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

by William Barrons

  “Good for you Jack and….Oops, here comes the Fuzz,” the old ex-officer said as he pointed to three Patrol cars coming up the street. They had their blue and red lights flashing as though it was an emergency. Two of them pulled into and parked in the Annders driveway and the third squad parked at the curb behind the Lincoln.

  The Western Division Police Sub Station was only down the hill from Bay Park, on Friars Road, so it hadn’t taken long for the three Cop cars to arrive.

  The two men hurried across the lawn to the Patrol car that showed “Supervisor” on the side as the Sergeant was climbing out.

  Leslie began to introduce himself and the Sergeant stopped him.

  “Yeah, I talked to Dean and he said to look for his ace sleuther and Eric the Red. Glad to see you fellas,” he smiled. “What’s the deal here?”

  Leslie quickly explained his suspicions about “Don Juan, aka McCoy” and the Ford wagon and that the house needed to be guarded from entering, front and back, by anyone whatsoever until it could be gone over by forensics when a search warrant was issued. The owner was at that time in Mercy Hospital. Meantime of course, they were to take in the very dangerous McCoy for questioning if he showed up.

  “Also, I’d like you to preserve that Freestyle if you get control of it; it’s to be towed for inspection by forensics. Meantime, I’m going to go to the hospital to talk with Mrs. Annders. Please let me have one of your Officers for back-up. Eric, you know her very well, would you please come along? She’ll be more comfortable talking with me if you’re there.”

  “Hell yes Jack; I’ll use the bathroom, lock up my house and be right with you.”

  The Patrol Sergeant remarked that Sergeant Jack Leslie, the leader of Homicide Team Three, was very well known throughout San Diego’s Police force.

  “And now I see for myself that you do look a helluva lot like Tyrone Power, as I’ve heard before,” the Patrol Sergeant said.

  “Maybe I should get one of those face lifts and have my old puss modified to look like Charlie Chaplin,” Leslie laughed. “But on the other hand, there are a lot worse things I could be called….and I most certainly have been.”

  They chatted awhile and introduced Officer Catos who would accompany Leslie. Jansen was quick in getting back to them from his house. They climbed into the Lincoln and the young rookie Catos got in the back seat.

  “Damn!” Officer Catos said, “Homicide Detectives drive very nice cars!”

  “It’s only a temporary ride, I’m sure,” Leslie replied.

  They had only gone a little ways when Catos asked if Leslie could stop at a convenience store to get a pastry as he had missed lunch.

  NINE

  There was no hurry so Leslie and Jansen chatted while the officer went into a store.

  After some minutes, they were on the way again. Leslie went east on Washington Street, left on 4th Avenue and then into the parking garage of Mercy Hospital. Inside the hospital itself, he showed a receptionist his badge and was directed to the 3rd floor nursing station.

  A pretty young nurse there named Victoria with “RN” on her tag told them, “I think Mrs. Annders has been asleep most of the day. She’s heavily sedated and in a room with another lady who is extremely ill so you’ll need to be quiet. I’ll go with you to take her vitals before you talk to her. Follow me please, Sergeant.”

  The four of them traipsed down to the last room on the left in the hall. Leslie noticed there was an EXIT sign on the door across from it; that had to be an emergency stairway out of the building, he supposed.

  As they entered to see two beds, a very old lady in the right hand bed was sitting half way up and looking most frail and without color. A sheet was pulled up over the head of the person on the left bed.

  “Now, why would Mrs. Annders pull that cover up like that?” Victoria the nurse asked.

  She pulled the covers off a bit and screamed with a terrible shriek! Leslie saw Mary Annders eyes were blasted out of her bleeding sockets and resting on her cheeks! Her mouth and both ears were gushing blood! The red liquid ran down her neck, onto her chest and pillow.

  “Eric!” Leslie hollered. “Talk to that woman over there and find out what she saw!”

  Victoria was swooning and Leslie grabbed her arm and helped her down to the floor. It was also obvious Eric Jansen was horrified to see his neighbor friend like that.

  “Officer Catos,” Leslie shouted, “watch out that window and see if you can spot a man running away or that Ford Freestyle speeding off. It’s gray metallic.”

