Murder Made Legal: A Casey Alton Mystery

by Richard Wren

  “We won’t know for sure until Josie gets more info from the D.A.’s office and Gus, but she said it had to before 1986.”

  “Jesus, you didn’t tell me that. That’s years ago. What makes her think it was way back then?”

  “The D.A. said it involved DNA, and they first started admitting DNA evidence then. She also thinks whatever it was that happened, it happened here in Oakland, because the evidence was stored in Oakland.”

  Smitty took a turn around the small kitchen where they’d been talking, and then slowly gave his analysis of the situation. “So we’re looking for information on a murder case from over thirty or more years ago that may or may not have involved Gus at the time, and that’s all we got to go on?”

  This does not look like easy sailing, Casey thought to himself, I gotta convince him it’s necessary to get this information and get it quickly.

  “Smitty, this is something only you can do. Who else’s got old-time bike buddies who used to be on the police force? Who else might get some of those old-timers to jog their memories about old cases? Besides, I bet a lot of them know Gus really well, too. Plus, we need to do all we can to help Gus, and Josie said she needed it.” He finished in a rush.

  “Alright, alright,” he finally agreed. “If it’ll help Gus. I suppose we could stop by Shirl’s in Alameda. Usually a bunch of guys there.”

  “Shirl?”

  “Yeah, it was started when I was still in knee pants by a guy named Shirley; then he died and his daughter took over, and now it’s still Shirl’s bar, and everybody assumes her name is Shirl. It’s kind of a hangout place for cops. I might be able to find out where some of the old-timers are. Maybe we’ll get lucky at least it’s a start.”

  “Will they let you in? I thought you were kinda persona non grata among cops?”

  “Not the old-timers. Lots of ’em were bikers. You’ll see. Hell, lots of times, it got to be a game between us. ‘Specially the Highway Patrol. Can you picture a couple of Highway Patrol guys on bikes trying to corral thirty or forty of our gang monopolizing the freeway? After a while, they figured out we weren’t really doing any harm, just scaring some old farts. They’d usually tail us to where we were going and then join in. I got to know some of ‘em really well.”

  Going through the tube to Alameda on a motorcycle was a new experience for Casey as he clung on to Smitty tightly. Dark, noisy, and smelly, and frightening was his assessment. He was glad when they emerged into the sunlight. He was pretty familiar with the other end of Alameda where all the yacht harbors were, but not this end. This end was more commercial, a little lower end. Shirl’s place was several blocks off the main street and looked like it was about to be swallowed by all the new developments nearby. Casey estimated that four or five homes could be built on the parking lot surrounding the bar.

  “Jesus, Smitty. It’s blacker’n a bilge in here and loud. Is it always like this?”

  “Your eyes’ll adjust in a minute, but it’s always loud. Half of these guys are hard of hearing after riding cycles all day for years.” He dragged Casey up to a long old-fashioned bar with a brass rail for their feet, and said, “Order a couple of beers and let me scout out the place, see if I recognize anybody.”

  “You with Smitty?” the blowsy, artificially blond bartender asked Casey as she plunked the order in front of him.

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “Who doesn’t?” She replied as she absent-mindedly rubbed a wet rag on the bar, obviously not interested in conversation.

  As he waited, he looked up to the ceiling, which was just about totally covered with business cards, some of them brown with age. He caught her eye and pointed to the ceiling. “Impressive,” he said.

  “Dumb,” she replied, and resumed wiping the bar down.

  “C’mon.” Smitty beckoned and headed toward a pool table tucked off to one side of the bar, simultaneously calling out “Andy? Is that you, you old fart?”

  “Saw you comin in, Smitty. That your keeper from the old folk’s home with you?”

  “Andy, meet my son-in-law, Casey. Hey, the only reason I’d talk to you is you’re older’n time.”

  Casey saw an elderly man in jeans and a lumberjack coat, somewhat bent over with a cue stick in his hand. His face was heavily lined, but his eyes sparkled.

  “You wanna talk about the good old times?”

