The .22 Caliber Homicides: Book 1 of the San Diego Police Homicide Detail featuring Jack Leslie

by William Barrons

  Leslie thought Ford apparently wished to keep the Freestyle a corporate secret; thus, you rarely saw one on the streets in any color; and he hadn’t seen an ad for one on TV since they first came out. Even so, he was surprised there was a mere five names on the list of those owned in the city limits, that happened to be of the obviously unpopular gray color. And all were women.

  A Pamela Leeman owned one in the Rolando neighborhood, out near La Mesa. Mary Annders owned one in Bay Park. There was Rosalie Way of Del Cerro, Susan Rose of Pacific Beach and finally – the only owner living downtown - Jennifer Boyce. The address of this last was in the condominium building which was a twin to his own condo, right next door.

  Alan had gone so far as to look up the women’s ages to find they were in their ‘30’s and ‘40’s except for the Annders woman who was seventy-one years old.

  “Brian, I must tell you I don’t see anything whatever here that jumps out at me. Sometimes things do; some sort of anomaly will pop up from a page or a computer screen and there you are, part way to solving a mystery. But I sure don’t see anything here. You’re going to check out rentals of Freestyles next and who knows? You might hit pay dirt. I’ll check out these five Freestyle owners on your list.”

  Leslie’s desk phone rang. “Sergeant Jack,” the voice of Chief Charlene Slumberjay said, “the District Attorney has just cleared you; she judges your shooting of that mixed up robber at Tom Ham’s was justified. You’re to get back on the job and for God’s sake, Sergeant, the media’s getting on us about these .22 caliber homicides so let’s get them solved.”

  “Yes ma-am,” he said. “And thank you.” But she had already hung up. He mentally noted she said not a word about the pneumatic pipe drug delivery system.

  Leslie drove to his condo for lunch and parked in his garage. He then strolled over to the next-door building to find out about the gray ’06 Dark Shadow Grey Metallic Freestyle owner. He stopped in the building’s office.

  Showing his badge to the building manager, he said, “I’m Sergeant Leslie of the San Diego Police. We’re checking on the Ford Freestyle of an owner who resides here; Mrs. Jennifer Boyce.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Boyce; she and her husband are way over there in London, England, on business,” the guy at the desk said. “They’ve been there I think, oh, about two months now. But you said you’re checking on the car. Want to see it?”

  “Yes, please. Give me the space number and I’ll just go look at it.”

  “Okay and I’ve got the keys for it if you wish. She left me the keys in case it needed to be moved for garage cleaning. I remember you quite well sir. My brother’s an assistant prosecuting attorney with the DA’s office. He spoke very highly of your solving that murder of the beautiful college student….what? Oh, about three years ago? He called you ‘Handsome Jack’ and I see where you get that nick name.”

  “Well yes, that one was difficult to solve but we finally got a break and a small measure of justice for the young lady. If I need the keys, I’ll be back to see you. Just tell me the space.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry for your personal losses. That was so awful; both your parents and your wife, too.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go now to see that car.”

  The Ford was metallic gray and looked to have been perfectly clean some time before but was by then covered with dust. There were no dents or scratches on it anywhere. Leslie especially noticed the windshield was dusty; no one would drive with the glass like that. Also, the tires had lost air and he was certain it had not been driven for at least the two months the lady had been gone.

  Leslie went to his condo for lunch. Well, he thought, that was one big “Cross Over Utility Vehicle” down and four more to go.

  He stopped in the office at 14th Street and Broadway. Lieutenant Dean wanted to know what he had in mind. He told him of the Freestyle he checked next door to his condo and said he would next check out those on the list in the rest of the city.

  “Good; that’s what I like about you Jack; you keep right on plugging. On the way though, please stop at that scene on 25th before the landlady rents it out again. It’s only about a mile from here so I’ll go with you and you can bring me back. Oh, and the Chief told me to give you something a little better to drive than that PT Cruiser. Come on to the parking lot and I’ll show you.”

  “Nothing wrong with the PT, sir,” Leslie said, pointing to it. “I’ve only had it about six weeks.”

