“DONALD McCOY!” Leslie roared out over the din in the place. “I’M ARRESTING YOU FOR THE MURDER OF MRS. MARY ANNDERS!”
“Go on ahead and shoot me, Sergeant!” McCoy – incredibly – smiled again. “I just shot your stupid Lieutenant and he’s not seeing so good now! Go ahead Jack and shoot!”
Leslie could hardly believe he was hearing right. Of all things, he saw McCoy was wearing Costco’s white sneakers, the same as himself.
“NO McCOY, I’M GOING TO SHOOT BOTH OF YOUR KNEES WITH MY PISTOL IF YOU DON’T IMMEDIATELY EASE THAT BAG OFF YOUR SHOULDER AND ONTO THE FLOOR! DO IT NOW!”
“Sergeant Jack, I’ll do no such thing! If you want that bag off my shoulder, why you just come right over here and take it off yourself!”
“THAT’S ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE McCOY!” Leslie roared at him and with a quick aim, shot the narrow leather strap crossing the man’s shoulder. BANG! It reverberated like a bomb in the enclosed space! The strap was severed and the bag dropped to the floor!
The shot made a hole in the mirror on the wall and created a starburst of cracks out from the hole.
“SON…OF…A…BITCH!” McCoy screamed.
“NOW McCOY! UNLESS YOU WISH TO FEEL UNBEARABLE PAIN IN YOUR KNEES FOR THE NEXT TWENTY YEARS ON DEATH ROW, DROP DOWN TO THE FLOOR, FACE DOWN!”
“You really aren’t going to kill me, Jack?” McCoy said in disbelief.
“GET ON THAT FLOOR! FACE DOWN! DO IT NOW!” Leslie roared at him, aiming his pistol at McCoy’s knees.
“Well, well,” McCoy said, the smile vanishing as he looked around at the people staring incredulously at the unexpected events. “I do think I’d best obey our famous Police Sergeant Jack Leslie!”
With that, McCoy did indeed drop to the floor, head first and he put his hands behind his back to be cuffed. Leslie kicked the purse to one side, holstered his pistol and clicked the cuffs on. Next, he patted down McCoy who had nothing at all in his pants pockets, his blue jeans legs or his thin tee shirt. Then in a loud voice, he recited the murdering “suspect” his “Miranda Rights”.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used in a court of law against you, etc.,” Leslie said.
His right shoulder was spilling a little blood, reddening all around the hole in his tee shirt. “We’ll get that scraping attended to soon,” Leslie told him.
He left McCoy on the floor for the moment, waiting for reinforcements. McCoy had suddenly become silent.
Leslie picked up the large woman’s purse and looked inside. Sure enough, he could see a silvery, long-barreled revolver in there and a little cardboard ammunition box. Just glancing at the box, he saw it said “.22 caliber Long Rifle cartridges, Remington Arms.” There were other things in there too, but he didn’t bother with them.
Within moments, uniformed police officers barged in through the crowded room. Among them, though in a business suit, was of all people, Captain Martin Noffsinger.
“Jack! You okay?” Noffsinger said as he came up close, his eyes full of concern.
“Yes sir but I’ve not heard anything further from Lieutenant Dean. Have you, Captain?”
“No, and it doesn’t sound good. Others are over there on Fourth right now. Is this for sure the .22 caliber homicides suspect?”
“Yes Captain Noffsinger, this is the guy that calls himself Donald McCoy. His weapon is in this purse here. We mustn’t touch it; gotta save it for forensics and I’ll hang onto it for now. He’s who we’ve been looking for. He told me he shot the Lieutenant. Wanted me to kill him right here and now. Captain, he actually wanted me to kill him!”
“He actually said that? He admitted it? And he actually thought you’d kill him?”
“Yes sir and my recorder’s been turned on so we’ll see what the lawyers make of it.”
“Oh, here’s the Chief,” Noffsinger said as he turned to greet her.
As Leslie turned also, he noticed for the first time that television cameras were on men’s shoulders, at least two of them, and they were aimed at him. So much for anonymity!
