He told her, “Can’t we just keep this between the two of us? You don’t want to cause me any trouble by telling your husband or my wife about this, do you?”
“Hmmm. It’s very tempting.”
“I’ll say to you what I said at the party back at your house: let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Everybody has their little secrets. What’s yours? With me, you can have your very own private investigator, at your service.”
“Well, there is a little something,” she says with hesitation.
“I knew it. Even a sweetheart like you has her little secrets. What can I do for you?” he’d said.
“It’s just a simple little thing,” she says as she pulls out a small steno pad and a pen from her purse. She hands him an address.
“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks.
“There’s a little girl who lives there. I want you take pictures of her and watch her comings and goings. You’ll be well compensated.”
“And you promise to keep quiet about what you saw today?”
“If you’re a good boy.”
“Okay, sweetheart. You got a deal.”
Chapter 4
Santy arrives at police headquarters just as the bright parking lot halogen lights come on. He opens the parking lot gate with his remote control and drives in. He waves to the duty officer in the gate booth. The blue glow from the halogen lights makes the lot look almost surreal at this time of day. Santy walks toward the stairs leading up to his floor, passing by some patrol officers on their way out.
“Santy, they couldn’t hold on, could they?” one officer says to him. “Them Lakers are always breaking my heart.”
“Did they really lose it? Hell, I was watching them at halftime and they had a 16 point lead. What happened?” Santy asks.
“The same thing that always happens. They choked!” the officer responds.
“Ahh, they’re killing me!” Santy says.
Santy opens the door to his office as the officers’ laughs trail off. He waves to his boss, Lieutenant Rigo Cordoba. Cordoba is on the phone and acknowledges Santy with a pointed finger. Santy and Cordoba get along as well as can be expected. Cordoba is 5 years his junior yet he’s risen to lieutenant largely on the weight of his family influence. The Cordoba family is famous at the Santa Ana police department. Rigo’s father and grand-father were in the department as well as two of his cousins and one sister who works in dispatch. It was expected, and in fact, guaranteed that Rigo would be on the fast track to a big office and a lot of responsibility.
Most of the other officers get along with Cordoba pretty well. He is friendly and wants to be liked; however, he’s just not one of them. The other detectives and investigators, to a man, worked their way up the ranks and made it where they are on their own hard work. Deep inside, they resent Cordoba’s ascent to lieutenant on his name only. He only spent a few years in a patrol car and care was taken to keep him out of the more dicey areas where the other officers routinely had to spend time. There is a brotherhood mentality and reality. You earn your stripes and you’re respected for it. That’s how they see it.
Santy drops his coat on the chair in his office and see’s that he’s got four pink message slips taped to his chair. His secretary comes in to remind him he’s got messages.
“You’ve got four messages. I’ve taped them to your chair so you won’t miss them,” she says.
“Good evening, Marjorie. Thank you for the messages. Why are you still here? I thought you had somewhere to go tonight,” Santy asks.
“That’s tomorrow night, Detective. Remember, we spoke about it this morning?” she answers.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. That’s right.” Santy says.
“Unless you’re trying to get rid of me, Detective.”
“Oh, I’ve hurt your feelings, haven’t I?” Santy says.
“I can take a hint!” she says.
“Marjorie, Marjorie, you know you’re the love of my life, don’t you?” Santy plays the ham. Marjorie begins to crack a reluctant smile.
“Oh, don’t get me going, Detective. Someday you’ll realize just what you’re missing!” she says.
“I already do, Marjorie.”
Santy and Marjorie have worked together for eight years. She is the secretary and general jack-of-all-trades for the homicide detectives. They all love her because she gets things done. She’s been with the department for over twenty years and knows everybody—from the shooting range, to the chief’s office. She is unmarried and has stayed single largely because of all the divorces that she’s seen over the years in her family and with her co-workers. Police work is hard on people and even harder on relationships. She doesn’t want to end up like them. Marjorie does like Santy. He seems to get her. She likes the cool, easy way of their relationship. Just enough of the office regimental piece mixed up with a bit of teasing friendship. It seems to work well for both of them.
