The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery

by Louise Hathaway

  Why did this have to happen? he says over and over in his mind. Where did I go wrong? He lowers his head in tears, cradling his son’s head in his hands.

  The morgue door opens and Santy returns to the father and his son.

  “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Rogers, we need to go sir.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry.”

  Santy puts his arm around Mr. Rogers and softly guides him towards the door. Mr. Rogers turns to take one last look at his son while the coroner pulls the sheet back over Steve. She pushes the covered body back in and closes the door with a final click that Mr. Rogers feels deep in his chest.

  “He looked so peaceful,” Mr. Rogers says.

  “Yes, I believe he’s at peace now, sir. I think he’s at peace.”

  They walk back towards the lobby and the real world full of people talking, radios playing and life going on. Santy drives Mr. Rogers back home and thanks him for his trouble.

  “I realize this was painful for you, sir. It was necessary, unfortunately. We will find out who did this to your son. I promise you we will.”

  “Thank you, Detective. He was my only child, you know.”

  Santy walks Mr. Rogers to the door as his wife opens the screen. She wraps her arms softly around her husband as he enters. They both dissolve into tears, hugging each other tightly. Santy thanks them and again reassures them he will do all he can to find out who did this.

  “Mrs. Rogers, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this. If you happen to think of anything that may help us in our investigation, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

  He hands her his card and walks back to his car. The evening is cool now; the low clouds are creeping in from the coast. The traffic hum from the nearby freeway is audible in the quiet of the neighborhood. Children play in the street as if everything is going to be OK.

  Chapter 12

  Monday night, Santy pulls into the Tustin Senior Center. He notices that there are only a few cars in the parking lot. Most of the activities for the elderly are over at this relatively “late” hour of 7:00 P.M. He’s five minutes early so that he can talk to some of the people in Steve’s A.A. group.

  The minute that he opens the doors, he can smell coffee brewing and cigarette smoke. From his own times in A.A., he remembers how many of its members gave up their addiction to alcohol and substituted it with an addiction to cigarettes. This must be the place, he tells himself.

  He sees a couple smoking, standing in the hall outside a room, and he asks them if they know where he can find Al or Sarah James.”

  “That’s us. We’re the James’s. What do you want to know?”

  Santy shows them his badge.

  “I’m Detective Santy, with the Santa Ana Police Department. Can we go somewhere so I might ask you a few questions?”

  Sarah and Al both look worried.

  They go into a room at the end of the hall with a small, coffee-stained table. On the table is an array of ashtrays, full of cigarette butts. The smell of black coffee fills the room. Off to the side are two worn sofas and a pool table stained with many cigarette burns on the rails. Santy feels strangely at home here; he’s very familiar with the feel of the place. They pull out chairs and sit down.

  “Do either of you know Steve Rogers?”

  “Yes. We both do,” says Al. “Why do you ask? Has something happened?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Steve was found dead on Saturday.”

  They both look flabbergasted. “I can’t believe it, Al says. Sarah starts crying and she and her husband embrace each other. Santy waits to give them time to pull themselves together.

  “How did he die?” Al asks.

  His body was found in a compost bin at a gardening supply place in Irvine called Green Gardens. He had been shot several times and had several wounds to his head.”

  Sarah says, “Do his parents know about this?”

  “Yes, I spoke to them before I came over tonight.”

  “They must devastated! What about Clarissa? That poor child. I’m going to have to go over there and check up on them.”

  Al says, “I can’t believe this. Who would ever want to hurt Steve? Everybody loved him. He worked in a homeless shelter and was always willing to help anyone out. He was one of those ‘two-a-clock in the morning’ people who would drop everything to help someone who was having a crisis.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might want to kill Steve?”

  “Not a one,” Al says. “Steve was such a friend to everyone. Everyone who knew him loved him. He could be tough on you but I’m speaking about my experiences here at AA. He would kick your butt, but in the best way possible. Does that make sense?”

  Santy remembers his days in AA and the early morning meetings he attended for two years. He had a sponsor named Pete. They called him “Pete the Terrible”. He would rake you over the coals if you were late to a meeting or if you got out of line in any way. At first, Santy wanted to kick his butt. As the weeks went on he found that he started to respect him, if grudgingly. He reminded Santy of his drill sergeant in the Corps: tough but loyal. Santy really began to love the guy.

  “What about those protest guys?” Sarah said.

  “What about them?” Al said.

  “Don’t you remember Steve talking about how rough things got with his protest groups? Remember when he told us his arrest stories?”

  “Yea, Steve was a rabble-rouser, wasn’t he? When he got his teeth stuck into something, he wouldn’t let go. He was pretty passionate about the nuclear reactor stuff.”

  Al looks down almost in a daze and appears to be replaying old memories in his head. Sarah wipes her eyes and softly blows her nose.

  “Did any of the other AA folks know Steve?”

  “Yes, we all did. He was one of our leaders here. We all looked up to him.”

