“Yes,” Santy says. “Thanks for meeting me. First of all, I wonder if you could tell me a bit about Steve’s relationship with Ivan Romanov.”
“Okay.”
“What are your memories of their relationship?”
“They were tight. They did everything together.”
“I heard that Ivan was angry at Steve for talking to a woman they both liked.”
“Oh. That blew over after a few days. And then they acted like it never happened.”
“How do you feel about the media saying that Ivan is a suspect for killing Rogers?”
“I think that’s a load of bull. Sure…Ivan killed his ex-girlfriend’s husband, but people who didn’t know Steve shouldn’t tie the two cases together.”
“So, you don’t think Ivan committed both murders?”
“No. I don’t think that just because he did the one; he did the other, you know. Ivan wouldn’t have done it, if you ask me.”
“Okay,” Santy says. “Let’s talk about San Onofre. I understand that you were at some of the rallies with Steve back then.”
“Who told you that?”
“A mutual friend at the newspaper.”
“Jeez. No privacy; even after I leave the place. Steve and I were just trying to get a proposition on the California ballot which would’ve halted further construction of nuclear power plants. Our mantra, which we wrote on our protest signs, said “Nukes No; Solar Yes.”
“Did you know of anyone, from those protest days with Steve, who would want to kill him? Did he have any enemies in the protest group?”
“Are you kidding? Everyone in our group believed in peace and love—you know, all that stuff that started in the 60s. It’s the last thing any of us would’ve done. Besides, we needed Steve because he was fearless when he protested and he even handcuffed himself to the chain link fence of San Onofre.”
“Do you think he might have been the victim of a drug deal gone bad?”
“I never heard of anything like that. Besides, Steve was sober by then and wasn’t messing with any of that anymore.”
“One more question. Do you remember a girl named Chris who worked at The Register at the same time Steve did?”
“Oh, Chris Staley. I didn’t know her, I knew of her. Everyone talked about her and Steve and Ivan. They all hung out together, apparently. She left before I went to work there, but I heard all about her.”
“You don’t happen to know where she went when she left The Register?”
“Not me. My guess is that she’s somewhere up north making babies and breaking hearts.” Larry laughs and lights another cigarette.
“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate your time. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, feel free to give me a call.”
“Will do. Uh, say, you couldn’t spare some change for some lunch, could you? I’m a little short and those tacos look pretty good.”
Santy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five. “Here you go. Don’t spend it across the street now.”
“Gotcha! Thanks!”
Santy gets into his car as some tie-dyed wearing hippies descend on the table where Larry is sitting. They exchange greetings of peace and there are hugs all around.
Chapter 22
Santy sits at his desk staring at the murder board on the wall. A picture of Steve Rogers stares back at him in the center of the board. Ivan Romanov and the mystery woman sit off to the side as suspects. Santy can hear the janitor’s cart rumbling down the hallway and the sound of trash cans being emptied.
Where is Christine, this mystery woman? he wonders. Why did she disappear without a trace? Why did she use a phony Social Security number at The Register? Santy can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something. He tells himself, Ivan is the most obvious suspect. The crime is the same and he has the motive of intense jealousy. Maybe he and Steve really got into it and he completely lost it? This fits his other crime to a tee. But it’s just too perfect. Too convenient. Why did the woman vanish?
Down the hall, Santy hears some commotion and the sound of loud voices. He sticks his head out of his office to see what’s going on. There is a crowd of people around the dispatcher’s door at the end of the hall. Santy walks down to see what is going on.
“What’s up?” Santy asks, over the crackle of police radios.
“Looks like the Sheriff has himself a car chase. They think it might be those guys who escaped from jail,” a dispatcher answers.
“Those same two who shimmied down bed sheets from the jail?” Santy asks.
“Think so. The officer radioed in that he had pulled over two males, in their twenties, for a taillight out. Their licenses came back suspicious and when they ran the plates they found the car had been reported stolen earlier in the day. When they returned to the vehicle to question them, the suspects gunned it and took off.”
“Why do they think it’s the escapees?”
“The officer thinks he recognized the driver as Ivan Romanov. He’s not sure about the other guy but they feel that they are both on the run together. They think both of them are in the car.”
“Isn’t he the chief suspect in that murder at the compost place? Isn’t that the guy from your case, Detective?” Sergeant Smith asks.
“It might be, Sergeant. It just might be. It sure looks like his work,” Santy says.
They listen to the dispatcher’s radio traffic of the pursuit. The chase leads through Anaheim, and down through rural Orange. The Sheriff has three patrol cars in the chase and is asking for helicopter support. Dispatch assures them a chopper is en route.
“Where do they think the car was stolen from?” Santy asks.
“They think they snagged it from some tourists in Anaheim, near Disneyland,” Smith says. The cars head out onto Chapman and make their way towards Santiago Canyon. The Sheriff’s officer’s radio says that the suspects are travelling in excess of seventy miles an hour. “Where is that chopper?” an angry voice radios back. “They are on their way. Their ETA is about five minutes,” the dispatcher radios back.
