Leslie drove Jansen home and Catos to the patrol car he’d been driving, in front of the Annders house. He saw two Police Officers were posted there so the place was surely secure.
Being in the Bay Park area, he drove to the nearby home of Patrol Sergeant Robert Jackson, knowing he would usually be up and about by that hour.
Bob and Sonia Jackson had an especially gorgeous, sprawling ranch house. They had bought it years before and only could afford it because Sonia earned more money than her husband. The near-top-of-the-hill view out over Mission Bay and the blue Pacific was among the best in town.
Leslie parked his Lincoln in the driveway and saw his longtime friend opening the front door.
“Gawd awmighty Jack, where’d you steal that bus? You’re getting rich on us, are you?”
“Hi Bob. Naw, the Chief thinks I’m so doggoned handsome I should drive a handsome car. How are you?”
As they went into the living room, Jackson told him he was alone, the wife was at work and the kids were in school yet.
“You’re on patrol tonight, Bob?”
“Yep. Why?”
“Well, you cover that Bankers Hill area, among others and I thought I’d tell you about our prime suspect, Donald McCoy; just so you’ll know and be ready just in case one of your Officers spots him. The man is extremely dangerous and I think doggone clever.”
Leslie then went over the case step by step with his Patrol Sergeant friend of sixteen years “on the job”. They had coffee and Jackson repeatedly asked for details of the man suspected of so many .22 caliber homicides.
“Jack my friend,” Jackson said, “I’ll relay most of this to my guys and I can hardly wait to witness your marriage. And hell yes, I’ll be honored to be your best man. Your Veronica is one truly great catch, if you ask me – and of course, you did not. By the way, why don’t you bring her by here? Sonia and the kids would love to meet her. Maybe she’ll see this place and not want to be a cave dweller like you anymore.”
“Ah Bob, a wonderful property like yours requires a great deal of work; in a condo like mine, others take care of nearly everything.”
“Oh, but the satisfaction, Jack. The satisfaction. And anyway, if you don’t want to mow the lawn or plant the pansies, you can get gardeners real cheap to do that for you. Meantime, you’ve got privacy you can never have in a condo. More to it than that, but you might talk to your gal about it; she might want a real home like this.”
“It’s an idea, Bob. I should be fair, shouldn’t I? I’ll talk to her about it. In fact, I’ve got to get going right now for she’s at my place, waiting for me by now. See you old buddy.”
Leslie was quickly on Highway 5 and exited onto Front Street downtown. He pulled into his garage and there, in space forty-six was the pretty sparkling-red Mustang with the white canvas top….and the girls were inside of it.
As he opened her door, he said, “How thoughtless of me. I forgot I hadn’t given you a key to my condo. Come on, let’s go on up and I’ll provide one.”
He sat mother and daughter on a sofa and set down across from them while he explained the situation.
“These days, Officers of The Law must be awfully careful not to say a person is guilty of a thing until convicted in a court of law. But I’ll tell you in confidence what I know and what I suspect about your ex-friend Donald McCoy.”
After reviewing what the Police knew of the six murders they suspected McCoy of, he told them about his character.
“The killing of Mary Annders is very revealing. He said he loved her and was her lover and she is said to have loved him also, despite the enormous age difference. But in an apparent instant, he supposed she had told the authorities about him and he turned on her, killing that dear woman in cold blood.
“So is it possible he might turn on one or both of you? There’s no reason for him to feel badly toward either of you, but you see, there was no reason for him to feel badly about Mrs. Annders, either. So we’ll just be cautious until we know where he is, that’s all and I really do not suppose you have a thing to worry about. Okay, my darlings?”
Although the three of them worked together to fix a good dinner, they were much quieter than usual. Leslie noticed that the talkative Little Anne especially said hardly anything.
As they finished with the cleanup after dinner, Ronica at last spoke.
“Jack, I’ve been thinking about Donald. I must tell you, he was a very sweet man. He seemed so very nice. That is, he was until I told him he could not possibly move in with us. Then he seemed to change. He changed a lot.”
“Okay, let’s all go watch television for a while,” Leslie said, “and I’ll tell you two more”.