  “Can we go in and talk to the others?” Santy asks.

  Al gets up and ducks his head into the room where their group meets, and asks, “Has anyone heard about what’s happened to Steve?”

  “What are you talking about?” a heavily-tattooed girl asks.

  Everyone in the room turns to look at Al.

  Al says, “Steve was found dead last night. His body was in a compost heap in Irvine.”

  The tattooed girl says, “Oh my God! How horrible! I so need a drink right now!”

  A man named Mark says that Steve had the most amazing sense of humor. It was very dry, but he always hit the nail right on the head. Mark continues, “He was invited to a Catholic High School to tell the students there about his drug days. A nun there told Steve, ‘Don’t worry about using cuss words--the more, the better. I want these kids to hear it straight. Don’t gloss over anything’.”

  A man named Rico says, “We used to call him Saint Steve because he’s was always quoting from the Bible.”

  The girl with the tattoos says, “What the hell happened?”

  Santy explains the details of the murder.

  “Found in a compost heap! He deserved so much better. I’m so pissed right now!” Al says.

  Mark says, “Wow! Unreal! I hate to say it, but I think Steve would’ve loved the fact that he was dumped in a compost heap. He’d say, ‘It figures’.”

  The tattooed girl says, “That’s not funny, Mark! Show some respect!”

  Santy says, “Can any of you think of a reason why someone would want to do this?”

  They all say “no”. He gives them his card and says to call him if they can think of anything else. “One day at a time, folks.”

  Mark says, “Catch the bastard!” as Santy walks away.

  Chapter 13

  For three weeks, Christine has been having trouble getting a good night’s sleep. By 5:00 a.m., she gives up hope of getting any sleep and drags herself out of bed, showers, starts the coffee percolator. She tells herself, “I can’t keep going on like this. I’m going to have to call the doctor’s office and try to get some sleeping pills. Maybe I’ll feel better if I get
some food into my stomach.”

  She mixes up a batch of Cream of Wheat, fries some bacon, and puts six oranges in the juicer so that she and her husband can have freshly-squeezed juice.

  The aroma from the kitchen wakes up her husband. He puts on his bathrobe and follows the scent. He is 48, but looks much younger. His temples are starting to gray and he is trying to get used to wearing bifocals for the first time. He laughs when he hears people teasing him about marrying a “trophy wife” who is so much younger. He tells them that actually she is his soul mate, as corny as it sounds. They share so many interests. They both like politics, literature, and playing board games together. They even share some of the same musical tastes. She’s opened up his mind to Jackson Browne and Linda Ronstadt. He even admits to liking Bob Dylan’s album “Blood on the Tracks” which Christine plays over and over again. Before meeting her, he always thought Bob Dylan sounded like a dog caught in a chain link fence. She enjoys listening to his collection of Everly Brothers and Chubby Checker albums. She laughs whenever she sees him drying off after he takes a shower because it reminds her of his hilarious story of how his father taught him to do “The Twist.”

  They both like gardening and supporting environmental causes. He first met her at a book signing event at Pickwick Books in South Coast Plaza. She had just written a book about organic gardening and he had her sign his copy. They hit it off right away and he asked her out to dinner at Arches Restaurant in Newport Beach. The fact that she’s also a great cook is just icing on the cake.

  This morning, he walks into the kitchen and says, “What a great way to start the day.” He gives her a peck on the cheek. “Did you manage to get some sleep last night?”

  “Not really. I think I’m going to call the doctor today to get some sleeping pills.”

  “Is there something you’d like to talk to me about? Did something happen?”

  “Oh, no. I’m just trying to get some ideas about writing my next book and I have all these thoughts buzzing around in my mind making me a little manic.”

  “I’m glad that you’re calling the doctor, honey.”

  They hear the smack of their newspaper being delivered and goes outside to get it. He brings it to the table to read as he eats his breakfast.

  “So, what’s going on in the world?” she asks him.

  “The headline reads, ‘Man found murdered at Irvine mulch supplier’.”

  “Is it at that place where we buy mulch for our garden?” Christine asks.

  “That’s right. At Green Gardens.”

  “Weird,” she sighs. “What else does it say?”

  “Let me see here. Apparently, he was shot and hit on the head with a sharp object.”

  “How absolutely horrible,” she replies.

  “You are not going to believe this, but they think it may have been that guy who just escaped from jail.”

  “The one who killed his girlfriend’s husband?” she asks, with a sinking feeling.

  “Yes. That was such an awful case. One of the worst ones we’ve ever had to prosecute.”

  “How could I ever forget?”

  “Not a good way to start the day, reading something like this is it?”

  She asks, “Do they have a name of the victim yet?”

  “Let’s see. Here it is. His name is Steve Rogers.”

  “Oh, my God!” Christine cries out.

  “Did you know him?”

  “Yes. I dated him for a while.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Oh, honey. We were just kids. It seems like a life-time ago.”

  “Well. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if other guys like my girl, too.”

