Zack came out of the restroom and heard the police report. His face looked like all the blood had drained out. “That’s my son’s house.”
They paid the bill and got out of the sandwich shop as fast as they could. Johnny had his patrol car lights flashing and the siren screaming. The car pulled up to the corner and was blocked by several other police cars from going any farther. Zack and Dave stayed in the car, frantically looking on at the rush of police cars arriving at the scene.
A second black-and-white police car roared to the corner of Willow Street, allowing just enough space for the SWAT team truck to pass. Once they got through, the police car blocked the intersection so no other cars could get in.
The police SWAT truck stopped in the street a few houses from 3705 Willow Street, and one by one, police officers in full armor gear jumped off the back of the truck running toward the house. One by one they spread out, surrounding the house.
Edgar Waters, a long-time veteran of the New Orleans Police Department, arrived on the scene and took command of the operation.
Shielded by a few police cars, he observed the scene from a distance. He took his radio out. “Break it down for me.”
“One shot was fired. Best I can see there is a lady down in the living room,” the officer replied.
“Can you see any movement?”
“No, sir,” the officer whispered into his radio.
“We need a better visual,” Commander Waters said.
“I’ve got people at the rear door ready,” unit two said over his radio.
The commander received a handwritten note from an officer. He read the note and motioned for the officer to bring Zack Nelson over.
“This is your son’s house?” Waters asked.
“Correct,” Zack said.
“Is this a domestic problem?”
“No possible way,” Zack said with confidence.
Commander Waters observed the neighborhood. It was a quiet street with oak trees lined on each side of the road, for the most part. It had been a wealthy community at one time. Then people pulled up and started moving to the suburbs. Unfortunately, violence has no boundaries, and it can happen in the best of neighborhoods.
“We have movement at the back door,” the voice said over Commander Water’s radio.
The back door of the house opened, and a light-skinned person walked out with hands in the air, dressed in blue jeans, red polo shirt, a New Orleans Saints cap, and Nike running shoes. The person was well-dressed for a burglar, or it was logo brand knockoffs.
“Hold your fire,” the SWAT commander shouted as his voice echoed throughout the police radios.
Zack sat with the commander. The anticipation was horrific, waiting for another update to come over the radio. From a distance, Zack could hear commands shouted. “Keep your hands high. Drop to your knees. Now!” the SWAT commander said. And then Zack heard the dreaded sound come over the radio.
“The house is clear. I need medical assist. Female down, about thirty-five years old. I can’t get a pulse.”
Zack darted through the yellow crime scene tape and pushed his way through two or three cops to get to the living room.
The body lay face down, and Zack could not get a good look at her face, but in his heart, he knew it was Patty. Was this a home invasion or a random burglary? Thoughts ran through Zack’s mind. The police and paramedics flooded the room and moved Zack out of the way.
He scanned the room like any professional would and made sure he did not interfere with the investigation or contaminate any evidence. There was no sign of struggle or forced entry. There was just no immediate, obvious clues he could see.
A police cruiser was sent to the department store to pick up Tom. Zack knew he had to calm himself, knowing Tom would be arriving any second. Patty had been through hell with her cancer; he didn’t know how they would handle this. But Zack knew he had to give his son all the support he could.
He looked out the picture window at Willow Street. A crowd of people had gathered like at any crime scene. Some were curious and genuinely concerned about a neighbor and others were just noisy and enjoying the excitement.
Zack heard an uproar coming from the backyard. He walked to the rear of the house as quickly as he could and made his way through the maze of police. He was quickly met and stopped by a police officer. He looked through the doorway leading to the yard. His heart dropped from his chest. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? His mind could not comprehend what he was seeing.
Six SWAT members had Colt M4 guns pointed at Patty. She was standing in the backyard with her hands above her head, like a criminal. It was Patty dressed in the polo shirt and the New Orleans Saints cap. She was alive.
The SWAT team was called off, and Patty was brought inside and sat at the kitchen table. A female officer got her a drink that she gladly took and drank between sobbing.
Zack asked Commander Waters if he could talk with Patty. It might help get more information if a family member interviewed her, especially a retired detective. Commander Waters agreed it was a good idea.
Zack took a seat next to Patty. “Start from the beginning. How did this person gain access to your house?”
Patty took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. She tried to stay focused and spoke slowly. “I was in the kitchen making coffee for my friend, Jennifer, who had stopped over unexpectedly. The doorbell rang at the side door of the house, and I shouted for her to see if that was Vicky, because she stops in during the day too. I have great neighbors, they are always checking on me, so I wasn’t concerned about opening the door. I heard the door open and close and then a muffled sound. I called for Jennifer and stood motionless in the kitchen. I heard a noise. It must have been Jennifer hitting the floor.
“I slowly turned, and then I felt a gun pointed at my head. He told me to keep my head down, or he would kill me too. I knew I was dead. Fear came over me, and I knew I would only have one chance, so I let out a loud scream. He quickly put his hand over my mouth and pulled me to the back door. He looked out, and I just knew he was going to shoot me and run out the door. Then it happened. His foot slipped, and the gun went off. It had to be an accident because he was too close to miss me. It was horrible; my ears are still ringing.”
