“Yes, yes, I remember, of course. How about 10:00 instead of 9:00 this morning, will that work for you?”
“Sure, I’m only a few minutes away.”
“Thank you, Mr. England. So, I’ll see you at about 10:00 or so? In the lobby?”
“Yes, just ask for me at the front desk. I’ll come down and get you.”
Santy hangs up and walks to the kitchen. He sits down at the small, round table that is covered with papers and folders of his cases. He goes over everything he has on Steve Rogers, trying to get more familiar with the case. A mug shot of Steve on an arrest record back in 1967 for pot possession stares back smartly at Santy. A happy driver’s license photo looks out from his DMV record. A few notes from family members, some AA members’ happy recollections, plus these pictures are all he knows of this man. He asks himself, What made Steve Rogers tick? What did he do to get involved in something so bad that would lead to his death? Why didn’t anyone see it coming? Who isn’t telling the truth?
Bert manages a half-hearted bark as a car door outside shuts. Santy looks up at the clock and sees that he’s going to be late for his appointment. “Well, I’m off, old guy. Are you going be ok?” Sandy says to Bert as he cradles his small head. His disarming cute eyes stare back at him. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Santy pats him on the head, picks up his jacket and keys, opens the door and is gone.
Santy walks quickly up the steps of The Register, hoping he’s not too late. He stops at the reception desk.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks.
“I’m here to see Mr. England. I’m afraid I’m a bit late. I was supposed to see him at about 10:00,” Santy says.
The receptionist asks Santy, “Please sign the register here and I’ll-
“Detective! Hello I’m Jordan England. Glad you could make it,” he says shaking Santy’s hand firmly. “Please follow me. I’ve got a room for you to use while you’re here. Can I get you something to drink, some coffee maybe?”
“No thank you. I’m fine.”
“It is really a shame about Steve. Everybody here loved him: from the folks in the warehouse to the front office. It took everyone by surprise when we found out.”
They wander down several long corridors lined with past photos of The Register in many of its various incarnations. They pass rooms full of people furiously typing and phones ringing loudly.
“I never imagined making a newspaper would have so many moving parts,” Santy says to England.
“Yes, most people are surprised when they first see what goes on here. You should take a tour sometime and see how we do everything. I think you’d really enjoy it.”
“I’ll take you up on it sometime.”
They pass through a door into what looks like the printing area. Huge machines, in an almost Rube Goldberg layout, run reams of paper at incredible speeds through acres of print rollers. The noise is deafening.
“This is where we print the paper every day,” England yells loudly. Santy, nods back, transfixed on the controlled mayhem of printing presses at work.
“I’ve got you a room back here near my office, follow me.”
“Where did Steve Rogers work? Was he a printer?” Santy asks.
“He was a paper-man,” England answers. “He worked out in the area just beyond here where the paper rolls are. He made sure that each printing machine had paper during the printing runs. He basically pushed around two ton rolls of paper all day. Tough job if you ask me.”
“Wow, can’t say I could do it,” Santy says. “Do you think I could take a quick look at the area where he worked first?”
Looking puzzled, England says, “Sure, if you like. Follow me.”
They return to the press room and follow the catwalk around the three story print room, exiting out the rear door into the warehouse. Rolls of white printing paper fill the room, stacked three high. From his viewpoint, it look like a storage room for cash register paper rolls which a giant might use. Fork lifts scurry around, lifting rolls, and loading them into the presses, in a non-stop machine feeding frenzy. Some workers stop and look up at the visitor with questioning looks.
“Steve worked here most of his time.” England says. “It is a dangerous area and not one for the untrained. It takes years to be good enough to work the fork lift and keep the machines fed. One bad move and, well, you know.”
“It really is amazing,” Santy says.
“I’ve got a few people ready for you to talk to about Steve. They worked with him for quite a while and should be able to give you a good idea of what he was like here at work.”
They walk back to an office, off the executive floor near England’s office.
“Here you are, Detective. Will this do?”
“Yes; this will be fine,” Santy says. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“No, not at all,” England says.
“Let me get the employees up here; I’ll be right back,” England says, leaving.
The room is small but functional. There’s a round table with four folding chairs and newspapers scattered about. A long, orange sofa sits along one wall and a sink along the other. The office bulletin board is next to the door, plastered with Register company memos. A coffee maker hisses in the corner. Santy sits down, and lights a cigarette. He pulls an old stained ashtray over onto the small table.
“Here we are,” England says, ushering in two employees. This is Jennifer Malone and Peter Swanson. Jennifer has worked in the warehouse for seven years and Peter has been with us for eighteen years, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct. It will be nineteen years next month,” Peter answers.
Santy stands up and shakes both their hands. They look worried.
“Hello, I’m Detective Santy with the Santa Ana Police Department. I’m here investigating the murder of Steve Rogers. I’d like to ask you both a few questions. Can we sit down?” Santy asks.