“Your mother called and wants you to call her back as soon as you can. She said it was important. The lieutenant wants to speak to you and your doctor called.”
“My doctor?”
“Yes, Doctor Teeter. He said it was nothing to worry about, but just call him when you get a chance. He wants to talk to you.”
“Great.” Santy grunts. “I wish I’d stayed out in the field. Thanks, Marjorie.”
Santy sits down and fishes a bent Marlboro out of a soft pack in his jacket pocket. He lights the cigarette and begins to try to make sense of his desk. He crumples and tosses some interoffice memos. A flyer for a blood drive on dark red paper jumps out at him and he quickly throws that away. He has always been squeamish of blood. Ever since he was a kid and he saw his first cut finger. It turned his stomach and made him feel faint. He wonders how he ever got to be in the service, let alone the police force. He takes a deep draw on the cigarette and blows it out slowly, feeling the comforting warmth of smoke through his lungs. He dials his mother.
“Hello?” a small voice answers.
“Hello, mom? Is that you?”
“Dickie? Is that you?”
“Yes mom, it’s me. How are you doing?”
“Oh Dickie, I’m so glad you called.”
“Mom, you sound upset. Are you OK? Did anything happen?”
She always sounds upset, he thinks. Time has not been good to his mother Jeannie. Jeannie was born in Anaheim, in 1920, the third of ten children, to parents who emigrated from Belgium aboard a steamship the year after the Titanic sank. Her parents wanted to escape the crushing poverty that enveloped Belgium during the early twentieth century. Searching for the only work he knew, Jeannie’s father found work in the mines of Jerome, Arizona. Later on, they moved to Anaheim, finally settling in a small Belgian community. Anaheim was a small, agrarian community in the early twentieth century. Jeannie’s father found work in the citrus warehouses while her mother did sewing and housework for families in the area.
Jeannie grew up happy and content among her siblings and family. She was raised Catholic and attended Mass every day, as did her parents and her siblings. Her faith stayed with her always and helped to buoy her when times got rough.
Jeannie met Paul Santy in 1939 at a dance at the Belgian-America club in Santa Ana. Jeannie was there with friends to watch the band and hopefully get a look at the cute drummer in the band. Paul spied Jeannie from across the room and was instantly taken by her. Dressed in his Marine Corps uniform, he introduced himself to Jeannie and asked her to dance. She was very attracted to this man in a uniform who was so smartly starched and pressed. He exuded confidence and strength, not to mention quite a bit of sexuality. They danced the entire night together and Jeannie forgot all about the drummer. They were married not too soon afterwards and settled into a house in Irvine. It was a small, but neat little house. Perfect for Paul, but a bit too rural for Jeannie. She was a city girl, it was hard to be so far away from her familiar surroundings. She had to forgo her daily Masses, only going to church once a week with a neighbor
family. The Catholic Church where she attended Mass was a former citrus packing house that the locals nicknamed “The Sunkist Cathedral”. The parish didn’t have enough money to build a “real church.” Paul was not of any faith and failed to see the need. They soon started a family and as the children came, so did World War II. Paul was shipped off to the Pacific and spent four years fighting the Japanese while Jeannie worked to raise a family alone. When Paul returned from the war, he was a changed man. You could tell the war had in impact on him. No longer the dashing, confident and charming man she met so many years ago, he was sullen and withdrawn. Their lives and everything around them had changed.
“Dickie?”
“Yes, mother; what’s going on?”
“It’s those boys again. They’re causing trouble!”
“What are they doing mother?”
“They’re up to no good. I just know it!”
“Mother, mother, calm down and tell me what’s happening.”
“You have to come and arrest them Dickie! Please come and arrest them!”