They sat on a sofa and he went on, “McCoy isn’t all that unusual to those of us in the homicide business. He is really two men – and possibly more – packed into one body. Somehow, when a nice, charismatic man like that is crossed, he feels a tremendous sense of betrayal and often responds with the utmost violence. We can bet those four drug customers of his felt he was the nicest friend in the world, but when they didn’t pay as they had promised to pay, he reacted by destroying them.
“A puzzle is the death of Jay Williams. We know the bullet that killed him was a part of the same batch made as those that killed those four druggies. I believe he must have been watching for you to come home, Ronica, just as Winfred did, and when he saw a man with you, he felt betrayed and when he saw you leave without him, he went up and shot him dead. It’s the only logical explanation.”
“So that’s what happened!” Ronica said.
“That’s my theory anyway,” Leslie intoned. “That’s the particular reason I wanted you two to be far away from that building tonight and maybe longer. He might be lying in wait even now. I was careful to inform my longtime friend, Patrol Sergeant Robert Jackson of my thoughts, so he’ll have his officers on the lookout in the area until McCoy is caught.”
“Sir, do you mean we might have to stay here for a long, long time?” the girl asked.
“Oh no, I don’t think so. I’m sure he’ll be picked up soon since every Officer in creation is watching for him. Besides, notices will be put on TV. But we must take you to school and pick you up after, until he’s caught. Now let’s change the subject, please. Since we’re going to be a family by and by, we ought to think about what sort of place we’d all like to live in.”
“Jack dear, you and Little Anne and I are already a family; seems to me,” the red headed one said.
“Well, well; aren’t you nice. My dad got some magazines and so forth on houses and condos before we bought this place and I never got rid of them. Let’s look at some and see what we like.”
He brought out a stack of them and before opening them up, he said, “No matter which kind of place we might wish to move to – if we decide to move at all – location is about the most important thing because we absolutely must have a very good school for you, Anne. That’s important for the next years until you graduate. You won’t want to keep moving from school to school and making friends only to sadly lose them again and again as I did as a kid. Okay? Let’s look these over.”
They spent the evening going over the pretty pictures and plans of houses and condos until the 11 o’clock news.
The top news of the day was the murder of Mary Annders and the great manhunt for Donald McCoy – moved up from a “person of interest” to “suspect”. They also described in detail the 2006 Ford Freestyle he was expected to be driving and even showed a picture of one in “Dark Shadow Metallic Gray”.
“I’ll bet almost every person watching this newscast is hearing of a Freestyle for the very first time,” he said. “I’m sure Ford doesn’t relish this sort of publicity for their secret automobile. I remember though that Ford sold their Bronco’s like hotcakes after O. J. Simpson was chased by the L.A. Police and the pursuit was watched by millions on television. But they’ve changed that silly name and nobody can buy a Ford Freestyle anymore. How would anybody know it’s now a
Taurus X, for Pete’s sake? Who knows what Ford might call it next year?”
Observing proprieties, the girls slept in Leslie’s former bed and he slept in his dad’s place.
He set the alarm for 7 a.m. but his Blackberry rang angrily a little after 6. The phone showed Tuesday, September 16th, 2008.
“Jack, its Bob Jackson. I thought I’d brief you on events before you get the news third or fourth hand. My whole squad patrolled all over Banker’s Hill and only found a drunk we had to arrest. He was driving around, looking for his house there because he thought he was in faraway Normal Heights.
“Anyway, we got a 9-1-1 call about 3 that there was a body on the pavement on Juniper, down the street only a block from the McCarty apartments. We found it was a uniformed security guard, doubtless coming home from his job. He had both eyes shot out and many teeth gone. A helluva mess; really, really terrible. We smelt pepper spray but found no spray cans.
“Also, the guard had been run over, the tires leaving an ugly trail of blood and guts. He was all shot to hell and then run right over; over the middle of him, front and back tires, too. CSI guys have good tire tread pictures from that. Jesus, what a mess.
