MURDER RITES: THE JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERY SERIES (JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by Ronald Yarosh

  I studied the room. Opposite me, on the other wall, was a German shrunk constructed of dark wood. Its abundant shelves held a variety of photos, awards and mementos, including, "Florida’s Man of the Year".

  "Thank you," he said. "That’s a very generous pledge, Dr. Gay. We’ll certainly put it to good use. God bless you. ––You take care as well.” He poked at his iPhone and placed it on the desk. "Doctor Madison Gay. He’s a wonderful human being. He just pledged a million dollars to our annual campaign. That’s the second year in a row. And, he’s not even Catholic. I wish we had more folks like him."

  "You certainly have a way with people, Your Excellency."

  He walked over to me. He extended his right hand. "Johnny my boy, how are you?" He gave me one of his bear hugs. It reminded me of the old days when we’d meet.

  "I’m doing just fine, Your Excellency. How are you? You look wonderful."

  "So far, so good. I really can’t complain. It won’t do any good if I do. Johnny, you can stop with the, ‘Your Excellency’. Please call me Sean."

  He motioned me to a pair of leather chairs near the wall to his left. A mahogany table separated them. I walked toward one of the chairs. He followed me, but then stopped. I stopped too. He went back to his desk. He pressed a button on the office intercom. A few seconds later, a young man dressed in a black cassock and black shoes entered from another door. He was a thin, dark skinned man with black wavy hair and brown eyes. He was about 5-foot-2. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He had no religious collar. He was quite handsome.

  "Johnny, I’d like you to meet Alberto Mendoza. He’s a second year seminarian. He’s from the Philippines. Alberto, this is Mr. Johnny Sundance. He’s a big shot private detective and a former altar boy of mine. He almost became a priest, but he received another calling." The Bishop moved to the chair next to me. Alberto came closer.

  I extended my hand to the young man. "Glad to meet you, Alberto."

  "Very happy to meet you, sir."

  "Please don’t call me sir, Alberto. Johnny will be just fine."

  He bowed his head, and then smiled.

  "Alberto, please pour a drink for myself and Mr. Sundance." The Bishop turned to me. "Scotch. It’s one of my few vices."

  "It’s funny hearing the word vice associated with you, Sean."

  Alberto walked over to the shrunk. He pulled out a silver tray from one of the drawers. He placed a bottle of Chivas Regal and two crystal glasses on the tray. "Would you like ice with yours, Mr. Johnny?"

  "Ice would be fine."

  He got some cubes from a built-in fridge then poured the drinks. Alberto apparently knew Bishop Brennan didn’t take ice. He served Brennan, then me. He placed the tray back on the shrunk. He turned to The Bishop. "Will there be anything else, Your Excellency?"

  "No, Alberto. That will be all for now."

  He bowed toward the Bishop, and then toward me. He left the room with quick silent steps.

  "He’s a good kid, Johnny. He’ll make a fine priest someday. He’s on break at the moment from Holy Cross Seminary. As much as I tell him not to, he insists on behaving like a servant. I keep telling him I should be his servant. But, he won’t hear of it. So, I go along with his wishes. It makes him happy." He sipped his Chivas.

  I sipped my drink as well. I was waiting for the hammer to fall. I wondered what the Bishop wanted of me.

  He sat. I followed his lead.

  His eyes locked on mine. "All right my boy, I’ll get right to the point. What I’m about to tell you is confidential."

  "You mean like in confession?"

  "Well, not quite that, since you don’t qualify. You could have been qualified if you had been ordained. You would have made a fine priest. By now, I would have made you a Monsignor. And who knows? You could have followed in my footsteps."

  "Those are pretty big footsteps, Sean. I usually trip over big footsteps." I sipped some Chivas.

  He laughed. Suddenly his face got serious. "What I have to tell you must remain between us. Consider it top secret. Between client and detective."

  "Client and detective? You want to hire me?"

  "You bet your boots I do. I only work with the best."

  Brennan was always a charmer. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "It’s well placed, Johnny."

  "So, what can I do for you?"

  "Let me emphasize again, that what I’m about to tell you must remain between the two of us. Agreed?"

  "Certainly."