  He gives her another kiss and hands the newspaper to her. “Here, read the rest. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

  Chapter 14

  Christine is glad when her husband leaves so she can have a good cry. I just can’t believe this. Why is Ivan being blamed for doing this?

  Just then, her phone rings. Now what? she thinks.

  She picks it up and hears Jay’s voice.

  “What’s going on, Jay? I’m not feeling so good right now. Call me later.”

  He answers, “No. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No. It’s about Steve Rogers.”

  “Yes. I know what happened. I saw it in the paper this morning.”

  “Well...I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “What happened last Thursday?”

  “Well, Steve was at the Swinging Door again. He was talking about San Onofre and how he was trying to get some proposition on the ballot to ban construction of nuclear power plants in California. I acted all interested in what he was saying, getting him comfortable with me. The guy he came with said that it was time for them to go, but Steve acted like he didn’t want to leave yet. I offered to give him a ride home myself and he agreed. We talked some more about protesting at the power plant and then I told him that it was time for us to be hitting the road. He told me where he lived and we got into my car.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t hurt him!” Christine says.

  “No. No. Nothing like that. I swear.”

  “So. What happened?”

  Well, we got into the car and I drove a couple of blocks and then pulled over to the curb, turned off the engine and took out a picture of Clarissa. I told him that if he didn’t stop pestering you, something might happen to this sweet little girl because I knew where she lived.”

  “How dare you bring Clarissa into this!”

  “I just wanted to rattle him. He called me a son of a bitch and said if anything happened to his little girl, he’d find me and kill me.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He got out of the car and started walking. That’s how I left him. I didn’t have anything to do with his death. You gotta believe me on this.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking, Jay. I think our little arrangement is over.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just not comfortable with this anymore. I need some space from all of this. Sometimes at night when I can’t sleep, I just go for a drive; sometimes I even park across the street from where Clarissa lives, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. What if someone sees me? I shouldn’t be driving when I’m having such insomnia problems. I could get in a bad accident.”

  “Christine, you gotta keep quiet about all this.”

  “I will. I just want to stop thinking about it all the time.”

  “Can I trust you not to tell anyone? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to that little girl, now would we?”

  “How dare you bring her into this!” I am so sick of you and your attitude. Sometimes I can’t believe that the District Attorney’s office ever hired a scumbag investigator like you.”

  “And I wonder how the District Attorney ever married a scumbag like you.”

  “Get out. Get out of my life. I never want to see you again.”

  Chapter 15

  Santy is awakened by an incessant pawing at his bedside. “Christ, Bert, it’s five in the morning! Go back to sleep!” Santy barks back at Bert. The dog stands quietly, partially chastised, shivering in the morning chill. He stands back up on his hind legs and continues pawing at the side of the bed. “Oh Bert, please, I’m tired, don’t bother me!” Santy says, pulling the pillow over his head. Bert is not deterred. He knows the third time is usually the charm and sure enough, Santy gives in. “OK, I surrender, you win.” Bert’s tail wags as he runs to the front room with is favorite toy, “Mr. Bill”, in his mouth. This dog is going to kill me, Santy thinks as he pours kibble into Bert’s bowl and presses the coffee maker switch to on. Santy slips on his shoes and after a quick swig of coffee, he hooks the leash up to Bert for his morning walk. He loves this time of day in Tustin. The sun is just starting to color the sky and the birds are beginning to come alive. The papers are getting delivered up and down the street with their comforting thwap sound as
they hit everyone’s driveway. Santy waves and smiles at the paper delivery man as he flies by his house. Bert loves this street because it has the most dogs-per-house of all the homes in Tustin. This morning they are all quiet but Burt does not let this opportunity to mark each tree go to waste. The retired couple next door wave to him as they begin their walk. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” they say. Santy waves and continues on to the park. He begins to put the case back into an ordered place in his mind again. As the walk and caffeine start to work, he forms a picture of who this man was, from the little he knows. His family loved him; his friends all seem to have nothing but good things to say about him. What is missing here? He’s hoping the people at The Register will be able to shed some light on what happened to Steve Rogers.

  Santy showers and dresses. Bert is curled up in his bed, blissfully ignorant of the ways of his world. His needs are met: food, love and a walk. If everything could be so simple, Santy thinks.

  *******

  “Good morning, The Register, can I help you?” the voice at the other end of the phone says.

  “Yes, hello, I’m Detective Santy with the Santa Ana Police Department and I’m confirming my meeting with Mr. England this morning at 9:00. Can you put me through to his office?”

  “Yes, please hold.”

  Santy waits and listens to some awful on-hold music. This new on-hold music trend is damn awful, he thinks. I’d rather listen to dead air or myself breathe than listen to this.

  “Hello. This is Mr. England, how can I help you?”

  “Mr. England, this is Detective Santy, with the Santa Ana Police Department. We spoke yesterday about my visit today. I’d like to speak to a few of your employees about Steve Rogers. You said there were a few people who worked with him that I might have some time with.”