In a few minutes, the dispatcher excitedly says, “The suspect has left the highway, and is stopping. Repeat, suspect has left the highway.”
“Maybe he’s run out of gas?” Smith says.
Four patrol cars arrive at once and surround the car on all sides. Their headlights illuminate the stolen car and its occupants. Dust from all the cars creates a surreal scene. The Sheriff’s helicopter arrives overhead, adding more dust to the scene.
“Step out of the car and put your hands up,” an officer yells at the car with his gun drawn. Nothing happens; no one moves. “Step out of the car, now,” the officer repeats. As the helicopter turns in the sky, clouds of more dust are kicked up. The suspect’s passenger door suddenly opens and a man exits, firing a pistol as he runs for the bushes. He is killed instantly in a hail of rifle shots. More officers arrive on the scene.
“Step out of the car and put your hands up,” the officer tells the driver. “We have you surrounded.”
Slowly the door opens and a large, bearded man turns to the officers, who have their guns pointed at him. He drops his gun and raises his hands above his head.
“I want you to lie flat on the ground, with your hands above your head,” the officer screams. “Now!”
The suspect drops to the ground and lies flat, with both arms above his head. Three armed officers converge on him and quickly put him in handcuffs.
“Suspect is in custody,” an officer radios back. “We have one in custody and one injured—and possibly dead.”
The crowd outside of dispatch is yelling and high-fiving each other. Everyone is happy and high-spirited. They’ve finally got these guys.
“I think you’ve got your man,” Smith tells Santy.
Santy returns to his office and shuts the door. He sits silently in front of the murder board and marks “In Custody” under Ivan’s picture.
Part 2
Sixteen years later…
Chap
ter 1
Clarissa has striking face—it is either the most beautiful face ever born—or kind of strange—depending on the light and the personal experience of what beauty is to each observer. Her face is especially radiant today because she just graduated from high school—and feels ready to conquer the world!!
She is wearing a lei that her cousin gave her as a graduation present. Her 25 year old cousin, Charlotte, invited her to spend the night after the ceremony and they are both in her high rise apartment in downtown San Diego sipping Cosmopolitans.
“Thanks for contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” Clarissa jokes as they raise their glasses for a toast.
“Just this once, because it’s a special occasion,” her cousin reminds her. “I shouldn’t even be giving this to you.”
“I won’t tell,” Clarissa says, then takes a sip. “I wish my parents had been at the graduation ceremony. I was looking around at all the other grads hugging their parents. Some of the parents had tears in their eyes. I feel like such an orphan, despite the fact that my mother might still be alive and I don’t even know where she is.”
Charlotte replies, “Well, you know, some women who’ve given their children up for adoption don’t want to be contacted.”
“So, are you saying that I shouldn’t try to find her?”
Charlotte answers, “Yes. I am. If she’d wanted to see you, you would’ve heard by now. I’m sure she has her reasons. For God’s sake, she should have contacted you when you were a child, right after your Dad got killed.”
“I know. That’s what really hurts. And to be without my Dad. It’s so hard. I’ve been looking through some of his things that my grandparents had in their attic. I managed to find that leather hat that Dad was wearing in that picture of me and him when I was 2 years old. I’m so glad I found that!”
Charlotte says, “I love that picture. Steve was such a cool uncle.”
Clarissa is quiet for a bit and then says, “Let’s change the subject. This is supposed to be a happy night for me.”
“Sure. Let’s talk about your plans. What are you going to do now that you’ve graduated? Are you going to college?”
“Well…I’ve been thinking about being a paralegal, like you. I think you have such an exciting career. I love that you work downtown in a big skyscraper looking out at the Coronado Bridge. I love the idea that you have your own office.”
“Thanks, Clarissa. I’m honored. I’ll do everything I can to help you along the way.”
“I love you, cuz.”
“Me, too.”
Clarissa and Charlotte have been listening to one of Steve’s old albums by Bob Dylan. The song playing is, “You’re A Big Girl Now”. Clarissa says, “Yeah. I’m a big girl now.”
Worrying that Clarissa is getting too depressed thinking about her mother again, Charlotte tries to distract her. She says, “Hey, Clarissa. I just thought of something you might want to do as a project to see whether or not you want a career in the legal profession. Why don’t you try to get the transcripts from your Dad’s murder trial? Wouldn’t that be interesting? Maybe there might be something in them about your mother.”
“I can get the transcripts? You can do that?”
“Yes. It’s a matter of public record.”
“That’d be cool.”
“You’d have to go to the Orange County courthouse and talk to someone. You might try going to the law library first. They might give you some direction.”
Clarissa says, “I hear there are a lot of seedy characters down there. It’s right next to the jail.”
“You’d better go there before it gets dark.”
Clarissa says, “Well…it might be a good learning experience, if nothing else. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Right now, I want to hit the sack. It’s been a long day. Thanks for the Cosmopolitan.”
Charlotte says. “You’re a big girl now.”