  Leslie whipped out his Blackberry and scrolled to Dean. “Lieutenant! Eric Jansen and I and another Officer are here at Mercy in Mary Annders’ room. She’s been shot. She’s dead. Happened only minutes ago. It’s gotta be McCoy. He saw those squad cars pull up to her house with lights flashing and I’ve gotta believe he thought she’d ratted on him. Gotta be. So he sped over here and stuck a gun in her mouth and put a bullet up into her brain. Gotta be that beast McCoy!”

  “Sergeant,” the rookie Officer said, “I don’t see anything of a man running or any Fords in a hurry yet. But I’ll keep watching.”

  “Thanks Catos. Can you surround this place, Lieutenant? There’s an EXIT door right across the hall so he must’ve come in and gone out that way. Meantime, I’m going to run down those stairs to see what I can see then I’ll be right back up to this room. You’ll send forensics, of course.”

  “Miss Victoria,” Leslie said to the nurse sitting on the floor, crying. “You’ll have to leave now. This is a crime scene. You’ll need to move the other patient soon.”

  He turned to his old partner leaning over the creature with pure white, tousled hair in the next bed. “Get what you can from her and don’t let anyone else in here except to move that lady out. I’ll be back shortly. Keep looking, Catos.”

  Leslie bolted out of the room and yanked open the EXIT door. First he looked up the stairwell. Nobody up there. He ran down the stairs, all the way to ground level and opened the door to the outside. Close by was the entrance to the parking garage. He saw nothing of McCoy. He dashed back up the stairs and into the Annders room. The very ill old lady was still there.

  “Jack,” Jansen said, “she said she saw a man come in and she just peeked to see what he was doing and saw him stick a gun in Mrs. Annders mouth and shoot her. He pulled the covers over her head and then he ran out.”

  Leslie went over to the right hand bed and saw her name on the chart.

  “Mrs. Reeves, I’m a police detective and it’s my job to find out who shot Mrs. Annders. I have a little recording device here so I can get down what is said.”

  He turned the device on. “I’m San Diego Police Sergeant Jack Leslie and please tell me your name and address.” She most solemnly did that.

  Despite appearing white as a sheet and so frail, the tiny woman responded readily by answering his questions.

  “Please, what did the man look like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sorta average, I guess,” the white haired lady said.

  She said it quite calmly. Leslie noticed she didn’t seem to be broken up at her neighbor’s death; maybe she was too ill for that; too near death herself to care about a stranger.

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Black, I think.”

  “Was he tall or was he short?”

  “Kinda sorta in between.”

  “Did you see the color of his eyes?”

  “Oh goodness, I didn’t notice.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Wearing? Let me think. A blue shirt? Yes, a blue shirt and I think blue pants. Jeans, I’d say, like men and women wear these days.”

  “Would you say he was wearing anything odd?”

  “Odd? Oh, he had a woman’s big purse hanging from his shoulder. He took his gun out of it. Didn’t notice if he put his gun back in the purse.”

  “He was in the room really quick and then left?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it exactly and he didn’t say
a word. Not one word and didn’t even look my way.”

  “Did the other patient say anything?”

  “No; she was sleeping, poor dear.”

  “Mrs. Reeves, I know you must be tired. But I need to know some things. Did you actually see him shoot the lady in the next bed?”

  “Yes. He stuck the gun in her mouth and the gun made a tiny little bang and there was some smoke. Then I closed my eyes almost shut and didn’t move and pretended I didn’t see anything. I was afraid he’d shoot me, too.”

  “Can you describe the gun, ma-am?”

  “It was silver. He must have been just awfully, awfully angry with that woman to shoot her like that. Do you know why, detective?”

  “No Mrs. Reeves, but I have some guesses. The gun was silver? Okay, was it long like a rifle or short like a pistol or what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I saw he held it with one hand. It was shiny silver, I know that. Yes, he held it with one hand, his right hand, because he held her lips over the gun with his left hand. I’m sure I saw that clearly. It was so odd he’d do that. I mean, why would he put the gun in her mouth like that? Very strange he’d do that. If you’re going to shoot someone, why wouldn’t you just go ahead and shoot them, like they do in the movies?”