  “Okay, but she obviously wants to do something good for you, for God’s sake. So let her. I’m assigning this real nice Lincoln Town Car to you. We just got it; confiscated from a drug dealer. In case you think it’s gonna have cop car written all over it like a Ford Crown Victoria, you’re wrong. This one’s silver and has a blue canvas top added on it. It’s real, real fine inside and it’s only a year old. There’s not many miles on it and if you don’t adore this vehicle my friend, I’ll be mighty surprised.”

  “Darn, what can I do? I don’t like to have anybody suppose I’m a sort of teacher’s pet, Lieutenant. It looks too doggone luxurious to me. I’ve seen them around a lot. These Lincoln Town Cars are the ones they stretch way out to become limousines.”

  “What the hell Jack, the way you dress, when people see you getting out of this car they’ll just assume you’re the CEO of some huge corporation and you gave your chauffer the day off. It ought to add to your act, to impress crooks and others that you’re something special. And something special is certainly what you are, Jack Leslie.”

  “Oh now, you’re too good to me. I suppose what the Chief orders, I should respect. So give me the keys and I’ll give this baby a workout today after we stop at that 25th Street scene and I drop you off back here.”

  Leslie was surprised how quiet the car was inside and it rode San Diego’s rough, famously cracked and pot-holed streets as though gliding along.

  The kindly old landlady had already cleaned the apartment where the most recent young man had been killed by a .22 caliber weapon. Lieutenant Dean pointed out where the body was found, described the terribly bloody corpse and told of the CSI people’s great efforts to get evidence.

  “Jack, they lifted off foot prints on the floor right there and over there as I was standing, looking at what they were doing and could see no prints at all. This new science stuff is goddamned amazing.”

  “Was that fellow a good tenant?” Leslie asked the owner of the building.

  “Well, he was a good guy, if that’s what you mean. He had just the damnedest time paying his rent and his other bills. It’s odd because he made good money at his waiter job in the Gaslamp. Showed me one day what he’d got in tips the night before; it was $400 and then some and yet, he always had trouble getting his money out of his wallet to pay his rent and his bills. Odd man for that.”

  “Do you think he did drugs?” Leslie asked the woman.

  “Didn’t never see him take any or anything, but most of the youngsters today get that crap into their bodies and I don’t understand why. One of ‘em, he says it makes you feel real good, those drugs do. Hell of a thing officer, you have to take poison like that to feel good.”

  “Ma-am, the night he was killed, did you happen to hear or see anything out of the ordinary?”

  “All I remember hearing was a car starting up out front in the wee hours; but I didn’t notice the time. That’s all until I knocked on his door about nine o’clock to ask if he wanted some coffee. He didn’t answer so I went in to wake him up and damned if I didn’t near croak myself at the sight. Oh dear God, what a sight that was, to see that good looking young man’s face so awful messed up!”

  She shuddered at the memory of her tenant’s fate.

  “I told the Lieutenant here all this before,” she added.

  “Yes ma-am, I’ve read what you told him. But surprisingly, people often remember other things later and if you do somehow recall something you think might help us find the killer, please give us a call,” Leslie said as he handed her his business card.<
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  Lieutenant Dean complimented the lady on how nicely she had cleaned up the apartment and gave her permission to rent it again. Then Leslie drove Dean back to Police Headquarters and headed the swanky Lincoln Town Car to the far eastern side of San Diego to the Rolando neighborhood.

  The Lincoln proved to be a splendid car to drive, better even than the big Ford in his garage.

  Leslie found the address of Pamela Leeman and parked in front of the neat little house. There was no garage and the driveway was empty. He got out of the car and started for the front door when a silver haired man opened it.

  “Looking for that Freestyle what was advertised in the Reader?” he asked as Leslie approached.

  “Yes sir, I was,” Leslie answered.

  “Well, sorry. Yer a day late and a dollar short. Daughter sold it yesterday, 5 o’clock. Nice young black man from Spring Valley bought it fer to haul his kids. Great car fer that.”

  “Thank you sir,” Leslie said and got back in his Lincoln to drive to Del Cerro.