  “Kinda. You heard about Gus?”

  “Your buddy, Gus? He get married again?” He laughed and poked a guy standing next to him in the gut.

  “I wish. You haven’t heard about him being in jail on a murder charge?”

  “Jesus, no. What the hell’s that all about? I never put Gus down as a threat to anyone.” He paused and looked at Smitty suspiciously, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not. The D.A.’s throwing the book at him, and Josie quit her job to defend him. Andy, we don’t have a lot of time, and we don’t know much about the case against him yet. Josie thinks it has to be a pre-eighty-six case because she heard it’s based on DNA. So Casey and I are trying to find someone who was around then that maybe could shed some light.”

  “1986? Hell, Smitty, that’s a lot of years ago.”

  “I know. It’s a long shot, but dammit, we’re desperate, Andy. Do you remember anything, or maybe you know one of the cops from then that’re still around?” Smitty asked anxiously.

  Andy laid down his pool cue and perched on the edge of the table. “God, Smitty, any middle-aged guy from those times’d be in his seventies at least, and more likely in his eighties. If they’re still around at all, they’d probably be in a rest home, or suffering from old-timer’s disease and probably not much help to you.”

  “Old-timer’s disease?” Casey asked himself and then quickly realized he’d been referring to Alzheimer’s disease.

  “Come on, Andy, you gotta remember someone that old that’s still around. You gotta be pushing sixty-five yourself?”

  “Yeah, I’m a few years older than you, but for the life of me, I can’t think of anyone at all, at least anyone that’s still around.”

  Casey noticed he’d said, “At least anyone that’s still around.” He jumped on the remark.

  “Does that mean you know someone that was around then, but he’s moved away?”

  “She,” he corrected. “She was a dispatch clerk way back then, but she moved to Colorado, and I don’t know how to reach her. She might remember something,” he offered.

  “Name?” Smitty demanded.

  Andy looked helpless. “I haven’t a clue,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, but my memory’s worthless. I remember her, but not her name.”

  Casey and Smitty looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

  “Anyone else here that might remember her?” Asked Smitty

  Andy glanced around at the three other players, “These kids? Not a chance.” All of a sudden, he snapped his fingers. “Ask Shirl over there.” He pointed to the bar. “She’s been around forever and’s got a memory like an elephant.”

  Smitty shot a second glance at the bartender. She looked like a well-worn fifty, not nearly old enough to remember that far back.

  “Ask her,” nudged Andy. “Use your masculine charm.”

  Smitty made a beeline to a stool directly in front of where Shirl was still absent-mindedly swishing a wet cloth around on the bar while looking almost directly up at a wrestling match on the television set, totally absorbed. Having been warned about her short temper, Smitty wondered how to approach her. She’d been pretty unfriendly when they came in. He quietly rapped a quarter on the bar.

  Without taking her eyes off the TV, she pulled out two more beers and placed them on the bar. “Piss off,” she sotto voiced.

  In a strong and commanding voice, Smitty said, “Shirl, I need your attention. A friend of mine’s been falsely charged with a murder, and Andy thinks you can help me.”

  Shirl’s arm stopped in mid-swipe as she demonstrated that she had been paying attention
even as she was watching the TV.

  “Something about Gus?” Then, a little apologetically she added, “Couldn’t help hearing Andy bellering about him getting married again. Is that it?”

  Smitty took a long, slow swig of his beer and beckoned Casey over. “Shirl, its one hell of a lot more serious than that.” He proceeded to bring her up to date on the events as they’d unfolded.

  She slowly resumed wiping the bar as she listened. “Jesus, that’s terrible, but that’s way before my time. I don’t think I can help you at all.”

  “Andy thinks maybe you can. Say’s you got a prodigious memory.”

  “He probably said I got a memory like an elephant, right? That’s because I always remember how much he’s owes me on his tab. What’s the old fart thinking I might remember?”

  “A name, but we’re going back to before you were here, so I don’t know.”

  “Try me, I been listening to these has-beens reminiscing about the good old days forever.”

