MemoryMen

by Michael Binkley

  As he pulled into the precinct parking lot he felt invigorated much as he had when he first followed Sully into the LAPD offices. As he signed in for his visitor's pass at the front desk, he hoped that his sense of optimism, bordering almost on euphoria, didn't meet the same fate it had in Los Angeles. By the time he settled into the well-decorated office of Captain David R. Ramirez, as the shiny brass nameplate on the large mahogany desk read, Carly found that his old friend had no intention of letting him go home disappointed.

  “Well Carly I've got good news and bad news, first the bad news. We're not going over to archives, they told me they had one hundred and twenty-three storage boxes of files from the Crucifixion Killings. The operable word being, ‘had’. Which would have been way too many for us to go through, it would have taken weeks, maybe months.”

  Seeing the disappointment welling in his friend's eyes, Dave let loose a mischievous laugh. “The good news is we can head to my house early, settle back at my computer and look at all one hundred and twenty-three boxes of files using these. Physical evidence is in photo files, including 3D where appropriate.”

  He tossed a small box of slim cases at Carly who caught it deftly. “Thumb drives? Of course I should have known, you all went to electronic storage a few years back, converted everything, right? Hell, I remember the plans for doing it back when I was wandering around here.”

  Feigning anger at his friend's trick, he laughed throatily, “You're mean, Ramirez, really nasty. Thanks.”

  Having tricked Carly made Dave’s day.

  “No problem, it comes with the territory. Sometimes you are such a Neandrathal when it comes to technology, you actually thought we were going to go through paper files!” he said laughing.

  He made sweep of his arm about the office and its furnishings adding drolly, “Besides, who wants to sit in a dusty old archive room, looking at paper and micro film when Annie’s got one mind-boggling meal laid out. Chicken molé, tamales, chips, salsa, and fried ice cream. Everything homemade and guaranteed to make those Anglo eyes of yours water more than they were a second ago.”

  He couldn’t resist adding, “You should have seen yourself, amigo. I think I saw tears when you thought we couldn't get into those records.”

  Before Carly could launch a comeback, Dave reached across the wide mahogany desk to pat Carly's arm, “Don't worry. I know this is important to you, I’ll make sure you get what you need. Now let’s get going. I had Annie drive me in, so you can take us on a slow drive back to my place, while I update your dance card on all the old players.”

  Easing the car through the stop and go traffic of Denver's rush hour, Carly kept his thoughts on idle as Dave gave him the information on each of the principals in the Dombrowski case.

  “From the old squad's perspective, everyone to a man with the exception of you are still on the force. Most of us have done really well. I can't think of anyone who hasn't at least made sergeant. Captain Fontaine is now Deputy Chief Fontaine, working right out of headquarters. Kelly's a Captain too, so is Lauren. It sounds like most of the laboratory and forensics people are still on the force too, with one or two exceptions. Those I tracked down and found that they had taken promotions with other police departments back east.”

  Carly smiled as he remembered the old names. It made him happy to think the trials and tribulations they had passed through trying to apprehend Dombrowski hadn’t been for naught. They had been an exceptional group of people and deserved everything they achieved.

  “As for the attorney's it’s a little different picture. Assistant District Attorney Vandershield left the D.A.'s office a couple of years ago and went into politics working for the Republican Party at the national level. Her boss, although he didn't have much to do with the case is Lieutenant Governor, as you know. Vandershield's assistant and paralegal clerks are still with the D.A.'s office. Dombrowski's lead defense attorney is dead. Died about two years after Dombrowski was executed. Sort of strange scenario actually. He was found dead in his car down in Colorado Springs outside a topless bar. It looked like a robbery and murder at first, except he was left sitting in a new Corvette. Makes you wonder why anyone would rip off somebody's wallet, watch and wedding ring, plug the guy behind the ear and then leave a $70,000 car behind.”

  “Did they find the killer?” Carly asked, puzzled as well.