Patty sobbed as Zack handed her more water.
“What kind of gun?” Zack asked.
“I’m not sure; I didn’t see the gun. But, I think it was a short barrel gun, because I could feel fingers next to my neck.”
Commander Waters noted that the gun was possibly a Smith & Wesson 22 caliber and directed someone to dig the bullet out of the wall. He asked for the medic examining Jennifer to come in. “Was Jennifer shot?”
“No, sir. Not shot or strangled. I don’t know how she died. We’ll have to wait for a complete autopsy.”
“Thank you, please get me the report as quickly as possible,” the commander said.
Patty took another deep breath and continued with her story. “He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me into the house. He told me if I screamed he would kill me just like he did Jennifer. Then the police showed up, and he panicked. He ran from room to room looking out the windows to see where the police were.”
“What about skin color? Was he tall or short? Any markings?” Zack was drilling down on her like the professional he was. It was like riding a bicycle. It all comes back, and Zack remembered all the right questions to ask.
“Darkish skin, like a Spanish person. All I could see was a slight movement of his hand. I only got a glimpse of his hands, but he wore tight-fitting gloves like a nurse or doctor would wear. He was male, and the way the gun was pointed, he was taller than me, maybe six feet, and thin. He was moving fast; I didn’t get a good look at him,” Patty answered.
Patty took another sip of water and continued. “He pushed me into my bedroom. He started pulling clothes out of the closet and throwing them on the bed. He put the gun to my head and told me to put these clothes on, and he locked me in
the bathroom. I never saw him again. He stayed in the other bedroom and shouted for me to walk out the back door.”
“Where did he go?” Zack asked.
Patty shook her head. “I don’t know. He was in the house when I went out the back door.”
“Well, he couldn’t have just walked out the front door,” the commander said.
Patty took a tissue and wiped her eyes. “How is my friend, Jennifer?”
“They are working on her now,” Zack said, reaching for Patty’s hand.
“Mrs. Nelson? Do you think you can ID this person?” Commander Waters asked.
“I don’t know. It happened so fast,” Patty said shaking her head.
“Let’s wrap this up and get her downtown looking at some pictures.”
“Commander, the coroner’s office is ready to move the body,” an officer said.
“Coroner’s office!” Patty shouted.
Zack took her hand and tried to console her. “It’s going to be okay, Patty.”
“Don’t do anything until I get there,” the commander shouted back.
“Oh, my god!” Zack yelled. “Patty, you were in the bathroom, and he was in the spare bedroom, correct?”
“Yes,” Patty said.
“My old bedroom?”
“Correct.”
Zack ran to the bedroom, opened the closet, and found one of his police uniforms missing. On the floor were someone’s slacks and a shirt. Zack picked them up and took them into the kitchen.
He threw the clothes on the kitchen table in front of the commander. “Our killer walked right out the front door with my police uniform on.”
The crime scene was slowly coming to a halt with only two black-and-white police cars left in the front of the house. Most of the snooping neighbors went back to their everyday lives. Within a few hours, everything was back to normal, except for Jennifer. She was dead. A friendly neighbor looking in on a friend lost her life over something so meaningless. It just didn’t add up. Could it be a home invasion?
Zack lingered at the Willow Street house. Commander Waters assigned two detectives to the case and also allowed Zack to interact with them. Partly because it was a family member, but most of all, Waters knew Zack was a good detective in his day. Any time the New Orleans Police Department could get free help from a retired cop, they would take it. The city was in such a money crunch that overtime was not allowed, and the officers only had a few days to come up with a solid case. If not, it would get filed with the unsolved cases stacked on the side of a desk.
The city was too understaffed for the crime that happened daily. Zack was grateful that he was having lunch with Johnny Guidry when the call came over. It made him wonder how crazy life can be. Here was a guy Zack hadn’t talked to in years, and circumstances put him back in touch. Then this unbelievable turn of events puts him right in a murder.
Tom arrived home and went directly to Patty. He consoled her while Zack explained what happened. Tom went with Patty downtown to see some mug shots. It was an old police move when there was nowhere else to go or no substantial lead. A picture was the only option there was. The killer wore gloves, so there were no fingerprints. The only hope was that Patty would identify the intruder from a previous arrest.
Zack sat on the living room sofa and looked out the picture window. Two detectives roamed the house one more time, looking for clues that others might have missed.
Zack approached the two detectives. “I’m sorry, during the confusion, I didn’t get your names.”
“I’m Armando, and this is my partner, Thurman,” the detective said.
They shook hands and sat on the sofa.
“Thurman? That is an old name,” Zack said.
“Yes, sir. It is my grandfather’s name.”
Zack pulled out a small notepad. “I don’t want to interfere, but I would like to run something by you.”
“Sure,” Armando said.
“Why was this house singled out? Why would a guy come to the door and ring the bell? No mask, but he wore gloves? I mean, why cover your hands but not your face?”
“Those are good points,” Thurman said.
Armando shifted his legs on the sofa. “Maybe his intentions were to kill Patty. Maybe he thought she was home alone.”
Zack rubbed his face. “A woman opens the door, and he kills her? No way.”