  “Okay. Andy says there was a lady dispatcher working in the fifties who he thinks is still alive and kicking, but he thinks she moved to Colorado; he can’t remember her name.”

  “Elsie? He must mean Elsie. Hell, she didn’t retire until a few years ago. A real character and talk about an elephant memory, she never forgot nothin’. You tryin’ to reach her?”

  “Yeah, we need to find out who the officers were that were involved in the original case, if at all possible.”

  “Oh, she’d know for sure. But Andy’s right she lives in Colorado.”

  “We’ll find her, as long as you know her last name?” He asked.

  “Lancaster. But I can do you one better’n that if you’ll wait around a couple a minutes. I think I got a Christmas card from her with a return address on it. That help?”

  Casey butted in. “You’re kidding, would that ever.”

  It took almost ten minutes before she returned. “Got it. Andy’s memory ain’t so bad. Got her address right here.” She handed the empty envelope to Smitty.

  Casey carefully copied the address, thanked Shirl profusely, both from them and on behalf of Gus, clapped Andy on the back, and they left.

  “Denver, Colorado.” Casey said. “How do we reach her?”

  “Easy. We’ll phone first, and if that don’t work we’ll fly up. Josie said it was important, so we’ll just do it.”

  Casey was silent for a time as he wondered how to bring up something that had been bothering him.

  “Smitty, we start flying around the country, it’s gonna cost a lot. Where’s the money coming from? I know Josie and I can’t afford a lot.”

  Smitty took his time answering as they donned their motorcycle helmets. “I think Josie has an idea, but you and I never talked about my finances, and you never asked. I think now that you two’ve been married almost a year and with the problems that Gus has, I should kinda level with you.”

  He paused for a minute as he gathered his thoughts. “Let’s just say, for now, that money’s no worry. There’s way more than enough to handle any expenses we might run up without bending me even a little. So we go full speed ahead and spend whatever’s necessary to get Gus outa this jam. Okay?”

  A lot of thoughts passed quickly through Casey’s mind. There was a reason that he had never broached the subject of Smitty’s finances. He knew that Smitty had been deeply involved for most of his life with the Oakland Devils Motorcycle Club and that the gang had at least dabbled in drugs, been implicated in murders and kidnappings and a host of other terrible things. He didn’t know how deeply Smitty had been involved, but he did know he’d served some jail time. He didn’t want to know. All he knew was that he was married to Smitty’s daughter and that Smitty was being a perfect father-in-law. He thought back to the previous year when he and Smitty had been framed with a murder charge. They had reluctantly worked together and found the real murderer. He smiled to himself. They hadn’t broken any laws but they’d sure bent the hell out of them. Way down deep, he wasn’t surprised to find that Smitty was comparatively wealthy. He had to accept Smitty’s statement at face value.

  “Wait,” Casey said as he pulled his helmet back off and reached for his cell phone. “Might as well bite the bullet right now.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Got it!” Casey announced and handed the phone to Smitty.

  “Lancaster residence,” a youngish female voice volunteered.

  “Is this the Elsie Lancaster residence?” Smitty asked.

  “May I say who’s calling?” The female voice countered.

  Smitty quickly surmised that whoever had answered the phone had been well coached not to give away information. He went directly to the point.

  “Tell her I’m calling about her time on the Oakland Police Force and a murder case from a long time ago. Tell her I got her phone number from Shirl in Alameda. I’ll wait.”

  “Sir, she’s unavailable at the present. Would you care to leave a message, or is there a phone number where you can be reached?”

  Smitty had to admire the way the young lady had handled the call. She neither confirmed nor denied, but did leave the door open.

  “Tell her it’s real important and about Gus Dalziel. Here’s the phone number.” He handed the phone to Casey.

  “Ready?” he asked and slowly and carefully gave her his cell phone number.

  “Balls. Now we wait.” Smitty grumbled.

  It turned out to be a short wait. Just as they were exiting the tube from Alameda to Oakland, Casey’s cell phone erupted. There was no identifying name shown, just that the call originated from a cell phone.