Chief Charlene Slumberjay was dressed in her formal police uniform, black shirt with the usual four stars on each collar, black pants, necktie, shoes and the cap with gold “scrambled eggs” on the brim. As always, she had a pistol holstered on her hip. Leslie wondered what sort of party she’d dress up like that for. Despite the manly clothes, her trim figure and ample breasts spoke plainly of her femininity.
“Marty!” she said, glancing around and staring at the man spread out on the floor, “What’s happening here?”
“Sergeant Leslie just arrested the .22 caliber homicides suspect, Ma-am. That’s him on the floor. Leslie’s got him cuffed. We’ll haul him out of here real soon,” the Captain said.
“Sergeant Leslie!” she exclaimed, “Is this the suspect who shot Lieutenant Dean?”
“Ma-am, that’s what he said; he told me he shot him. He told me the Lieutenant’s not seeing so good now. It’s all recorded on my radio here.”
“Well, I guess there’s no sense in turning it off now, with all those cameras and witnesses here,” she said. “Captain Noffsinger, I’m charging you to get this suspect safely locked up. Keep a suicide watch on him. There’ll be people who’ll want to kill this man if they think he’s the one who killed the excellent Lieutenant Dean.”
Noffsinger immediately barked orders for officers next to him to quickly get the suspect out and locked into a cruiser. He would be taken to Police Headquarters to be interrogated, getting statements from him if possible. The Crime Lab would process him, getting fingerprints, DNA, photos, etc. Then he’d be hauled off to the San Diego County jail to await arraignment and trial.
As two burly officers lifted him up off the floor, Leslie saw McCoy seemed altogether changed from a cheerful appearance to actually whimpering. Tears were on his cheeks. What a change in a matter of minutes. The man was obviously a mental gymnast.
“Tyrone Power!” McCoy cried as they set him on his feet. “You should have killed me as I asked you to do and you would have saved the taxpayers tons of money.”
“Oh now, the State of California will get around to that in probably twenty or twenty five years, McCoy,” Leslie told him angrily.
The two Officers frisked McCoy again and with Officers making a path through the crowd, pushing tables and chairs out of the way, two of them had him by each arm to whisk him away.
“Sergeant Leslie,” Chief Slumberjay said, “you are quite the Police Officer. Now, tell me, with your radio recorder on, from second to second exactly what happened here.”
Leslie did just that, as calmly as he could. The TV cameras were still going as he recounted the timeline from the moment the Homicide Detail spread out from 4th Avenue and Market Streets. The worst, heart-tugging part was telling of hearing Lieutenant Dean’s discovery of the stolen Volvo and the small caliber shots being fired.
“Well doggone,” the Chief said – watching her language in front of TV cameras, “he really did want to commit ‘suicide by cop’ and you refused to oblige him, eh? That was quite the remark, that you’d kneecap him in both knees! That seemed to have changed his mind. Would you actually have done that, Sergeant?”
“I think I proved to him I could shoot rather well when I shot this purse strap off his shoulder. So he believed me, ma-am.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Leslie. Would you have knee-capped him?”
Leslie, just as aware by then as she was of the TV cameras and wary of future lawyer reactions, told her, “Chief Slumberjay, I think it’s safe to say that we’ll never know for sure whether I would have shattered both of his knees or not.”
She smiled. “Some answer. Come on over to 4th now with me. Let’s go see about our very good friend, Lieutenant Pat Dean.”
They walked with six or seven uniformed Officers accompanying them; her car was to follow.
The sounds of many sirens yet filled the evening air. On J Street the group proceeded to 4th a
nd there, just north of the intersection, an area had been yellow-taped off. Next to an old green, little Volvo station wagon, a yellow plastic sheet covered what had to be a body on the pavement.
Red and blue lights atop Police cars and an ambulance flashed light over the faces of crowds of people, including the rest of Leslie’s Homicide Team Three. Since it was still early, before 6 pm, there was still daylight.
Chief Slumberjay walked right up to the shroud on the ground. As she began to bend over it, Leslie intervened.
“Ma-am, I’d strongly advise you not to look at him just now. It’s surely a terrible sight.”
“Jack, I must,” she said familiarly. “Gentlemen,” she said to the other Officers, “come around close so all those people don’t see him.”
As they moved in to surround the body, she lifted the plastic from his head. She gasped and jerked backwards with horror on her face. She put the plastic back down. As she straightened back up, everyone could see tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks.