“Weren’t we just listening to that?”
Chapter 2
The next morning, Clarissa wakes up with a major headache. She tells herself, I cannot handle hard alcohol. I’m okay with a little wine, but that’s about all. It’s just as well: Dad having been a recovering alcoholic and all. It might run in the family.
“I need coffee now!” her body tells her.
She sees Charlotte in the front room typing on her laptop and asks her, “Want to go to Starbucks?”
“Okay. Just give me some time to get dressed.”
Clarissa showers and decides on her look for the day. Her clothing choices have always been questionable. Because she went to Catholic school and wore a uniform for twelve years, she has struggled trying to develop her own personal style. Most of her clothes are either oversized sweaters or inappropriately tight clothes. Today, she is wearing black--almost all her clothes are black. Putting on her make-up, she gives particular attention to her eye shadow. She wants to create another one of her usual “artistic eye shadow experiments,” as she calls them. She tops off the look with deep red lipstick.
She comes out of the bathroom and says, “Hey, Charlotte. I was just thinking: remember when we won “the most kissable lips” contest in San Diego?”
“Charlotte laughs and says, “All we had to do was send in our anonymous lipstick kisses on a sticky note.”
Clarissa adds, “Everyone else sent in glossy and pink kisses, so ours stood out with our pouty red ones.”
“That’s right. Hey, are you done in the bathroom?”
“It’s all yours.”
*******
Charlotte is beautifully dressed when she comes out of the bathroom. Her look is complete with matching purse and shoes.
“Hey, Charlotte! Remember, today’s Saturday?” her cousin reminds her.
“I know, but I have to go to work later.”
“Those people work you to death.”
“They do. But at least I have a job. A lot of people can’t find work right now, so I can’t complain. Plus, I’m getting time and a half, for working on a Saturday. I need all the money I can save to go to law school someday.”
They head out for the nearest Starbucks and both order maple scones and Grande half-cafs. Clarissa picks up the “USA Today” since she likes their puzzles. After she kisses her cousin good-bye, she gets on the I-5 North, towards Tustin.
Clarissa lives with her Nana, who has raised her since her father died. She lost her grandfather a few years ago to pancreatic cancer.
Her grandparents--Harrison and Yvonne Rogers--were from farming families in Kansas. They moved to California in the 1950’s when her father, Steve, was born. Her grandfather was a woodworker, and felt he’d have better job prospects if they moved to Southern California, where his brother had work as a carpenter. Her grandfather was able to get a job as a carpenter at Knott’s Berry Farm, where he helped build many of the rides. After he bought his house in Tustin, he built a detached room in the back. This room not only is where Clarissa sleeps and has all her stuff, but it also serves as a place to have family parties. Her grandfather built a full-sized wet bar with three bar stools and counter. Her grandparents used to like sitting there, watching the birds in their big backyard. They also liked to square dance, so they practiced their moves in this big room, pushing aside all the furniture. Clarissa has never felt bad about having to share her space with them, since they were nice enough to let her live there. She’s always felt so much gratitude towards them.
Ever since her grandfather died, her grandmother never comes out to the back room, so it’s now all hers. Her grandmother feels that it is too painful to go into that room where so many happy family memories had taken place.
Clarissa decorated the room with her own artistic style. She likes to think that she’s living like an artist would in a garret in Manhattan. Piles of dirty laundry mixed in with many half-finished works on canvases, ash trays with many butts, as well as several half-finished bottles of cheap burgundy that her older friend has given her. Once, when she was “in the zone” working on one of
her watercolors, she was so lazy and buzzed at times that she’d dip her paintbrush in the wine accidently and paint the art completely with wine instead of water.
She enters the house and calls out to her grandmother, “Hi. Nana. I’m home.”
Her grandmother comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dishcloth. They kiss. “Hey, honey. Did you have a nice time with your cousin?”
“We had a great time, Nana. Look, Charlotte gave me this lei for my graduation present. Isn’t it pretty?”
“Very beautiful. And it smells heavenly.”
“Nana,” she says. “I’m thinking about becoming a paralegal like Charlotte. A legal career would be exciting, don’t you think?”
“It would be a good steady job for you. I worry about what will happen to you if I pass away.”
“I hope that won’t be any time soon,” she tells her.
“Me, too!”
“Nana, we came up with a great idea of how I can get a feel for the whole law-related world out there.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Well…on Monday, I’m going to go to the Civic Center in Santa Ana and see about getting the transcript of Dad’s trial.”
“Oh, are you sure you want to do that, honey? It’s going to hurt you to hear all the gory details.”
“It might, Nana. But maybe the transcripts will have something about who my mother is.”
“Are you sure you want to know that? She obviously doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. It’s been 18 years without any contact from her. Maybe she wants to be left alone.”
“I know, Nana. I just want to know who she is and what she looks like.”
“It’s better just to let sleeping dogs lie,” her Nana tells her. “But if you must, I guess I can’t stop you. You’re a big girl, now.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery Page 9