  “Yes?” Casey helloed.

  “Shirley?” a voice asked.

  Casey immediately surmised that their message had been misunderstood. She thought it was Shirley calling.

  “No, it isn’t, but Shirley said to say hello.” He handed the phone to Smitty.

  “Elsie? Elsie Lancaster? I don’t know if you remember me, Smitty, from the Oakland Devils? Or Gus Dalziel?”

  “How could I forget Gus? He always had a flower in his buttonhole, and you? Heck yes, I remember you. I heard your wife was killed in a motorcycle accident. I’m really sorry; she was a sweetheart. So what’s up?”

  Smitty put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Casey. “Sounds like she’s real sharp, gets right to the point.”

  He then proceeded to relate the whole story to her, ending up with, “So we’re hoping you can remember who the original detectives were and if they’re still around, or maybe anything else about the case.”

  “So you have a married daughter?” she responded.

  Surprised at her interest in his personal life he said, “Sure do. That was my son-in-law who answered your call.”

  “And you two are doing all the investigating for the case?”

  “It looks that way, at least for now.”

  Abruptly, she took command of the conversation. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do for Gus. I do remember the case, and I remember Carl Peterson was one of the detectives. Boy, that’s going back a few years. I think he’s still kicking around. Give me a day to research my files and see how much I can find for you.”

  “Your files?” Smitty assumed all her notes about cases would be the property of the police department.

  “My files.” She confirmed. “I kept all my own notes. I thought I might write a book sometime, and they’re pretty darn complete.”

  Casey tapped Smitty on the arm to get his attention. “Ask her if they’d be admissible in court?”

  “No way. Hell, we might scare her off if I asked that.” He whispered.

  “Wow, that’s great.” Before he could say more, she interrupted him. “Hold on. I have an idea. How long have you been working on the case? Are you just getting started?” She paused for a moment as Smitty tried to come up with an answer. “I thought so!” She interjected. Then brooking no objection, she added, “I’m going to bring them to you personally tomorrow. I’ve been pu
tting off visiting my granddaughter in Hayward for weeks, so now’s the time. How do we meet?”

  Caught off guard, all Smitty could think of was to agree and volunteer to meet her at the airport. “Are you sure?” He asked.

  “Yes I am. I finally got my thinking cap on and realized I’ve got a lot of memories that might help that aren’t in my notes. Besides it sounds like fun, and I sure miss the good old days. I’ll call you from the airport when I’m leaving.” She hung up.

  “How about that?” Smitty asked as he high fived Casey. “Sounds good doesn’t it?”

  Cautiously, Casey agreed. “All we really need from her are names right?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. As dispatcher she might have picked up a lot. She might even be the one who took the original call in the case. I think it’s a hell of a beginning.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Back at the house, Smitty excitedly told Josie of their success only to be brought back down to earth by her.

  Pacing back and forth in Smitty’s large basement, dodging motorcycles strewn about and several of Smitty’s long time gang buddies, Josie was obviously distraught.

  “Damn Gordon to hell. He’s throwing every roadblock he can think of in my way. Guy’s, I’m beginning to think, because it’s personal with him, that I’m a liability. Maybe I should step aside and give Gus a better chance.”

  Smitty threw a worried glance at Casey. Casey intercepted her pacing and hugged her.

  “Hon, you can’t let that idiot get you down, and you can’t let Gus down. Right now, you’re his rock. Psychologically, he really needs you now. You said he almost begged you to be his attorney when you met with him in the jail, right?”

  Josie leaned back in his arms and said, “you’re something else, aren’t you?”

  Casey smiled and kissed her, “Hope so.” He wasn’t sure what she’d meant by that remark.

  “You said just the right thing. It’s not about me; it’s about Gus. I guess I’m just getting frustrated and tired of Gordon. Maybe I’ll try getting mad instead.”

  One of the bikers, precariously perched on the seat of his Harley, joined in. “Never did trust that prick anyhow. Sure as hell never voted for him.”