by Bill Bernico
“Never gave what an even break?” I said.
“A sucker,” Dad said. “And that’s what he made out of the car wash guy when he left that name and address. Any other ideas?”
“At least we know what kind of car it was,” I said. “It was a blue 1986 Oldsmobile sedan. That should narrow it down somewhat.”
“Great,” Dad said. “A twenty-seven year old car that may or may not still be on the road. If it ended up in some scrap yard, we may never find it.”
“Then I guess we’ll meet you back at the office,” I said. “I’m about all in for today.”
Dad hung up and I turned to Gloria. “Dead end,” I said. “The guy used a phony name and address.”
“I heard you tell Clay that you knew what kind of car it was,” Gloria said. “That’s something, anyway.”
“The car could be long gone,” I said.
“But not the license number,” Gloria said, a wry smile covering her face.
“You’re right, Gloria,” I said. “This guy can leave a fake name and address, but he couldn’t disguise the plate number. You’re a genius. Let’s go check at the DMV and see whose name really comes up.”
“I can see you need me,” Gloria said. “You know what a red tape zoo that place can be. It could be hours before we get what we need out of those robots.”
“You have a better idea?” I said.
“Let’s see,” Gloria said, stroking the imaginary beard on her chin. “Who do we know who has access to police records, vehicle records, mug shots, plate numbers?”
I snapped my fingers. “Dean, of course,” I said. I passed my phone to Gloria and pulled away from the curb. “Call him right now,” I said. “Tell him to skip the office. We’ll meet them both at The Gold Cup on the boulevard. I’m starving and we can do this over lunch from the booth.”
Gloria called Dean and arranged for them to meet us at the coffee shop in fifteen minutes. We settled into a booth near the street side window and gave the waitress our orders before getting down to business.
“Would you call your contacts at the twelfth precinct, Dean?” I said. “See if you can get some information on this license number. It was on an ‘86 Old sedan.” I turned my notepad around and laid it in front of him. “The guy may have left a phony name and address, but we can at least find out who owned that car.”
Dean called Eric Anderson, the man who took over Dean’s job as lieutenant after Dean had retired. Dean gave Eric the information, along with his cell number and asked Eric to call him back with that information.
“Let’s give him a few minutes,” Dean said. “Meanwhile, here comes lunch.”
The waitress brought a tray with four meals on it and set it on a stand near our booth. We all got our meals and immediately started in on them. We were half finished with our late lunch when Dean’s cell vibrated on the table top. He picked it up and listened.
“Thanks, Eric,” Dean said. “I owe you one, pal.” Dean closed his phone and wrote a name and address on my notepad and pushed it back at me. “There you are. At least that was the owner three and a half years ago.”
I set my hamburger down on the plate and picked up the notepad. “Ray Simmons,” I said, picking up one of the fries off my plate and biting into it. “Ray doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to have four visitors this afternoon.” I turned to Gloria. “And you try to remember if and when we find him that he was not the shooter, just the driver, so don’t go all Dirty Harry on him.”
I could see that Gloria was getting antsy in her seat. Half her lunch was still untouched in front of her and she kept looking out the window onto Hollywood Boulevard.
“You might as well finish your lunch,” Clay said. “None of us are going anywhere until we finish ours. Simmons will keep for another hour. Go on, eat.”
Gloria nibbled a few more fries, but left the rest of her hamburger. It took the rest of us another six or seven minutes to finish our lunches.
I signed and patted my stomach. “Just what I needed,” I said. “Anyone want dessert?”
Gloria punched me in the arm and pushed me out of the booth.
“I guess not,” I said and stood alongside the booth, helping Gloria to her feet.
I left the money for the meals on the table along with the tip. The four of us returned to our cars and stood there on the street for a moment. Dean looked at Gloria. “How about if we all ride together?” he said, opening his back door.