They all sit down as Santy sends a hard stare at England. England gets the message and stands up, feigning an important, forgotten task that must be done.
“I’ll be right next door if you need anything. Anything at all,” England says.
Santy smiles and says, “Thank you again, Mr. England. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
As England leaves the room, the man and woman look noticeably more relaxed.
“Can I smoke?” the woman asks.
“Yes, sure go ahead,” Santy says, pushing his lighter and ashtray towards the woman. “I want to thank you both for taking the time to sit down with me and answer a few questions about Steve Rogers. I understand you both knew him well.”
“Yes, I knew Steve very well. We worked together for over five years,” the man answered.
“And you, Jennifer, did you know Steve very well?” Santy asks.
“As well as you can for working with him for four years. We worked together five to six days a week, so I think I got to know him pretty well.”
“Can either of you think of anyone who had a reason to do harm to Steve?”
“No; not really. Everybody really liked Steve here.” Peter says. “He was that class-clown kind of guy with a pretty good wit. Quick with a joke. He made everyone laugh.”
“How about you, Jennifer?”
“No, not really. I can’t think of anyone. I mean we all get into arguments but not bad enough to want to kill someone.”
“Do you remember Steve getting into any arguments here, with anyone?”
“Not really, as far as I can remember,” Pete says. “Unless you count Ivan.”
“Ivan?” Santy asks.
“Ivan Romanov, the guy that was convicted of murder recently. He was the one who killed his ex-girlfriend’s husband in a jealous rage. He used to work here and worked with Steve.”
Santy wrote down the word Ivan on his notepad and underlined it twice.
“Did Ivan and Steve ever get into arguments here at work?”
“Sometimes they joked with each other a
bout a girl who worked here, back about five years ago,” Pete said. “Steve had just started working here and he immediately had eyes for this girl, I think her name was Chris. Yes Chris. Everyone could tell that he really took to her and she to him. I think Ivan had eyes for her too. Ivan used to joke that he’d do anything if he could just get Chris to go out with him. Steve would joke with Ivan that there was no way she’d want to date him. Steve said he had the “way with the ladies” and that Ivan could learn a lot from him if he just watched. It seemed to be all in fun but I could sense, as could others, that it might have rubbed Ivan the wrong way. Knowing what we know now, I don’t think any of us would have even tried joking around with Ivan.”
“Did they ever get into fights over Chris?” Santy asks.
“No, I never saw them fight. In fact, they were really like brothers all the time. They used to go to lunch almost every day and then hang out together sometimes after work. We used to call them the Bobbsey twins. I don’t know how that got started or who came up with it but that’s what they were called.”
“What did you think, Jennifer?” Santy asks.
“I think they were really good friends, too. Just like Pete said, they did everything together. But I think that Chris did something to both of them. I mean, I’m a girl and I could see these things. I saw what Chris was doing. I could see how she acted. She played both of them off each other, if you ask me. I remember telling her to watch what she was doing and that she was playing with fire but she just smiled and seemed to enjoy the ‘game’. She got a lot of attention from both of them and I really think she didn’t care what happened. She loved being the center of it all.”
“Did any of the other employees resent her for how she acted?” Santy asked drawing on his cigarette.
“Well, maybe a bit,” Jennifer admitted. “I mean, everybody liked Steve and well, he was single and good-looking, after all. Who could blame us for feeling a bit resentful? Chris was just playing with them while the rest of us just watched.”
“Can you tell me how everyone felt when Ivan was arrested and then convicted of murder?” Santy asked.
“We were all floored,” Pete said. “I think we felt that Ivan was a crazy kind of guy but not that crazy. None of us saw that coming.”
“Yeah,” Jennifer chimed in. “The mood of the whole place changed after that. The fun kinda went out of work after that. Steve got quieter and everybody kind of grew up, I think.”
“Do you remember how Chris took it?” Santy asks.
“She was long gone by then. She quit almost three years ago and no one’s seen or heard anything from her,” Jennifer said. “I remember someone saying that she got married or had a kid, but I don’t remember who.”
“Okay, well thank you both for taking the time to sit down with me. Here’s my card. If you think of anything at all, anything at all, no matter how small, give me a call. Sometimes the littlest thing can make a big difference.”
They all got up and shook hands. Pete and Jennifer left and could be heard whispering together as the elevator door at the end of the hall closed. Santy went next door and saw that Mr. England was at his desk.
“Have you got a second, Mr. England?”
“Yes, please sit down. How did it go? Did you get anything that could help you?”
“Yes, they were very helpful. I wonder if you had any information on a former employee. I think her name was Chris and she worked with Steve.”
“Chris Staley is who I think you are looking for.”
Santy writes the last name down on his card.
“Do you have any information on where she went after she left The Register?”
“No, I’m afraid not. She left in a hurry, as I remember. She gave her notice and she left the same day. I remember being a little bit peeved about that. I mean, how does that look on your resume? We tried to contact her a few weeks later because we had some unpaid wages but we couldn’t locate her. All the family references she gave us were dead cold. It’s like she was a secret agent and just disappeared completely.”