  "All right." He cleared his throat. His eyes met mine. They were glistening. "I recently found out I’m dying of pancreatic cancer. I may only have a few weeks to a few months left on this earth. I need a favor of you."

  I felt the blood drained from my face. My heart sank at the news. Bishop Brennan dying? He was a superman to me. Soon I’d be grieving for him. It was incomprehensible. "Sure, Sean. Anything. Just say the word."

  "It’s a tall order, son. But, if anyone can handle it, you can."

  "What is it? You know I'd do anything for you."

  "I’d like you to investigate and solve the murder of Father Brian Watson. Your fellow policemen handled that, but they still haven’t found the ‘perp’, as you guys call them."

  I immediately thought of the luncheon conversation I had with Sands and Horowitz. Somehow, word had filtered down about the case and the decision to have it reviewed. The rumors were correct. The grapevine was fruitful. "That is a tall order. In fact, it’s gigantic. As far as I know, the police have done everything to solve that case. I worked on it for a short while, but I was deep into a triple homicide at that time. I reviewed the file, but there weren’t any other leads in the case. As far as I know, after two years, there still aren’t any leads. It was moved to the cold case cabinet."

  "There’s got to be something more to it, Johnny. If there’s a clue, any clue at all, you’re the one who can find it. I have every confidence in you and your skills as a detective."

  "I appreciate that, Sean, but I don’t think the folks at Eden Palms PD will be very happy having me nosing around in their work."

  "You were Chief of Detectives at Eden Palms before you left. I’m sure you poked your nose in a lot of cases. You were on good terms with Jake Rosen and company before your departure, weren’t you?"

  "Yes, but people get very touchy at the thought of someone else playing Monday Morning Quarterback regarding their hard work. I wouldn't feel comfortable about it unless I talked to Jake Rosen first. It would be his decision. Especially since I’m not a member of the department any longer." I took another sip of my drink.

  He smiled. "I’m one step ahead of you, Johnny. I sort of greased the wheels for you." He drew another sip from his glass.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Well, as you know, Gov. Randolph and I are old friends. In fact, we were roommates at Holy Cross Seminary until he decided he had another calling in life. I talked to him about Brian’s murder. He in turn talked to someone else. Rosen is now willing to allow an outside party to take a look at the case."

  "I suppose that ‘outside party’ would be me."

  "Of course."

  "You’ve been a busy Bishop. You’d make a great chess player. Randolph probably got State Attorney General, Connor Jennings to play offense for you. Nice move, Bishop."

  "Connor owed me one. I got him into Notre Dame. He graduated Magna cum Laude from their law school. I was influential in getting him the position as Assistant AG in Tallahassee. Connor is a fine, Irish Catholic boy. He deserves what he has made of his life."

  "So, now you’re putting all of this on my shoulders."

  He winked at me. "Of course. Who else could handle it? By the way, there’s $5000 in it for you. What do you say? Consider it a dying man’s wish."

  "Well, Sean, if you put it that way, what can I say? On the other hand, Tallahassee pressure or not, what makes you think I can solve a cold murder case in a few weeks or even a month, when the Eden Palms PD couldn’t find the k
iller in two years?"

  "Because you’re smarter than all those people put together. That’s why."

  I thought about my options. I hadn’t had a case in a while. The stock market had taken a dive, and I lost a good amount of money. It would take weeks to recoup my losses and make a decent profit. Stock market trading can be a bitch at times. What could I say? "All right. I’ll take the case, but no promises."

  "Great! Chief Rosen is expecting you. He’ll give you the file. You can review it along with the evidence."

  So, that’s how Sands and Horowitz found out about my involvement. "You told Rosen I’d be going there to review the case? Wasn’t that a bit premature? How did you know I’d accept your offer?"

  "I didn’t tell Rosen anything. Connors called him and set things up for you. I heard Rosen was a little upset, but he got over it when Connors mentioned a possible position for him with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. Anyway, I knew you’d take the case because I know you. You’re a fine and decent man. I just wish you had become the priest I wanted you to be. But in the end, when you shrugged off my suggestion, you began a journey of life choices, which eventually lead you back to me, when I needed you most. So, here we are."

  "Another clever move. That’s how you got Rosen to cooperate on this."