  Dave shook his head as he admired the deft driving by Carly and he avoided the worst of the Denver gridlock. “Nope. Not a clue. The case is still open but the detective I talked with said they've taken it off the active caseload. He didn't think they would get anywhere, ever. He said the speculation around the Springs P.D. was it was a paid hit. It was really professional, really clean. There was talk that the lawyer was into a few things he shouldn't have been. Mostly dope, particularly designer drugs, but that's just conjecture at this point. It makes sense though.”

  “Now the second attorney working on the defense, he's dead too. Heart attack about the same time his partner got whacked.”

  “Higgins? A heart attack?” Carly asked, a sense of suspicion gripped his stomach. “He was pretty young for a fatal coronary. Hell, I remember him, he played basketball quite a bit. We played in the city league together. He was in pretty good shape. He didn't seem like a candidate for a coronary.”

  “Well, he must have been a candidate for something. He's dead and the coroner's report lists cause of death as heart failure due to a massive coronary.”

  “Strange if you ask me,” Carly said, thinking aloud. “What about at the prison?”

  “Well two of the guys on death row at the same time as Dombrowski, were executed within the last five years. Two others are still there, going through the appeal process, if you can believe that. Ten or twelve years and they are still in limbo.”

  “As far as I know, Dombrowski had pretty limited access to other prisoners, either in the pen or here when we held him for trial. Being such a celebrity, he was kept in isolation, as you know. The last thing any of us wanted was for some punk kid, looking to make a name for himself, to kill Dombrowski before we could.”

  “What about staff at the prison? Guards, technicians, general staff? Did anybody visit him? Did he see anybody before he died? Any visitors?” The detective in Carly rattled off possibilities.

  “Easy big guy,” Dave laughed, “you're going to have to be patient with the prison personnel. I talked with the warden and he referred me to the Captain of the Guard and he's got a few files on Dombrowski himself. He wants you to go down to Cañon City and go through the records and do some interviews. He's a fan of yours and said he'd help in any way that he could, but you've got to go on site to get what you need. Okay?”

  Carly nodded his agreement just as Dave pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story home. “The place looks good Dave. All those Russian Olives you planted are getting big. It looks nice, real homey and peaceful.”

  “Thanks. It's not a mansion, but we've damn near got it paid for if you can believe that. A captain's salary goes a heck of a lot further than a detective first class'. Look up and you can see the latest addition. Me and Davey erected it in your honor.”

  Craning his neck to look up and out the window, Carly's eyes lit up as he saw the basketball hoop and backboard.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed, revealing a love for the game he played so little anymore. “After dinner, let's do a little one on one. What do you say, partner?”

  As they climbed out of the car to admire the captain's handiwork, “How about three on one. Me, Davey and Annie against all six feet six inches of you. Spot us ten baskets and we'll beat you to eleven.”

  “Good enough. I'm so good I'll probably beat you by two anyway.”

  “You'll be lucky to hit the pavement with a shot,” a woman's voice called from the porch.

  “Annie!”

  “Carly! Lord, look at you, taller and skinner than the last time I saw you. I can tell that there's no woman in your life to fatten you up. Is there?” she prodded hopin
g for any answer other than the truth.

  “Annie, if it wasn't for you and that pot of molé I smell boiling, I'd probably dry up and blow away with the first good breeze. Boy I've missed you. You look great,” he said, admiring the pretty dark haired woman as he gave her a jubilant hug, lifting the diminutive woman from the ground.

  “Where's that boy of yours? I've got something for him.”

  “School. He'll be home shortly. He's anxious to see Uncle Carly, even if he doesn't remember you.”

  “I bet he's something,” Carly responded as he reached into the back seat of his car, he tossed a new basketball at the boy's father. “He's probably got a ball for every day, so this can be a 'special' ball. Check out the signatures.”

  Dave's eyes widened in amazement, “A Nuggets team ball. All right. He'll love it.” Tossing it back to his friend, “That'll be worth a pretty good sized hug.”