  He found the address of Rosalie Way just north of Highway 8 and west of College Avenue. Sure enough, a well-polished gray Freestyle was parked in the driveway of a quite pretty house. It appeared to have been freshly washed and he could see no damage on it. There were two child seats strapped on the back seat with the two rear-most seats folded down to make room for hauling things.

  Leslie knocked on the front door. A young lady peeked through the door’s window and then opened the door.

  “Just wondering miss if that station wagon there is for sale?”

  “No sir; no way. Sorry,” she said and shut the door.

  Well he thought, so much for the third prospect.

  He drove then west again on Highway 8, took the Morena Boulevard exit and wound up the streets into the hilly Bay Park neighborhood. He knew his friend of twenty years, Patrol Sergeant Robert Jackson, lived on that hillside and had a great view of the one-of-a-kind Mission Bay Aquatic Park and the Pacific Ocean beyond. He hadn’t been up in that area for a long time.

  He found the address of Mary Annders on a street that seemed vaguely familiar to him. It was an expensive ranch house with a two car attached garage and a beautiful front yard. A large pine tree graced the place and it would surely be lit up at Christmas time.

  Parking at the curb, he walked up the empty driveway to ring the front door bell. He paused and rang it again. And yet again. No answer.

  A man called to him from across a white picket fence next door. “Nobody’s home, sir. Who you looking for?”

  “I was hoping to talk with Mrs. Annders”, he shouted back. “Oh! By golly you’re Eric-the-Red Jansen! Eric! How are you?”

  Leslie was instantly reminded of his first patrol partner beginning sixteen years before, because of his fiery red hair, only lately shot through with silver. As usual, the man’s hair was cut short, appearing almost like scrub brush bristles.

  Jogging over across the lawn, Leslie shook his former partner’s hand. The old cop had retired seven or eight years before.

  “Damn! It’s so good to see you again, friend Jack. What’re you doing up this way? Mary’s got herself in trouble with the law?”

  “Actually Eric, we’ve got some curiosity about her car. You’re looking really fit. Everything’s okay with you?”

  “Can’t complain since the by-pass operation except my Helen passed away in April. Last day in April. Right here at home. Heart attack like I had only she didn’t recover from hers. She never knew what hit her. Jack, it was so awful, I couldn’t wake her in the morning and she was ice cold. Died during the night in her sleep, poor dear.”

  “Oh Eric, I’m so very sorry to hear that. She was so terrifically nice. Everybody liked Helen a lot. You must have been married a long time.”

  “Yeah. Thirty-eight years. Sure miss her. And my kids don’t come around much since she’s gone. Jack, we had some dandy experiences together, eh? You still toting your old man’s pistol? God, you sure are good with that damn thing. I remember the pimp that tried to do you in with that goddamned Colt .44; sonofabitch, you almost cut him in half with three or four shots!”

  “Used it until just lately,” Leslie said. “Chief made me give it up for a pop gun, the 9mm Glock.”

  “Hey, that one will knock ‘em on over just fine, Jack. Damn, you haven’t come by since your folks and your wife….I’ve got an idea now, what you went through.”

  “Yes Eric, I’ve been pretty much a recluse except for my work; sitting home, watching movies, you know. But I just found a wonderful, wonderful woman who’s agreed to marry me and I’ll be sending you a fancy invitation.”

  “Great! Good for you. I can hardly wait to meet her. But now, what’s this about Mary’s car?”

  “She does have an ’06 Ford Freestyle? In metallic gray color?”

  “Yes but her young man’s gone someplace with it. Left about noon, I think. She’s in Mercy hospital. She fell down right there on her sidewalk yesterday. I saw her as she tripped and the doc says it’s her hip; hip was broken and I got her an ambulance. Saw her at the hospital last night although I’ll bet she won’t remember I was there, what with the pain stuff they put in her.”

  “I see. You said her young man drove away with her car? Is that her son?”

  “Hell no, she’s got no kids. He’s about thirty something and she’s about seventy, I think, and damn, he’s her lover. No shit Jack, my bedroom window’s about eight feet from her bedroom window and that young guy’s been banging her near every night. It’s something how she squeals and hollers as he’s fucking her. Honest. She’s probably not had a great piece of ass like that for years. Hollers to him how much she loves him and all that bullshit.”