“Maybe he was just given the address and only expected one woman in the house.”
“Come on, a hit? Why?” Zack replied.
“Does your son gamble or owe anyone?”
“I don’t think so,” Zack said.
“Well, that is where I’m starting first. I’m just waiting for the detectives to finish with your daughter-in-law and then my focal point is your son,” Armando said.
“I know the routine; you have to rule out the immediate family and then go forward. I don’t have a problem with that,” Zack said.
“Good, because that is the direction I’m going,” Armando said with no expression.
“So, he kills Jennifer, and then he runs into Patty. She saw him, not much of him, but she can ID him. He doesn’t hurt her, why?” Thurman interjected.
“True, why not kill them both?” Zack asked.
Armando walked around the room. He didn’t seem to like Zack being around or asking questions. It seemed Armando only agreed because Commander Waters approved it. Otherwise, he would have cut Zack loose hours ago. Zack knew Armando was not a big fan of his, but Zack knew a little bit about him too. The word was that he was very intense. At thirty-two, Armando had made a name for himself as a lead detective. That doesn’t happen by luck; only by hard work and love of the job.
Armando had a personality much like Zack, and Zack knew Armando would not let this case die. Some cops would make a few follow-up calls and then toss the file on a stack of unsolved crime folders sitting at the end of their cluttered desks. It was important to Armando to close every case, and that reminded Zack of himself.
New Orleans is a fascinating city. The food alone will make people fall in love with her. Some say it’s the culture, some say Bourbon Street, and others will argue that it’s Mardi Gras. The one thing they will not talk about is the crime rate. The crime rate was higher than cities with twice the population of New Orleans.
The New Orleans Police Department had to come up with something to combat crime without adding more police officers. The creative way to curb violent crime was nothing more than a numbers game. Violent crime was recorded on the city books when a person died at the scene. If the doctor representing the coroner’s office pronounced the time of death at the site, it would be classified as a violent crime.
If a person were taken from the scene by ambulance and died on the way to or later at the hospital, it wouldn’t be recorded as a violent crime. It was a fine line of truth, but city officials didn’t care if it achieved positive press when the national crime ratings came out. It was always about the positive news, which helped tourism in New Orleans. And that was all that concerned the mayor of New Orleans.
Dr. Walter Ross waited for the ambulance to pull up at the emergency entrance of the hospital. Jennifer had not been pronounced dead at the scene, and the emergency crew at the hospital was ready to save her life. Dr. Ross got an update on Jennifer from Jack when he delivered Jennifer’s forged donor papers. It was apparent she had been dead for a few hours. The New Orleans police bypassed the morgue and sent the body to the hospital, avoiding another violent crime statistic.
“Dr. Ross?” a traumatized young man asked.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Ross,” he said.
“I’m Kevin Thompson. I’m Jennifer’s husband.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dr. Ross said, shaking the young man’s hand.
“I was told to give this to you.” He handed Jennifer’s driver’s license to him.
Dr. Ross couldn’t believe his eyes. Jennifer’s driver’s license indicated she was an organ donor.
“Do you need anything
else?”
“No, sir,” he said holding back a smile. “Follow me, you can see your wife while we prepare for the organ harvest,” Dr. Ross said in his most compassionate voice.
Dr. Ross went directly to the nurses station and asked where he might find a paper shredder. They directed him to a private office. He took a seat at the desk and page-by-page he shredded Jennifer’s false donor documents. They were no longer needed, because her driver’s license was proof she was without a doubt an organ donor. He took a deep breath, got up, and locked the door. He went back to the desk, took another deep breath, picked up the phone, dialed Amir’s number, and waited for him to answer.
“Amir, are you ready?” Dr. Ross asked.
“What do you have for me?” Amir asked.
“Kidneys, heart, liver, and more. These are organs from a young, twenty-six-year-old woman in perfect health. Meet me tonight, New Orleans east airport. Three hundred and fifty thousand,” Dr. Ross whispered.
“Dr. Ross, let’s not get greedy,” Amir said.
“I’m not. You know you’ll get that much from your Arabic friends just for the heart. Agreed?”
If Amir approved, the money would pay his obligation to Larry Dunbar and leave substantial money left over.
Dr. Ross waited for his reply. It seemed forever, and finally, he heard the words.
“Agreed,” Amir said.
Kevin Thompson met Dr. Ross in the waiting room. He pulled papers from his briefcase and asked Kevin to sign them. All he needed was the closest of kin to sign off, agreeing to allow Dr. Ross to harvest the organs and disperse them based on his discretion. As usual, the next of kin signed off and turned over all rights to Dr. Ross.
That was the wish of the deceased, and the doctor presented it in such a thoughtful manner. Who wouldn’t trust a doctor?
Chapter 10
It was after seven in the evening when Zack finally returned to Riverside Inn. He went to his room, freshened up, and met Dave, Emma Lou, and Pearl Ann in the dining room. He took a seat with them at his usual table.
Emma Lou reached out for Zack. “I’m so sorry to hear about your daughter-in-law and her friend, Jennifer. That was just awful.”
True Blue Detective Page 10