  Linking arms, the three chatted as they headed into the home filled with the welcoming aromas of Annie's Mexican cooking. Carly settled into an overstuffed chair as Dave handed him a cold beer.

  Stretching his long legs and sinking into his trademark slouch, he immersed himself in the companionship of old friends. His sense of spirit felt more relaxed than it had for a long time as he bantered back and forth with the couple, teasing and laughing as though the years had not kept them apart. The arrival of their son, a veritable clone of the father, sent the house into an even greater whirlwind of laughter and noise making. Throughout the dinner, the Ramirez family kept up a running flow of jokes, stories, and gossip. At times Carly felt himself to be a spectator to one of the early TV sitcoms, where the family ate together, laughed a lot and the biggest problem they had was a silly next door neighbor.

  Chapter Nine

  The light rain set the air afire with the pungent smell of sage and juniper. Carly inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the aroma as he slid back behind the wheel of the car. The drive along the foothills to Cañon City, was a nice release from the past weekend. Shrouded in a light fog and heavy mist, the detective turned teacher felt isolated from the world and comfortably alone.

  Friday at the Ramirez' home was warm and friendly if not too productive. It filled a void in Carly's life that he neglected since his divorce from Joy. He and Dave had always had an inexplicable bond between them ever since they first met. They had been kindred spirits in their rookie years, naive and somewhat frightened by the immensity of it all, yet both harbored dreams of cracking the big case. They moved through the ranks together and found themselves tied to the Crucifixion Killings. It was not until they brought Dombrowski in that their lives turned towards separate paths. Carly went for the fame and glory while Dave secured an idyllic life for his young family. Spending a few hours in the Ramirez' world was a sorely needed respite for Carly.

  After dinner and dessert, he tried scouring the files, finding it proved a lot more difficult with the ongoing background of Dave, his wife and their son, laughing and talking. He couldn’t resist them and gave up trying to work and spent the rest of the evening just enjoying their hospitality.

  With Dave's permission he headed back to Ft. Collins, armed with the drives containing the sum total of his biggest case. At home, alone with the material he spent the rest of the weekend fruitlessly trying to find some link between the killings in Denver and Los Angeles. All most all of the people who worked on the Crucifixion case were still in Denver doing their jobs. Those who weren't were accounted for in some sensible fashion. Nowhere in the records were there any indications of records, diaries, or journals kept by Dombrowski. He had known that, as Dombrowski had been borderline illiterate. All the original notes from the prosecutors and the detectives who had worked on the case were on file. Nothing was missing, nothing had been released to unauthorized personnel, in fact until Dave had signed out the information on Friday, no one had opened the files in over five years. If Dombrowski had left a continuing legacy it was not in Denver, and it was not with any of the law enforcement personnel who had worked the case.

  The only lead, if it could have been called that, was the deaths of the two defense attorneys. The prospects of one law partner dying in a practice consisting of two young attorneys, seemed unlikely. Two deaths seemed suspicious.

  A healthy man dead of a coronary, and another executed in a possible professional hit roused Carly's suspicions. The professor opted to start with the murdered attorney first as the route to the state prison in Cañon City went through Colorado Springs. Carly decided to leave a day early so he would have time to visit with the detectives who worked on the murder of Dombrowski's lawyer, Thomas Langella. Before he had left on Monday morning, Carly called Dave and asked him to do a bit more follow up on the other lawyer, Higgins, and his fatal heart attack. Maybe some questions and answers with the guy's physician would turn up something. Always the supportive partner, Dave assured Carly it would get his personal attention.

  Carly found himself on the canyon road to the prison city, shrouded in the mist and fog, despite the relaxation of the drive he was disappointed in his visit to Colorado Springs. Carly turned the car south along the foothills, still baffled about the closely untimely demise of the two lawyers. The detective he spoke with in Springs had offered little more than what Dave had conveyed about the murder. Langella had moved to Colorado Springs about two months before his death, which was strikingly unusual in terms of career moves. Carly wondered why a partner in a Denver law firm would suddenly uproot himself from an established practice to move to a smaller city. It was something to look into when he got back to Denver.