“Sergeant,” she said, turning to Leslie, “that McCoy must be a goddamned mad man! Dean’s eyes are gone! His teeth – why, he shot the hell out of his teeth, even! He’s done this with a goddamned .22?”
“Ma-am, incredibly, he’s used an especially expensive and powerful .22 all along. We’ve seen his work several times before. Its McCoy’s trademark, sort of. I don’t have any idea why he’d go to such an extent when he kills people. I’ve never encountered anything so bizarre as this fellow but I hope to get some answers from him, now that we’ve got him.”
“I didn’t expect to see tears on you, Sergeant. I know, he was more than just your boss. He was such a very, very good man. Pretty Carol’s gonna just die over this. You’ve got a good case?”
“Oh yes Chief. We have a rock-solid case against McCoy. We’ve accumulated a lot of irrefutable evidence,” Leslie said, trying to control his own emotions. “We know the revolver that was used and it’s in here; it’s right here in this bag I’ve kept to preserve the evidence.”
He opened the purse for her to have a glimpse of the silvery gun, then tucked the bag back under his left arm.
Leslie quickly bent over the form and picked up the plastic for a quick peek at the body’s right side. Sure enough, Dean’s pistol was still in its holster with the strap still snapped on over it. He recalled Dean’s left hand was troubled with arthritis so he must have held his radio in his right hand – where his pistol should have been at that time.
The fifty five year old Lieutenant, he knew then, was too rusty on the job; he was much, much too incautious not to have drawn his weapon and have it at-the-ready the instant he spotted the Volvo. He should have had his weapon out! It might have saved his life – and it might have ended McCoy’s right then and there.
“Dammit, there’s all those looking-for-gore TV cameras around here,” the Chief said. “There’s reporters there and they’ll want a statement. Very well, let’s do it. But first, I’ve gotta make a terribly, terribly sad phone call. I hope I reach her before she sees the news on TV.”
Of course she would ordinarily hurry over to Dean’s home to personally deliver the very sad news; the news every police officer’s and military man’s wives would be in fear of hearing: “We regret very much that your gallant husband has been killed in the line of duty….”
But the case had gained so much notoriety in the papers and on TV because of so many killings, there was no time for discretion on the Chief’s part.
With the dreaded duty of the phone call made, the diminutive and pretty Chief of San Diego Police stepped forward to be in front of the officers “hiding” the body under the tarp. Beckoning Captain Noffsinger to her right and Leslie to her left, as they towered over her she indicated she was ready for questions. Her face was still wet from tears and she wiped them away as the lights glared. Reporters rushed in with their microphones held up to her.
A reporter spoke anxiously, “Chief Slumberjay, what can you tell us about the man under the tarp? Is it really Lieutenant Dean?”
“Yes, I am extremely sorry to say, Lieutenant Pat Dean, lately Co-commander of our Homicide Detail, has been brutally murdered. I just performed the awfully sad duty of informing his lovely wife, Carol Dean.”
The Chief had a pleasant voice, yet it was full of authority.
“Sergeant Jack Leslie here on my left – known by so many as Handsome Jack – just a little bit ago arrested the suspect in the murder of Lieutenant Dean. The suspect has been locked up. That same suspect is also suspected, we think, for several other murders and Lieutenant Dean has been right on top of the case. It has been Sergeant Leslie’s team and Sergeant Leslie in particular that have been diligently and most intelligently, working on this case – this case of the .22 caliber homicides – for some time.
“Sergeant Leslie believes he has the .22 caliber revolver used in those homicides - including the murder of Lieutenant Dean - in the suspect’s purse which the Sergeant is now holding, as you see there. Sergeant Leslie will begin interrogating the prisoner tomorrow morning. He has given him his Miranda rights and informed him he is entitled to an attorney at state expense for his defense if he cannot afford to pay for one.
“As Chief of the gallant San Diego Police Department, I must mention right here that Sergeant Jack Leslie is a Police Officer who has commanded the attention of his superiors for the sixteen years we have been so fortunate as to have him on our Force. I am personally and extremely grateful that Sergeant Jack Leslie has arrested the suspect in the .22 caliber homicides. Thank you all very much.”