  "It never hurts to have friends in high places my boy." He smiled at me and winked. He finished his drink. He rose and then walked over to his desk. He put down the glass. He opened a drawer and removed something. He beckoned me. "Here, you may need this." I moved toward his desk. He handed me what looked like a gift box. His eyes brightened as he smiled. "Go ahead, open it."

  A gift from my Bishop? What could it be? I thought it might be a religious article. I opened the box. There was nothing religious in the container. Inside was a gold, law enforcement badge. It was from the FDLE, Special Operations Unit. "Why are you giving me this, Sean?"

  "The Governor sent it to me. He told me to give it to you in case you had problems with any law enforcement agency. He said all you have to do is show them that badge and they’ll recognize you as working directly for The Governor of Florida. You’re now officially/unofficially a Special Agent again."

  "Sean, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need a badge. I can do my job like I always did, but now as a Private Investigator. It’s kind of ironic that Connors would tell Rosen he could help him get a job with the FDLE and here you are handing me a badge from that agency."

  "Well Johnny life takes its turns. Take the badge. You never know when it might come in handy. Now, I’ve got to run. I have a meeting scheduled in ten minutes. Good luck and God bless you."

  "God bless you, Sean."

  "Keep in touch."

  "I will."

  "Oh, by the way. I have something else for you." He picked up the box of Corona cigars. "Here, give these to Jake. They’re Cuban. I got them from Cardinal Ross. He got them from Pope Francis. The Pope got them from Castro himself. Just don’t tell Rosen that you got them from me. Oh, and one more thing. I almost forgot about it." He opened his desk drawer. He removed an envelope. "Here, take this. And no refusals." It was thick and a bit heavy. It felt like there was money inside.

  "I can’t take ––"

  "I said, no refusals. I insist."

  I slipped it into my jacket pocket. "I’ll tell Jake I got the cigars from a special friend."

  Sean’s smile broadened. We shook hands. He blessed me.

  "I’ll be praying for you, Sean."

  "And, I’ll be praying very hard for you, Johnny."

  I left the room. I said goodbye to Sister Maria Anna.

  "I just love your voice." Her cheeks turned scarlet. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me."

  "Don’t let it worry you. It was a nice compliment." I then departed. My next stop would be the Eden Palms PD.

  3

  Traffic was slow as I drove to my old stomping grounds. The rain was pelting the roof of my car like a machine gun on full automatic. Snails were making better time than me. Rain, plus overcrowded roads, was a recipe for gridlock. Eden Palms and vicinity had become a haven for Northerners who were tired of the cold weather, snow and ice. Traffic was also bad due to cellphone junkies who apparently couldn’t drive and talk on the damned things at the same time. Road rage was at an all time high.

  While stopped at a traffic light, I check the contents of the envelope Sean had given me. There was a thousand dollars inside with a note saying it was a down payment. There was a branch office of my bank on the way to Rosen’s office. I decided it would be best to stop and deposit the cash.

  As I waited in line for a teller, I thought of Bishop Brennan’s request. He talked me into burdening myself with a two-year-old case the department couldn’t unravel. I hoped he wouldn’t be despondent if I couldn’t solve it before he went on to his eternal reward. I didn’t want to see him die. I had seen enough people die. He was a personal friend. My parents and I attended his ordination to Bishop.

  I finally arrived at Eden Palms PD. My MKZ got a few stares as I moved to the rear of the parking lot. I backed into the furthest open space available. I grabbed the box of cigars and hiked my way to the front of the building.

  It was a sturdy, two-story structure, which previously held the Eden Palms County Court Offices. About a dozen stairs lead to the main entrance doors. Foot traffic in and out of the building was moderate.

  I said my hellos to a few old friends I met in the lobby. I made my way to Jake’s office. Claire Martinez, Jake’s secretary was typing on her computer. She stopped and smiled when she saw me enter the room. She was a beautiful, 5-foot-2 Hispanic women with curly dark hair and brilliant brown eyes. She was a walking dynamo who had been working for Jake for over twelve years.

  "Well hello, Johnny. Nice to see you again." She smiled. "You don’t come down here much anymore. I guess you’re too important to be hanging around us working stiffs. How’s the detective business these days?" She got up and hugged me.

  "Hello to you, Claire. The detective business is getting better every day."