“One of my Officers spotted the empty Annders Freestyle in Balboa Park by the license number about forty five minutes later. Went there with a bunch of Officers, scoured the bushes for McCoy but only spotted so-called gay guys making out. I got a tracking dog out there pretty quick and he trailed the driver out of the car to oh, maybe a hundred fifty feet along the street when the trail vanished.
“That disappearing scent the dog followed means of course that he got into another car, on the driver’s side, which indicates he probably hot-wired that car and stole it. We won’t know what kind of car it was or who it belonged to until it’s reported missing. It might’ve belonged to one of those queers in the bushes.
“Also Jack, I got that Freestyle picked up and carried to the Impound most carefully so’s not to destroy any prints, and all that. So we’ll have the stolen car detail searching the vehicles on their list; they’ll be looking big time now. That’s about it Jack; you’ll get further details at your office.”
“Bob, you’re an especially smart Policeman; why do you suppose that security guard got himself killed?”
“Oh yeah; forgot to mention that it looked to me a parked car was blocking the guard’s driveway a little. I reckon he saw there was a guy in that car. He was maybe sleeping and when the guard asked him to move to hell out of the way, probably not too gently, the guy got pissed and pepper sprayed the guard and then shot his eyes and teeth out. The security guard had a pistol in his holster, the strap still snapped over it. Jack, I’m no smart-brained detective like you, but, well, that’s what I guess to have happened. CSI people will provide you with diagrams and all that.”
“Robert Jackson, you are absolutely the best. Thanks ever so much for letting me know all this. See you soon.”
TEN
The girls got up, Little Anne made ready for school and they came out for breakfast. That’s when Leslie had to inform them of what Jackson had told him of the nighttime events. But he softened it with slight mention of the gory parts.
“I feel so very lucky that you two came over here last night even though there was a very slight chance you might have been in danger over there. You’ll need to figure staying here another night. Even more than before, we’re likely to bring in Mr. McCoy quickly for questioning.”
“Jack, do you think Little Anne will be safe in school?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure of that. Either of us must drive her there and pick her up afterwards, just to be on the safe side. Anyway, McCoy loves your daughter, obviously, and he’d have no desire to harm her. I’m certain of that. Nor would he wish to harm you, Ronica. Also, he’d have no way of knowing that you two are staying here.”
“I’ll be certain she gets there and back,” Ronica said. “Darn, we’re all hungry as bears; let’s eat!”
At Police Headquarters, Leslie found that Lieutenant Pat Dean was not there; he was on Juniper Street, trying to calmly relay to the press as little of the details of the security guard murder as possible. Dean was quite good in that role, reassuring the public that the police were hot on the trail of the killer. Lately, his face had become more than a little familiar on television, what with so many killings of the most brutal kind.
Leslie called forensics, wanting to know what had been determined so far of the Mary Annders murder.
“Sergeant, we got out the bullets and there’s a match to the other .22 caliber homicide cases; it was definitely fired out of the same gun barrel as in those other homicides.
“Also, we finally found out what gun was used by matching up the peculiar rifling to our bullets. It’s gotta be a revolver made by Freedom Arms, here in the good old USA. It’s the best of its kind, a very expensive weapon, made of stainless steel and costing with tax, probably a little over $2,000. Damn thing even has dual firing pins. It’s made with meticulous precision and fussiness for target competition matches so I’d suspect it was stolen by the perp from some rich guy.
“It has a ten inch barrel so it packs a helluva punch. Its fifteen and a half inches long over all. The cuts on the heads of two victims matches the front sights. The cylinder holds five .22 caliber cartridges of the ‘long rifle’ size. Sergeant, we are sure of all this as that gun is practically one of a kind. My God, who’d pay two grand for a goddamn target revolver? It’s meant to have fun with, shooting in competition with other rich dudes.
“Instead of having a string of polo ponies, some rich characters go out and shoot the hell out of targets. Oh, except for the guy carrying this one. He shoots his targets from an inch or so away from their faces.”
“Thanks for that,” was all Leslie could get out. He had never known of a weapon such as that one.