“Are they stealing anything? Are they banging on your door again?”
“Oh Dickie, I don’t know. They’re just being bad. I know it! I’m smarter than you think! It’s all that loud music and probably drugs too! Dickie you need to come and arrest them! Now!”
“Mother, calm down, please calm down. I’m sure everything is ok. Why don’t you call that nice apartment manager, Mr. Johnson? I’m sure he can get to the bottom of this.”
“Oh, he’s worthless. I’ve talked to him before and he did nothing!”
“He got them to turn down the music, didn’t he?”
“He needs to kick them out, I tell you! You need to come and arrest them! They might be selling drugs!”
“They’re just young kids, Mom; they’re not causing any problems. They just want to have some fun. Remember how we were when we were at that age? We made some noise too.”
“You boys were different. You were raised right and didn’t give anyone any problems!”
“Mother, I’ll send someone over this afternoon to see if they can help. I want you to promise me you won’t worry anymore. Please?”
“Oh Dickie, I sure miss you and your brothers. We used to all be so happy together. Now look at us!”
She did have a point there, Santy thought. Ever since his dad died and everyone went their separate ways, the family became so splintered. Now everyone was off living by themselves. Just then, the lieutenant stopped in his doorway and motioned for him to stop by on his way out.
“Mother, I have to go, but I promise I’ll send someone by to look at things. Ok? Promise me you won’t worry anymore.”
“I will try, Dickie. When are you going to come see me, Dickie? It’s been so long.”
“I’ll call you back later, mother. I promise. I will. I’ve got to go, but I love you, mom. Bye.”
“I love you too, Dickie. Bye.”
Santy hung up the phone and prepared to go see the lieutenant as Marjorie handed him a phone message.
Santy pulls on his coat and hurried down the hall to the lieutenant’s office.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Santy. Thanks for coming by. Have a seat.”
Santy takes a seat in front of the lieutenant’s desk. He forgot that the seats in the lieutenant’s office were purposely shortened to make (as the other officers believe) the lieutenant’s stature much larger when you faced him. At only five foot two, most of the staff are taller than him and it often made for some jokes in the office.
“Santy, I need your help,” the lieutenant says. “I want you to take the lead on a program the Chief wants to implement in the department.”
Santy suppresses a groan and wonders what this is going to be all about.
“The Chief has read that the LAPD has an outreach program that puts officers from each unit out into the community to make, ah, you know, relations better. You can never have too much of that sort of thing, you know.”
Lieutenant Cordoba is trying so hard to be knowledgeable and elevated in his manner and ability. He tries so hard that you want to wince when he comes up with some of these schemes. You get the distinct impression that he can’t even convince himself that what he’s talking about is worth doing. Santy thinks of all the snappy answers he could give him but keeps his response short and businesslike.
“No sir, I suppose you can’t.”
“I’d like you to organize some public meetings with some groups and speak about just what we do here. You know, just the regular stuff.”
“Which groups would you like me to start with, sir?”
Santy throws this one out to see how far Cordoba will stumble with it.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe some school groups. Students maybe? Use your initiative, Santy. I’m sure you can come up with some groups to see. Impress me. Yes, impress me. Show me what you’ve got!”
He loves saying that. Impress him. Show him what you’ve got. Santy wants to smack him just for saying it again.
“Yes sir, I’ll get right on it. I’ll get Marjorie to make some calls and we’ll take the bull by the horns, sir.”
“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”
That was another annoying phrase Cordoba likes.
“Get back to me next week, say Friday, and let me know what you’ve got setup. I’m sure you’ll have something to impress me with. I won’t keep you much longer. I know you’ve got crimes to solve. Dismissed!”
They both stood at that word and Santy gave the lieutenant a half-hearted salute. Cordoba loves the fact that Santy had been in the Marine Corps and thinks he could somehow relate to him by using such phrases. Cordoba didn’t serve in the armed forces but wants to feel that kinship as if he had.