“Did you check her Social Security Number?” Santy asks.
“Yes, and it turned out that the number she gave us was bad. It belonged to a retired nurse who had lived in Iowa and died in the late sixties. All those Social Security deductions for a dead person. How about that for a strange one.”
“Sounds like she didn’t want to be found. Maybe she has something she doesn’t want us to know,” Santy says. “Well thank you, Mr. England. I hope I didn’t cause you too much time and trouble today.”
“No, no, no. My pleasure. Always happy to help our friends in law enforcement. I hope you can find out who did this to Steve. We really loved him here and his loss has created a big hole in The Register family.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Santy shakes Mr. England’s hand and they walk out to the lobby. Santy gives him his card. “Please feel free to call me if you have any information that you think might help us in our investigation.”
“I will. Thank you, Detective. And please take us up on our tour offer. We’d love to show you how the paper works. Some time when you’re not too busy.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Santy walks down the stairs and leaves by the front door. As he’s walking out, he passes two SAPD patrol officers men coming in. They recognize him and say hello.
“Looking for a new job, Detective?” one of them asks.
“Me? Working here? I can barely write a grocery list. What’s up with you guys?”
“We’re here to ‘liase’ with the public. Seems the duty officer has a bee in his bonnet about us getting out and pressing the flesh and making a good impression with the public. We’re here to speak with a reporter and tell him what we do. I told the duty officer, ‘Why don’t they do a ride-along on a Saturday night. That would give them something to write about.’ We didn’t get a good response from that crack. So now we’re here. Guess we should shut our mouths in the future.”
“Boys, I couldn’t think of two more qualified officers representing our courageous patrolmen to the public. Go in there and make us proud! Try to be nice.”
“We’ll do our best, sir.”
Santy gets into his car and remembers his conversation with Lieutenant Cordoba about his public liaison assignment. He thinks, “I’ve got to come up with something.”
Chapter 16
“Hello, Marjorie? This is Santy.”
“Hello, Detective. Where are you?”
“I’m down the street from The Register. I just interviewed some people about the Roger’s murder case. I’m grabbing some fish tacos for lunch. I wanted to see if you might be able to put something together for me that I’ve got to do for the lieutenant.”
“About the community liaison assignment?”
“Yes, that’s correct. How did you know?”
“Everyone in the office is talking about it. I took it upon myself to line something up for you that I think you’d do very well with. I’ve spoken with Santa Ana High School and they’re going to send over a selection of students so you can give them a tour of our unit.”
“Wow, thanks for taking care of that. What do I need to do?”
“Well, I looked at your calendar, and it looks like you have tomorrow afternoon free, so I arranged for them to come over then. All you have to do is take them through our office, into the evidence room and then if there’s some time left over, take them over to the OC Sheriff Crime lab for some show and tell. Will that work for you?”
“Sure, that’ll be great. Thanks again Marjorie. I owe you once more.”
“It’s my job, Detective. Just make sure you’re here so I don’t get stuck with a bunch of teenaged kids!”
“I’ll make sure I’m there.”
********
The next day, Santy is at his desk, wolfing down the last of a cheeseburger and fries when his phone rings.
“Santy here.”
“This is the front desk. I’ve go
t a whole lot of teenagers down here asking for you, Detective. They’re from Santa Ana High School. Are you expecting them?”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be right down.”
Santy cleans up his desk as best he can, and throws away his lunch bag into the kitchen trash. On his way down to the lobby, he stops into the bathroom for a quick last look in the mirror. After combing his hair and adding a few breath mints into the mix, he gets in the elevator for the lobby.
Inside, he finds the lieutenant. “Hello, sir,” Santy says.
“Detective. Where are you headed?”
“I’ve got a group of high schoolers in the lobby that I’ll be showing around our unit.”
“Good job, Santy. Well done. You’ll have to let me know how it goes. Bring them by my office if you want and I’ll give them a look at the power behind our Homicide unit.
“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”
The elevator doors open and Santy is greeted by a throng of students and a few adult chaperons. Approaching one of the adults, Santy introduces himself, “Hello, I’m Detective Santy. I understand you’d like a little tour of our homicide unit.”
“Yes, hello Detective. I’ve got fifteen eager students just dying to find out what goes on in your unit.” The students snicker at the intended pun.
“I think I’ve met some of you before. Hello and welcome to the department.”
The three boys slink into the back of the group, trying hard not to be noticed.
“If you’d like to follow me, let’s head for our first stop on our tour of the Homicide unit. We’re going to show you where all of the detectives work.”
In several groups, they all make their way, in the elevators, up to the Homicide floor. Once they are all there, Santy apologizes for the air conditioning, or lack of. There was a power problem earlier in the day and he’s sorry that it’s a little bit warm. Hopefully, the air will be restored soon. Most of the students are wearing jackets and some are starting to look a bit red from the heat.
The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery Page 6