She abruptly turned away from the reporters shouting questions at her and said, “Marty, come on to my car and we’ll take Leslie home; he’s had plenty for today. Where do you live, Jack?”
“Just over there at First and Market. I have a condo in one of those twin green and tan buildings.”
“Oh, I know where you mean. Those buildings are quite pretty with those tan balconies. Come on, I’ll zip you on home. If you don’t mind too awfully, I’d love to see your place. Okay?”
“Well certainly, ma-am. My fiancé and her daughter will be there and I’m certain they’d love to meet the little lady who has risen so far in a big man’s world.”
That was an unexpected honor. The Four Star Chief of Police taking a mere Sergeant home. Leslie supposed she might have more though, than just a ride in mind.
As the three of them climbed into the back seat of the Chief’s new, black Ford Crown Victoria, with radio antennas bristling over the trunk and roof, the Chief and the Captain maneuvered Leslie to the spot between them.
“There’s no hurry,” she told the Police Officer driving. “I have an assignment for you, Jack Leslie. Damn, that nickname of Tyrone Power I’ve heard people call you, sure fits you. You look like you oughta be in the movies. Well, tonight you sure as hell are on television and maybe for days to come and you can bet you’ll be on it all over the country and all over the Internet, too. Do you know what that means, Jack?”
“What it means, ma-am? Well, it certainly is publicity I’d very much rather not have.”
“Exactly. Exactly. Every single person in San Diego and far beyond will know you on sight. Most especially Jack, the crooks. That’s not good for you, as our very top sleuth. That’s gotta be the most remarkable arrest I’ve heard of in a helluva long time. Anyway, now we don’t have a Homicide Detail Lieutenant on duty, I want you to take Dean’s place. I’m asking you Jack, please take this job on.”
“Oh, I hardly know what to say. I…I…Ma-am, you know I relish every day that I can come in and hopefully do a good job.”
“Yes, I know. You like plucking rotten apples off the human tree, as you told me. But now you should be able to see, you simply cannot sneak around incognito as you did. You have a unique face anyway. You’re a very smart fellow and I’ve got faith in your integrity and I hope you can develop your already good leadership skills to not only take on a Lieutenant’s job but Marty here is ret
iring at the end of the year and I want you to become a Captain then and take over the whole Investigations II Unit. What do you say to that, Jack?”
The tiny Chief Slumberjay simply rattled that all off as though she had rehearsed it. Leslie was dumbfounded. What on earth could he say?
Before he could answer, she added, “You know Jack, I’ve heard again and again that you look exactly like that old time actor Tyrone Power and you certainly do. Ever had anybody tell you that?”
“Chief, I sincerely hope I don’t look like Power at this time since he died in l958, I think, and he must look awful by now,” he managed a slight grin. “But to answer your proposed idea ma-am, of me filling in for Lieutenant Dean, I guess I’d be derelict in my duty if I did not. Further than that, I….”
“Jack, my boy!” Captain Noffsinger burst out, reaching over to touch his arm. “I’ll be most happy to clue you in to my job. It’s not as difficult as you might think. I really do think you’re the best cop in the world and a true natural to go up the ranks. Tell the Chief yes, for Crissake and get a good night’s sleep. I’d very, very much want to watch your interrogation of McCoy tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sergeant Leslie,” the driver said as he turned around, the car having stopped, “which building is it? This one or that one?”
“It’s that one. I’ll do my best, Chief Slumberjay. It’s kind of you to bring me home and I’ll be glad to show you my humble abode.”
TWELVE
As they rode up in the elevator, Leslie told them he had insisted his fiancé and her daughter stay in his place until McCoy had been caught since he had been their friend and he might conceivably harm them.
As Leslie entered his fifteenth floor condo, both Ronica and Little Anne were right there at the door.
“Jack! Jack!” Ronica shouted. “You’re on TV right now! You’re on the news! You arrested Donald! Oh! I didn’t realize….”
“Chief Charlene Slumberjay and Captain Martin Noffsinger, this is my darling fiancé, Miss Veronica McCarty and her lovely daughter Anne McCarty,” Leslie said as the girls seemed bowled over.
The .22 Caliber Homicides: Book 1 of the San Diego Police Homicide Detail featuring Jack Leslie Page 18