Somehow, hearing the details of the murder weapon made chills go up and down his spine. A five-shot revolver of the tiny .22 caliber so precisely manufactured and with such special features that it cost, with tax, probably over two thousand dollars! Yet the ammunition was as cheap as could be.
Sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, he was surprised to hear Captain Martin Noffsinger standing next to his desk and speaking to him.
“Jack, you’re feelin’ bad, are you? Can’t blame you; that sonofabitch McCoy’s got away and we don’t have any notion what he’s driving now. You got any ideas, Jack?”
“Captain, I find myself empty of ideas right now.”
“That bastard’s probably gone south to T.J. or of course he could have gone north to L.A., anything to get lost in the crowd, so to say. Shit, he could have gone east to Phoenix; it’d be just as likely,” Captain Noffsinger said.
“Sir, we’d of course think that whoever owned the car he stole in Balboa Park last night would be reporting it by now. Of course, it could belong to some guy who was there fooling with other guys in the bushes and he wouldn’t want his wife to know about such nasty goings on,” Leslie said.
“Oh! Oh, of course!” the Captain said. “That’s gotta be why it’s not reported stolen! Damn! A little matter of a happily married man maybe with kiddies out there in the bushes messing with other men! Gotta be! But what can we do about it, Jack?”
“Captain, that’s the million dollar question right now, seems to me.”
“Yeah. Guess so. Well son, if anybody can figure what’s next, it’s sure as hell gonna be you. You can bet your ass Chief Slumberjay’s getting some heat on this .22 caliber goddamned thing. The Mayor and most of the City Council’s been ringing her up, I’d bet anything. See ya!”
Leslie sat there, wondering what in the devil his little unexpected visit meant. Oh well, what was important at the moment was figuring where McCoy could possibly be.
He visualized the tracking dog in the big, beautiful, one-of-a-kind city park, sniffing the grass – how far? – ah, Jackson had said about one hundred fifty feet. The dog turned off the grass and the scent s
eemed to have vanished. But wait. Wait, wait, wait! For the past three days there had been a so-called “Santa Ana” wind blowing. It was an east wind blowing unusually from the deserts to the ocean. The air was especially dry. And it was far hotter – nearly in the nineties - than was usual for balmy, hardly-ever-an-unpleasant-day San Diego.
Yes, he thought, the temperature got near ninety degrees – an extreme for San Diego. Even at night it was hot and air conditioners were grinding away all over town, day and night.
All day long the pavements would be absorbing heat from the sun – especially the blacktopped pavements - and the night air was too hot to cool the streets down much. He reckoned it would have been hot enough that the asphalt on the streets in Balboa Park would have been softened sufficiently to evaporate slightly….and that powerful asphalt smell would easily overwhelm any human scent on that roadway. It would probably snuff the dog’s sniffer.
Maybe McCoy didn’t get into a car at all, Leslie thought. Maybe he simply walked from that point on the stinking-of-tar pavement instead of the grass. The dog lost his trail because of the overpowering smell of hot asphalt, perhaps.
Immediately, Leslie called the dog-handler, the Officer caring for the animal as a pet, whether at home or on the job. He told him his thoughts about the asphalt and asked him to take the dog to the pound, to sniff in the Freestyle again for McCoy’s scent and take him quickly back to the park to pick up the trail again wherever, and if, he left the pavement.
“Do you think you can convey to your dog what you want him to do?” Leslie asked the Officer.
“The scent’s gettin’ cold now and lots of people’ve probably trod the same ground but by God Sergeant Leslie, my old bloodhound Ziggy and me, we’ll give it a try,”
“Thanks a million. Call me the instant you find out something – or even if you cannot find out something.”
Leslie drove over to the murder scene on Juniper Street and arrived just as the CSI folks were removing the body. His eyes were an especially gruesome sight, the security guard’s face blasted badly and his bloody innards spread out on the pavement from being run over by an especially heavy car. He recalled Ford’s Freestyle weighed something like four thousand four hundred pounds. The dead man’s car was only then being moved from the street into the driveway the Ford Freestyle had apparently blocked.
The .22 Caliber Homicides: Book 1 of the San Diego Police Homicide Detail featuring Jack Leslie Page 15