  “Eric, shame on you, listening to other folks making love.”

  “Christ man; can’t help hearing it, she’s so loud. She took him in a few months ago. He met her in a grocery store; helped her with her groceries out to the car and he’s been living with her since. Swears he’s in love with her. Says that right to me.

  “He said Mary told him about my Helen dying and he came right over and expressed real deep sympathy for me and all that. Real sincere fella and I got to liking him a lot. Don’t know what he does for a living but he goes out all hours, it seems. Kind of mysterious.”

  “What’s his name, Eric?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s ‘Don Juan’. He showed me his driver’s license, just to prove it. Took his wallet out of his shoulder bag and showed me.”

  “And you being a hard-nosed ex-police officer of course believe everybody that comes along and never have heard of counterfeit driver’s licenses,” Leslie chided his friend.

  “Why’d you say that?”

  “Would he be about five-seven with a slight build, black hair and brown eyes?”

  “Well yeah; that rings right.”

  “I’m certain Eric, his name is Donald McCoy – and that name may be phony, too. I want very badly to talk with that man. I have reason to believe he’s dangerous.”

  “Sonofabitch, you being a Homicide Detective ....that means it’s a murder investigation. What’s the guy done?”

  “Well Eric, we have to be careful with our accusations these days so we only say he’s a person of interest in a string of brutal homicides. We don’t know for absolutely certain he’s guilty, but we’ve got some good reasons to talk to him. You say he left about noon in that big Ford wagon?”

  “Yes; I’d say about then.”

  “Thanks. Excuse me Eric while I call my boss. Remember Pat Dean? He’s the Lieutenant of the Homicide Detail now.”

  As Leslie called, Jansen said, “Damn smart fella, that doggone Dean. Good man; glad for him.”

  “Lieutenant,” Leslie said into his Blackberry, “I’m up here in Bay Park next door to that Mary Annders that’s on our list and I’m talking to Eric Jansen. Remember him?”

  “Eric the Red? Hell yes. He’s been retired awhile. How is the old Norwegian rascal?”

  “He
doing pretty good Lieutenant and he just told me that Mary Annders has a lover. She happens right now to be in Mercy Hospital with a broken hip. It would seem her lover has been living with her for a few months and he drives her gray Ford Freestyle. It has to be McCoy. He’s out there somewhere with it right now. You have the license number there so I’m asking you to put out a fresh APB for him and that car. We must have some officers here to nab him when he comes back if he isn’t taken in beforehand.”

  “You seem damned sure of it.”

  “Oh yes sir. He’s our Jekyll and Hyde man, alright. Our friend Eric has been extremely helpful on this. I’m going to go to Mercy Hospital to interview Mrs. Annders as soon as you have a few officers here. They should guard the front and rear of the Annders house because there has to be some evidence inside for our case. You’ll need to get a search warrant, sir.”

  “Okay Jack, I’m right on it.”

  “Eric,” Leslie said as he punched “End” on his Blackberry, “have you seen that fellow McCoy with any weapons or any hint of drugs?”

  “Hell no. As I said, he seemed like such a good fella and I really liked him. It’s difficult for me to think he’d go about killing people.”

  “Well sir, he sure has. There was a murder on Juniper Street a bit ago; a friend of my new fiancé was killed in her apartment and I’ve reason to think he’s the guy who did it. Actually, investigating that one was how I met her. She’s a red head like you….well no, she’s nothing at all like you or I wouldn’t hold her hand, let alone marry her.”

  “Ha ha, I suppose! I’ll bet she’s a beauty.”

  “Oh yes; she’s absolutely perfect. She’s been tending the bar nights at the Cecilia, in the Gaslamp.”

  “Well goddamn, you mean Veronica McCarty? Jack, Helen and me, we sat there more than a few times and truly, we both adored that girl. She’s so nice, so friendly, so charming. We’d eat there and go to the bar for a few. One sweet thing, she never forgot our names, neither of us and she made a point of being friendly to both of us even when her bar was full.”

  “Well it really is a small world, Eric. So you’ve met her and now you know how it was I fell in love. We’re engaged; I bought the rings already.”