  How does it feel to be rakin’ in all that cash?"

  "All that cash? You’re dreaming. Being a PI isn’t what the movies and novels make it out to be. I manage to keep my head above water. How are Ricky and the kids? And, how are you doing after your bout with …you know?"

  "I’m still on a monthly chemo regimen, but it looks like the tumor has shrunk considerably. My Margie is doing great. She’s a perky little cheerleader like I used to be. Ryan is on the football team just like his daddy was. Speaking of daddy’s, Ricky’s on top of the world right now. He just got promoted to Sergeant. We found out this morning. Maybe now we’ll be able to save a little more for the kids’ college fund."

  "That’s great."

  "Great and not so great. He’ll be in charge of Zone Four. He has nine years to go until he can retire. I pray to God he’ll make it. Zone Four has gotten even worse since you left. I'll never forget the day Emily Palmer was killed in that shootout there. What a waste."

  Zone Four was a twenty-two square mile area which encompassed neighborhoods and apartment houses plagued by drug dealers, prostitution, auto chop shops and other nefarious enterprises. Even before Emily met her demise, we called it, "The Dead Zone" because of the number of murders. The people in the area we’re close mouthed when it came to helping the police. That was ironic due to the fact that we were there to help them put a lid on crime.

  Emily was a beautiful thirty-four-year old with an outgoing and vivacious personality. She was my first and only female partner at Eden Palms PD. I missed her immensely. Thinking of her, gave me an immediate flashback to that late night encounter near the Westminster Hotel on Martin Luther King Boulevard. We were following Hernando Aquino, a heavily armed drug dealer. The thug must have made us. He made a quick turn into the parking lot of the hotel. We lit up the car and followed. He gunned the stolen Camaro, cutting off a car moving in the lot. He headed for the rear
of the building. By the time we got to his location, he had abandoned the stolen car and was hiding behind a dumpster. Emily called for backup. As she was talking to dispatch, bullets began to fly in our direction. One penetrated the driver’s side window. The 50 caliber round somehow missed me, but it hit Emily in the head. I guess my own survival instincts kicked in. I returned fire. I shot in the direction of the dumpster though I couldn’t see the bastard, only the flash of his weapon. I was lucky. I hit him in the neck. He dropped and died beside the dumpster. He was trash. He died next to trash. Poetic justice? Who knows?

  I turned to Emily. She was slumped over with what was left of her head, on the dash. EMS quickly arrived at the scene. Emily was barely alive. She later died in the emergency room. She’d be alive today if I hadn’t stopped where I did to look for Aquino. If I hadn’t turned my head, it would have been my brains that splattered all over the car. If, if, if.

  Claire beckoned to me.

  I moved to the side of her desk and bent down.

  "I’m happy that Ricky was promoted," she whispered. "He deserved it. He can’t wait to, as he put it, ‘straighten out Zone Four’. On the other hand, it’s not so great that he won’t be home as much. And, he’s only getting a hundred and fifty dollar a month increase in pay before taxes and all. That’s hardly anything to risk your life for. Then again, being a cop has always been his dream job."

  "I know."

  "Please don’t tell him what I told you. Zone Four has been his goal ever since he started working here."

  I moved back to the front of Claire’s desk. "We learned a lot that night. Unfortunately, it was too late for Emily. I won’t say a word to Ricky."

  Just then, Jake Rosen opened the door to his office. He was 5-foot-8 with brown eyes and curly black hair. His ruddy face was tired and wrinkled, though his black, handlebar mustache made him look debonair. His substantial stomach draped over his utility belt, which carried the essentials every cop needed, including a 9mm Glock on the left side. He wore a white cotton, short-sleeved shirt with a black tie. The tie was attached to his shirt by a tiepin which looked like miniature handcuffs. He hooked his fingers onto his belt. He looked at me and smiled, displaying his only gold tooth. He was forty-eight, but looked older. He was more than eligible to retire with a decent pension. But, like most folks in law enforcement, he loved his job. And, he was single once again …for the third time. He had no attachments at the moment except for his love of cigars and pastries. But, he was a cop, and cops are busy people. They eat when they can, from what’s readily available. Policemen never know when their next meal will be interrupted by a call.