Gloria and I slid in behind Dad and Dean. Dean was as familiar with the city as Gloria was and immediately started west on the boulevard. He headed south on Cahuenga and turned west again on Romaine Street. The house we were looking for sat behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges in the sixty-five hundred block. We all got out of Dean’s car and took up positions on all four sides of the house. Dean took the front door and rang the bell.
A man of perhaps twenty-eight or thirty answered the door in his bare feet and a white, strapped tee shirt and slacks, with the belt dangling in front of him. “Yeah?” he said. “What do you want?”
“Ray Simmons?” Dean said.
“Who’s asking?” the man said sarcastically.
Dean held up his I.D. card, being careful to cover the ‘Retired’ stamp with his thumb.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” the man said.
“Are you Raymond Simmons?” Dean repeated.
“Yeah, so what?” Simmons said.
“We’d like to talk to you,” Dean said.
“Who’s we,” Simmons said. “You got a mouse in your pocket?”
“We can do this the easy way,” Dean said, returning his I.D. to his pocket and exposing the .38 that hung under his arm. “Or we can do this the hard way. What’ll it be, Ray?”
Simmons sighed and stepped back. “Come on in,” he said.
Dean turned his head away and whistled a sharp, shrill whistle. Gloria, Dad and I soon joined him on the stoop and followed him into the house. Dean turned to Simmons. “Anyone else in the house with you?” he said.
Simmons shook his head. “Nope,” he said.
“You don’t mind if we see for ourselves, do you?” Dean said.
“Go ahead,” Simmons said. “You ain’t gonna find no one.”
Dean gestured to the three of us and we made a quick search of all the rooms. Simmons was alone. We took up our positions again next to Dean.
“Sit down,” Dean said to Simmons. Simmons obeyed like a trained dog. “We’re here about your car,” Dean said. “The blue 1986 Oldsmobile sedan. Do you still have it?”
Simmons gestured with his head toward the door. “Outside,” he said. “Up on blocks. It hasn’t run for more than a year, so whatever you think it is I did, you’re wrong.”
I got up and left by the front door and around to the side of the house where the Olds sat up on blocks. The doors weren’t locked and I checked the front seat for the blood stain. It was there, just where the detailer’s notes said it would be. I hurried back inside and sat down again. “That’s the one,” I said. “Still got the stain on the front seat back near the seat belt buckle.”
Simmons looked a little more nervous now. He swallowed hard and looked around the room.
“How’d you get that stain on your front seat, Ray?” Dean said.
“I don’t remember,” Simmons said.
“Try harder,” Dean said. “It could mean the difference between life without parole and the gas chamber, so think before you speak.”
Simmons broke down. “It wasn’t me,” he said in a hurried, frenzied voice. “I didn’t shoot him. Someone else in the bar did. He jumped in my car and I just drove away from there, that’s all.”
“Who was the guy in your car?” Gloria said, standing now, her fists clenched.
I grabbed Gloria’s hand and pulled her back down onto the sofa.
“Who was he?” Gloria barked again.
Simmons looked at Dean, who nodded slowly. “Better tell her,” he said.
“That was Joey,” Simmons said.”
“Joey who?” Dean said.
Simmons looked around him again, as if expecting a magic door to appear and open in front of him. “Rhodes,” he said. “Joey Rhodes. I swear I didn’t shoot him.”
“We know you didn’t,” Clay said. “But we know who did.”
Simmons let out a deep breath he’d been holding and lowered his head.
“Look, Ray,” Dean said. “We’re not here to bust you for the holdup at the bar. We know that was Joey’s doing. You may still be held as an accomplice for being the getaway driver.”
“What getaway driver?” Simmons said. “I didn’t know what Joey was doing in that bar. We just stopped there and he said he was going in for a pack of cigarettes and to wait for him. When he came out holding his leg I didn’t know what happened. He jumped into the front seat and just told me to drive. I had to do what he said. He was pointing that gun at me. Hell, I didn’t even know he had a gun.”
“So you drove him to the hospital?” Dean said.
