I glanced at Joanne in her white medical burka; the long white lab coat, and matching gloves, surgical cap, and facial mask. She returned my gaze, her mouth hidden while her eyes smiled above the mask. I thought about firing back my best smile, but it seemed inappropriate to flirt while a battered body lay in front of us.
I didn’t speak to Joanne until a second prostitute witness turned up dead a few months later. The same cause of death. Benny declined a second trip to the morgue, an experience I would have avoided except for my commitment to solve the case. I also wanted another opportunity to see Joanne. This time she conducted the autopsy solo. She appeared competent and ambitious, a necessary combination for a woman climbing the medical examiner’s hierarchy.
“I acted more composed on the second trip to the morgue, primarily to impress Joanne. She disagreed with the Chief’s conclusion that the bruises on the first woman occurred during a fall after the fatal shot. Joanne’s examination concluded the second woman had been beaten and tortured before murder. Joanne wanted to impress upon me the sadistic nature of the abuse.”
Jesse’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It’s always difficult to accept that side of human nature. I’ve seen my share of hospital patients who have been victims of violence. Most of them survived with appropriate care.”
“Your profession gives you an opportunity to save someone’s life. For me it was too late.”
“What happened next?”
“We went to her office to discuss the case. The medical summary left me shaken. She asked if I wanted to get a cup of coffee. We went down to the cafeteria and talked for nearly an hour about our families. We both needed a break from the intensity of the autopsy.”
Jesse filled the temporary void in my narrative. “Sounds like you guys hit it off right away.”
“We did. An immediate attraction formed between us. We respected each other for taking a professional approach to our jobs. Joanne was pretty and smart, with a keen insight into forensics and a commitment to do the right thing. She encouraged me to pursue the case, despite the lack of support from my colleagues.”
“After a few months of dating, we moved into a small apartment in Hollywood. The rent exceeded what we could reasonably afford, but full of the exuberance of love, ambition, and naivety, we took the plunge. She became pregnant with Josie six months later.”
Jesse glanced over. “So Josie was an accident?”
“Joanne was on the pill, but at some point she switched prescriptions and we weren’t careful enough during that time. We discussed an abortion, but her conservative parents adamantly opposed it. I considered it a viable option, but Joanne disagreed. As usual, she was right. I proposed to her several days later.”
“How did you do it?” Jesse asked.
“I’m pretty traditional. I took her to dinner and presented her with the ring. With her pregnancy there wasn’t much
time to get creative.”
Jesse laughed. “I guess not. Justice of the Peace?”
“No, we had a nice big wedding. My law enforcement brethren threw us an incredible party. Those were good times. We saved for and purchased a house. My fellow officers helped us move in, and their wives or girlfriends delivered cooked meals. We both received best wishes accompanied by advice about how to overcome the great odds against police officers having a successful long-term relationship. I dismissed it as petty envy from those cops jealous of my landing a beautiful woman with such professional potential.”
“The two cops I dated were divorced.” Jesse nodded. “And Josie?”
I smiled with the memory. “Josie was born on a Saturday in September. I thought that like my father and brother before me, being a cop and starting a family was the correct path in life. Josie’s birth brought forth feelings of hope and promise. For a year, I enthusiastically filled the role of loving husband and devoted father before I returned to building a case against Junky.
“So, you’ve been after this Junky for quite a while.”
“I was obsessed; especially after witnessing in the morgue what he had done to those women.” I told Jesse how I suspected my fellow officers’ role in sabotaging the case against Junky. Paranoia settled in and created an unpleasant atmosphere in the precinct. Despite the ugly atmosphere, my perseverance with the case against Junky and the successful bust of a number of drug dealers resulted in a pay raise. Joanne had received a promotion to a senior level, which contributed to our improved financial situation. She reminded me of this periodically in the hope our increased income would ease my temptation from the “Dark Side.”
I considered the case against Junky my big moment, like a nationally televised game against USC with the pro scouts watching. The fixation blinded me to the impact the case had on my family, and although that kind of drive and focus might be admired in collegiate sports, those same attributes made my colleagues nervous. As the evidence of dishonesty among the cops mounted, I doubled my efforts at bringing Junky down to demonstrate my pockets were empty and my conscience clear.