  “But you don’t know if it was a rifle?”

  “Oh, you know what mister, I’ve seen them in cowboy movies. Like cowboys have in their holsters. Only it was a pretty long pistol or maybe a revolver, as they say.”

  “Do you mean it was a long-barreled revolver?”

  “Doggone, I don’t know; guess so. But it sure was shiny silver. This is very exciting. Wait’ll I tell my husband Danny I’ve actually talked to a detective. I’ve never talked to a detective before. My Danny is the only one that visits me; we’ve been married a long time, sir.”

  “Ma-am, I’d imagine you’ve never had anybody shot in the bed next to you before, either. I know you must be tired. You’ve been very, very helpful. Do you want to rest now?”

  Aha, he thought; that’s why there never were any shell casings at the murder sights – revolver cylinders don’t eject them. McCoy would throw the casings in the trash when he re-loaded his revolver, of course.

  “Mister, I’ve got cancer. I’m not long for this world, I’m told. So I’ll be resting for a long time, soon,” the very old lady said.

  “You are a sweetheart, Mrs. Reeves. Did you ever talk to Mrs. Annders next to you there?”

  “No sir. She was awake sometimes but I guess real groggy so I couldn’t get any talking done with her. Person ready to go like me – well, it’s nice to talk to someone. Was she a good person?”

  “Missus, I think she was perhaps too nice a person; at least to the man who shot her. Thanks to your help, I have a fair idea of who that man is.”

  Two nurses came in to move the woman to another room. She actually smiled up at Leslie, as though she’d had a meeting with a great celebrity.

  “Goodbye sir,” she said and added to the nurses moving her bed, “That nice man there really is a real, true police detective.” Then she was gone from the room.

  Officer Catos was still standing by the window, looking out on the front of the place and 4th Avenue across the way. He had his radio in his hand. Eric Jansen was then next to him, also watching below.

  “See anything interesting yet, Catos?” Leslie asked.

  “No sir but I don’t know what a Freestyle looks like. Do you?”

  “Yes but maybe only because I own one. Darn. That car is such a rare secret of the Ford Motor Company, probably most Officers don’t know what to look for. Give me that radio.”

  Leslie grabbed the thing out of his hand and hollered into it, “Dispatcher, this is Sergeant Jack Leslie. The car the killer at the Mercy Hospital we think escaped in is a Ford, 2006, dark metallic gray, Freestyle that looks much like a Ford Explorer or Expedition from behind. Other than that, it’s a really big station wagon. Please, put this out as the man driving it, name of Donald McCoy aka Don Juan is a suspect in perhaps six murders. He’s probably heading for the border. Probably on Highway 5 heading south right now. You’ve told them the license number?”

  “Yes Sergeant Leslie,” the female voice came back over the radio. “I’ve got all that. Will repeat it to all units. Relaying all this to CHP….”

  “Dispatch. Wait! There he is right now. He’s heading south on 4th Avenue. Nearly to Washington Street. He’s driving that Freestyle. He’s wearing a blue shirt and blue jeans. Black hair. Just saw him go by. Out of my sight behind a building now. Let’s get that man!”

  “Jack, you’re right!” Jansen shouted. “That’s Mary’s car, dirt and dents and all. He had to have parked up the street somewhere. I thought he’d probably sped out of the garage by now. A patrol ought to stop him pretty quick.”

  “Sergeant,” the rookie Officer said, “I feel real bad. If I didn’t ask you to stop so I could get a bite to eat, Mrs. Annders might be alive now.”

  “Young man, don’t do that to yourself. You can’t possibly know any such thing. The guilty one’s just gone down 4th Avenue. Remember that,” Leslie chided the Officer.

  Eric spoke up, “Catos, Jack’s absolutely right. But dear, dear God, what that shot into her mouth did to poor Mary Annders. What a sight. She was still a good-looking broad, considering she was about seventy. And such a nice woman; too goddamn nice.”

  “Sergeant,” rookie Catos said, “shouldn’t we at least be trying to catch him in your car?”