Simmons shook his head. “Didn’t have to,” he said.
“Why not?” Gloria said.
“Because after just a few blocks, Joey slumped over in the front seat and died,” Simmons said. “There was a lot of blood on the floor and the seat. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So what did you do?” Dean said. “Where’s Joey now?”
Simmons looked at all four of us, one at a time. He turned to Dean and said, “I buried him in the woods in Griffith Park. It was really dark that night. I didn’t want anyone to see me.”
“And if you’re telling the truth,” Dean said, “his body should still be there, right?”
“It’s there, all right,” Simmons said. “I can take you right to it, but you gotta believe me, I didn’t have anything to do with that holdup or with Joey’s death. That’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?”
Dean laid a hand on Simmons’ shoulder. “If everything checks out the way you say, I’ll put in a word for you with the captain. So, you wanna take us to Joey?”
Simmons nodded and wiped the tears from his face and got up from the chair. We walked him to the front door and out to the car. The back seat was a bit crowded with three of us back there, so we drove back to the coffee shop for the other car. Gloria and I returned to our car while Dad switched to the back seat to sit with Simmons, while Dean drove. We all headed east on the boulevard and turned north on Western Avenue, which turns into Los Feliz and winds past the park.
Dean turned into the drive that Simmons said looked familiar to him. We continued through the park and eventually ended up on a desolate section, away from the picnickers and sight seers. Dean pulled onto a small wayside and got out of the car. Dad and Simmons followed. Gloria and I pulled up behind them and joined the group in front of Dean’s car.
“All right,” Dean said to Simmons, “show me.”
Simmons looked around, trying to get his bearings. He walked toward a stand of pine trees to the north and checked his surroundings for familiar markers. After a few minutes he pointed to a large tree at the side of one of the paths that snaked through the park. “There,” Simmons said, pointing to a clump of thick bushes near the large tree. “That’s the place, just to the right of that last bush.”
“Now, you’re certain?” Dean said. “This better not be some wild goose chase.”
“It isn’t,” Simmons said. “He’s there all right.”
“How deep?” Dean said.
“Couple of feet,” Simmons said. “I didn’t wanna hang around here too long, so I didn’t go that deep.”
“Watch him,” I told Dad. “I’ll start scraping away at that spot, just enough to verify his story. Then we can call in the experts.” Dad agreed and I found a dead branch with enough girth to serve as a digging tool. I began scraping at the exact spot Simmons had pointed to and within ten minutes of clearing away dirt, I hit something solid. I dropped the stick and fell to my knees, pulling dirt away from hole more carefully now. I brushed away enough dirt to convince me that Simmons was telling the truth.
I looked up at Dean. “Got him,” I said, exposing an ear. I stood up and backed away from the site.
Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed his former office. Eric Anderson answered.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” the familiar voice said.
“Eric,” Dean said, “it’s Dean Hollister. Are you in the middle of anything?”
“Dean,” Eric said enthusiastically, “how are you? I haven’t seen you around here in quite a while. You must be finding plenty to keep you busy in your retirement. How’s Helen?”
“Listen, Eric,” Dean said. “We’ll have to save the chit-chat for some other time. I have something for you. Can you get a crime scene crew and the coroner out to Griffith Park right away?”
“What have you got, Dean?” Eric said.
“I’m not sure,” Dean said, “but it could be the answer to the unsolved murder case that’s been hanging over my head for way too long now.”
“Leave your phone on and don’t hang up,” Eric said. “I’ll find you by the GPS coordinates in your phone. We should be there shortly.”
Dean left the phone unfolded and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “They’re on their way,” he told the rest of us.
“What about me?” Simmons said. “You said you’d put in a word for me with the captain.”
“And I will,” Dean said. “Just be patient.” Dean turned to me and said, “Keep an eye on him for a minute, will you, Elliott?”
Dean motioned Dad over to where they could get away from the rest of us. “I’ll put in a word with the captain, all right,” Dean told Dad. “I didn’t say what kind of word that would be, now did I?”