Santy returns to his office and packs things up for the night. Grabbing his coat and briefcase he shuts his door and walks down the hall towards dispatch. He peeks his head inside and asks,
“Hey Christian, how’s it going?”
“Detective Santy, what can I do for you?” Christian says over the cacophony of police chatter.
“Can you send some patrol guys over to my mother’s apartment building on Santa Ana Boulevard, right near the Catholic Church? Nothing urgent, when you’ve got a free car, ask them to drive by and be seen. I’d appreciate it.”
“You got it, Detective.”
“Thanks, Christian. Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
Chapter 5
As Christine is making a salad for dinner, she looks out at the garden from her kitchen window. This house has 4200 square feet of “coveted luxury”, according to the realtor who sold the house to them. It comes complete with endless ocean and canyon views. She loves the look of Tuscany, so they found a house in the same style as those found in Italy, where they went on their honeymoon. It even has its own casita for their guests to have their privacy and come and go as they please. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to fit herself into this new life she’s made for herself. Gone are the days of chaining herself to the fence at San Onofre, protesting the construction of a nuclear power plant.
She’s always wanted “to be somebody”. In her mind, she’d started from nothing. Her parents were dirt poor when she was growing up. Her father was out of work a lot from injuries he’d suffered when he was a carpenter. There were a lot of Christmas’s without any toys. Her mother tried to make ends meet by cleaning other people’s houses and doing their ironing. Christine is the first one in the family to go to college. She’s always known that she wanted to be a Political Science Major. She’s always loved politics and wanted to be part of Orange County’s political scene. She says to herself, And now I am. But has it really been worth it? I don’t know.
She thinks about Clarissa all of the time. She would love to see her, but she knows that the child will have a better life with Steve and his family. She still loves Steve; something she can’t help. Last week, he called up her and wanted to me
et her at the bar, “20th Century Limited”, in South Coast Plaza. She waited at the bar nursing a “White Russian”. This was “their place” when they were a couple. They loved coming here and listening to the tape-recorded conductor saying, “All aboard!” They could see and hear the steam engine of the train and look inside the dining car where people ate sumptuous dinners. The restaurant looks just like the 20th Century Limited in Agatha Christie’s “Murder on the Orient Express”. It was kind of kitschy, but she and Steve loved the ambiance. It was where they told each other their dreams when they were “young and innocent”. It was where they talked about traveling and “seeing the world together”.
Where did that love go? She wonders while waiting there for him. In the bar mirror, she sees him coming in and approaching the bar. She’s glad to see him. But he doesn’t feel the same about her. He sits at the bar with her and orders a coke.
“Hello, Steve,” she says with an outstretched hand.
Steve looks at her, coolly and says, “Hello.”
“How are you doing, Steve? You seem a little tense.”
“I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, actually. I’ve been thinking a lot about our daughter. She’s starting to grow up, Chris. She’s going to need her mother around her.”
“Steve, we’ve gone over this already. I can’t do it. It’s just not in me to do.”
“Chris, there’s lots of things all of us don’t want to do, but we do them. It’s our responsibility. I don’t like the idea of raising a little girl all by myself, but I do it! You sit up there in your luxury house, with all your money and never raise a finger to see how your daughter is. Can’t you see what’s wrong with that?”
“Steve, why are you being so cold, so mean to me? Remember when we used to come here all those years ago? We used to tell each other our dreams and talk about all the fun things we would do and places we’d see?”
“Well, I guess you got your wish, didn’t you?”
“Don’t be this way, Steve. I want us always to be friends, always. I don’t blame you if you hate me for not being a mother to Clarissa. I know I’m not the person I should be. We knew that going in, didn’t we? When I got pregnant with her and said I couldn’t be a mother then, do you remember what you said? You said you’d raise her alone, without me. You said ‘who needs you!’ You taunted me with it. I remember!”
The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery Page 2