  In talking with the detective who had originally investigated Langella's murder he had found that the attorney had money, lots of it and flashed it around town. While his law practice wasn't developing, his bankroll was, which led to much speculation at the police department. Most assumed he had some kind of drug-related employment. While no one had proved that, the Langella’s lifestyle made the case very strongly. Usually an attorney setting up practice was cash poor, but Langella had been noted for having a flashy car, cash, and endless supply of designer party drugs. He traveled the seamier side of town, as he had been a regular at the strip joints and topless bars frequented by the soldiers at nearby Fort Carson. The detective's description of Langella as a 'Good Time Charlie' depicted someone who had few cares in the world, at least until someone pumped two shots into the back of his head.

  The ensuing murder investigations had turned up few facts, but a lot of suspicions about Langella. Besides drugs, the attorney might have been involved in prostitution as he frequently represented several hookers busted in vice sweeps. Rumors had it, Langella was also involved in setting up 'arranged' marriages for G.I.'s looking to gather up dowries by marrying rich foreign dowagers, bringing them back to the states, then divorcing them after a short time. While the Colorado Springs police could prove little, they had enough innuendo and rumor to justify a horde of motives and potentially responsible characters in Langella's murder. The case was essentially closed, as the murder had been clean and the possible suspects many. Langella's death was never avenged, his passing was never mourned. He left no family, no friends.

  Disappointed in another dead end, Carly turned his thoughts to the last time he had been in Cañon City. He, Captain Fontaine, and D.A. Vandershield had made the drive over ten years ago when they went to Dombrowski's execution. Despite the pretty green setting with its orchards, gardens, and quiet small town appeal, Carly had found that after watching a man die there, he couldn't bring himself to return to the little city with six of Colorado's prisons. While Carly believed the death penalty effective in taking those whose reprehensible actions could never change, out of society's path, he felt it tainted the entire judicial system. For Carly, it was the ultimate admission of the system's failures and civilization's frailty.

  As he pulled into the parking lot of the main administrative building for the Colorado Department of Corrections, Carly stared up at 'Old Max', the former maximum-s
ecurity prison. Up until the late 1970's, 'Old Max' with its tall stone walls, razor wire and stone turrets, had served as home to the state's worst criminals, the warden's office and house, as well as the state gas chamber. Years later when Colorado re-adopted the death penalty, the old gas chamber was renovated and became the lethal injection room. About the same time, 'Old Max' lost its maximum security ranking and was reduced to an intake and infirmary site, to round out its general office complex. The only permanent inmates, if someone sentenced to death could be called permanent, were those housed on the death row wing.

  Once inside and through the various security precautions Carly met a short wiry man, Captain Fredrick Hoffman. Next to a warden, the Captain of the Guard was the most powerful man in the prison. Actually, on a daily basis the Captain of the Guard held more sway over the minions and charges than the warden. With a word he could order a lock down, or eliminate all incoming and outgoing visits and correspondence, or even dictate the time and content of the meals. The Captain of the Guard could, if he wished, dissuade a parole board from providing an early release. He had the authority to approve all hiring’s and firings, set staff schedules for regular duties, vacations, as well as overtime. The power could be immense, it could also be maligned. In a small town like Cañon City, where the penal system was lifeblood for the town's economic base, its primary industry so to speak, the Captain of the Guard was an important member of the citizenry.

  Captain Hoffman gave no indication that he was anything but a straight arrow, honest and to the point. It was Carly's assessment that the short muscular man standing before him lived his life and plied his craft by the book, without waiver. His handshake was firm, the posture ramrod straight. His gaze met Carly's squarely as they introduced each other. The uniform was impeccable in cut and crispness, while the shoes shined with a mirror like finish. The two met in great contrast, and for both it was the differences that cemented an early bond of friendship.