Dad chuckled to himself. “That’s exactly the way I’d have played it,” he said to Dean.
Dean and Dad returned to where we stood watching Simmons. I stepped away, pulling Gloria with me. “Looks like you’re going to get the closure you needed,” I said.
Gloria tried to keep a stoic face but it must have been too much for her. She broke down on my shoulder for just a few seconds before composing herself again. “I’m sorry,” Gloria said.
“No need to be,” I told her. “You can have the full-blown break down when we get out of here. That’s a promise.”
Gloria wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “Thank you, Elliott. Thank you for everything.”
“All part of my full service,” I said, wrapped her up in my arms and hugged her tightly.
The first set of red lights appeared in the distance in less than fifteen minutes. It was a black and white patrol car. I didn’t recognize the driver, but Lieutenant Anderson was sitting in the passenger seat. He and his officer got out and approached us.
Dean met him near the car and filled him in on what the four of us had been doing all day. When they’d finished, they walked over to where we were standing. Eric laid his hand on Gloria’s shoulder. “I hope this will help put your mind at ease, Gloria,” Eric said. “I know it can’t make up for losing your father, but at least you will at last have the satisfaction of knowing his killer didn’t go unpunished.”
“Thank you, Eric,” Gloria said. She gestured toward Simmons. “What about him?”
“From what Dean tells me,” Eric said, “We probably won’t be able to charge him with murder or accomplice to murder, and maybe not even accomplice to robbery, but we’re sure as hell going to make sure he spends some quality prison time for his part in the cover-up.”
As we stood there talking, a second, third and fourth set of red lights caught our attention through the trees. A full-sized Chrysler sedan appeared, followed by an ambulance and the coroner’s wagon. They all pulled up alongside Eric’s patrol car and hurried over to where we stood. The officer who had driven Eric here held a roll of yellow crime scene tape and proceeded to string it around the area. Andy Reynolds, the county medical examiner, who had replaced Jack Walsh, walked up to Eric, followed by the crime scene
team from the Chrysler.
“What do we have, Eric?” Reynolds said.
Eric pointed to the small mound of disturbed dirt that I had cleared from the grave. “Over there, Andy,” he said. “The body’s down a foot and a half or more.
The crime scene team proceeded to snap pictures of the grave and surrounding area. They continued snapping more pictures as more body parts emerged. Once the body had been extricated, the man with the camera took several more from various angles before turning to Eric. “I think we have what we need,” he said, as his co-workers bagged evidence from inside the grave. They attached plastic bags to the victim’s hands with rubber bands. They laid the body onto a gurney with an unzipped body bag lying on it. The body was zipped up and wheeled back to the ambulance. It was the first vehicle to leave the scene.
After several more minutes, the crime scene team loaded all their envelopes of evidence into the Chrysler and followed the ambulance back to the morgue. Andy Reynolds lingered for a few more minutes. He turned to Dean. “Looks like you’ll be able to finally mark this case closed,” he said.
“How’s that?” Dean said.
“I remember this case very well,” Andy said, gesturing toward Gloria. I’ll never forget the look on that woman’s face when she walked into the morgue and had to make the formal identification on her father’s body. And you, you had to retire before you got a chance to catch the guy who did it. That couldn’t have sat very well with you, either.”
“It didn’t,” Dean said, laying on arm on Gloria’s shoulder and pulling her close to him. “We both needed this.”
“I have to be getting back,” Andy said. “I’ll get started on this guy right away.”
“Check his left thigh,” Gloria said. “That’s where Dad shot him.”
Andy nodded but didn’t say anything more. He just turned, walked back to his wagon and drove away.
“Looks like you’ve all earned your wages today,” Eric said. “What are you going to do with the rest of your day?”
The four of us looked at each other and almost laughed. “I think we can take the rest of the day off,” I said. “We’ll check back with you later to see if you need anything else from us.”