  “No, there’s no chance at all. Remember, I’m convinced that guy’s killed five men and one woman that I know of and he’s constantly thinking and thinking – what’s he thinking? He’s scheming ways to get away with what he’s done, to out-fox us dumb Police Officers. Right now, you can bet he’s figuring we’re figuring he’s heading for the border for he probably knows we’ve learned he goes down there.

  “Very well, how to get there? There’s the freeways and there’s the streets; countless streets. And, why not park that car in the park, go into the bushes and get some sleep? After dark, almost all cars look gray like the one he’s driving. Maybe he’ll hide someplace for a day or a week or he might go north or he might go east.

  “See what I mean Catos? We’re going to stick right here. We’re witnesses. The CSI folks will be here by and by and we’ll answer all their questions and then turn the crime scene over to them. So be calm young man and above all, be patient.”

  “Yes sir Sergeant Leslie. I’m still ‘wet behind the ears’, as my Lieutenant said – what the hell ever that means.”

  “It means you have a lot to learn, just like the rest of us. Eric Jansen here bravely patrolled the streets of San Diego for twenty-seven years. Did you learn it all, Eric?”

  “Jack’s right. You never learn it all in the Police business. And always keep in mind, the bad guys are forever one step ahead of us and of course, they forever try to out-smart us and, dammit all, they too often do out think us dumb Cops.”

  “By golly,” Leslie said, “I got to thinking that McCoy might be using a .22 caliber rifle to kill folks. Looks to be a revolver. Eric, would you guess .22 caliber revolvers have five, six or seven shots in the cylinder?”

  “I haven’t seen any revolvers at all in .22 caliber for a long, long time Jack, and I can’t recall how many cartridges they hold. I’d say most likely at least six. I’ve seen a few .25 caliber revolvers and pistols in my time; but mostly, you see .38’s, terrible lot of those .357 magnums, or .45’s. I don’t recall ever seeing any kind of .22 caliber gun used for murder.”

  Leslie put in, “But when he brought death to four of his victims – the four druggies that we know of – he consistently fired five shots; he shot out each eye and then shot out teeth with three more, like an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Seems to me it’s bound to be a five-shot weapon. We’ll see; at least, I hope we find him and his weapon.

  “There’s another thing Catos, this fellow might do as others have done; just lay
low for a time – maybe years – until he’s sure the trail is cold and he starts his mayhem up again. Sure does happen.”

  “Sergeant Leslie, in the Police Academy, an instructor said you Homicide Detectives only solve about two thirds of murder cases. That would mean a third of murders go unsolved. Could that be true?”

  “Well now, it’s almost true. We certainly solve more than that but it doesn’t necessarily follow that we get convictions. It isn’t quite enough that we detectives know for certain who is guilty of a particular murder. Have you never heard of the infamous O. J. Simpson case?

  “Everybody in the world believes that former football star was guilty of the cold-blooded, deliberate murder of his ex-wife and her friend up there in Los Angeles; that is, everybody in the world knows it except for the twelve people on the jury who said they didn’t believe it and declared him innocent. Since the trial though, I’ve heard there were some retractions by one or two jurors. But after he’s let go, it can’t matter.”

  Within the hour, an entire team of forensics officers were at the scene of the crime where the too-nice widow lady Mrs. Mary Annders had been murdered. Jack Leslie, Eric Jansen and the rookie Catos left when they were no longer needed.

  As they climbed into the Lincoln, Leslie had an idea and he called his Ronica.

  She answered and he said, “Ronica, there is a chance you and your daughter might be in danger tonight so I want you to pick her up from school and drive to my place. Stay there at least until I’m home. Better bring some clothes for both of you for you’ll surely be there overnight.”

  “Danger, Jack? Danger from what?”

  “I’d rather not say just now. Please, trust me on this and do as I ask; okay?”

  “Okay Jack, we’ll do just as you ask. Love you!”

  He then explained to Jansen that his betrothed and her daughter had been friends with the very McCoy he was sure had committed six murders at least. He thought caution was in order for McCoy might wish to at least see them again and who knows what then?