Death's Valley

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  Steve nodded and waved John and Jade back over; she still had the smoke between her fingers, and Steve asked, “So, what?” “Sniper.” Steve and Jim looked on as Jim asked, “As in professional hit kind of sniper?” John nodded. John had a piece of paper in his gloved hand, and Jim asked, “What’s that?” pointing to the paper. John said, “A list.” “A list of what?” “It’s not of what; it’s of whom.” Steve and Jim looked on, confused. John’s agent was standing patiently waiting until he interrupted and said, “You three need to come into the store.” Steve got an evidence bag from Jade, and he dropped the document into it, sealed the bag, and put it in his jacket pocket. Jade looked at him and said, “You’re removing evidence from a crime scene?”

  John frowned. “Give me a damn chain of custody form.” She handed one to him, and he signed off on it and asked Jade to fill in what it was. The three men went into the location, and their agent led them into the store. There, in the back, were money counting machines, cash, and drugs. What looked like a walk-in cooler was open in the back of the room. John asked, “What’s in there?” The agent started to walk them to the door while telling them that the whole building had once been a huge chain store that had gone out of business. They walked through the door to find a huge warehouse building full of beds with young women and girls in different levels of nudity, huddled in a corner with paramedics and others. Steve said, “Human trafficking?” The agent nodded, and John told him to go on about his duties as Jim and Steve made their way through the expanse of the store.

  It was massive and set up like part hotel part sweatshop. They had different areas set up for sex acts from the most mundane to the most sadistic and cruel. It was all forced labor, and there were both men and women. Steve and Jim were whispering to each other as John looked on. He walked over and asked, “What are you two gabbing about?” Steve said, “The place reminds me of a place I know where a guy extracts vengeance for the greater good.” John had a blank look on his face. Jim whispered, “The lair of the Iron fuckin’ Eagle!” John just shook his head and said, “Not even remotely close.” The men finished looking around and went back out to the front of the store. It was nearly six p.m., and John looked at his watch and pulled the evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and said, “We need to take this back to my office and the lab.” Jim and Steve asked why. John said, “The paper that Jade got off the victim is a list.” Jim smarted off, “A list of what?” “A list of cops that this killer is going after.”

  It was just before seven a.m., and Officer Marco Estrada was working street duty in his cruiser in East Los Angeles. He had been directed to work the streets and to pick up what intel he could on the movements of the Mexican Mafia. The killing of Alberto Alverez three months earlier had left unrest in the community. Even though the police commission and internal affairs blamed Alverez’s death on excessive use of force and fired the officer responsible for the shooting, things were still tense. To add fuel to the fire, Alverez was a well-known gang member and the head of one of the largest drug cartels in the United States. Many didn’t believe that Alverez was really dead. Conspiracy theories abounded throughout the community that it wasn’t Alverez who was killed. To add even more to that was the closed casket funeral for Alverez, due to the fact that he was shot in the face with a shotgun at point-blank range.

  Estrada was trying to get as much information as he could from his sources on the streets. He pulled his police cruiser into the parking lot of a seven-eleven at the corner of Whittier Boulevard and South Arizona Avenue. He walked into the twenty-four hour convenience store. The owner, Abdul Zahir, was standing behind the counter when Marco walked in, and he was greeted with a smile and a warm welcome. “How are you doing this evening, Officer Estrada?” Abdul asked in his thick Saudi Arabian accent. “Good, good, Abdul. And you?” “Very well, sir, very well.” Estrada looked around the store. There were several shoppers staring him down. A small group of young bangers were off in the corner by a fountain drink dispenser pointing at him and flashing gang symbols in his direction.

  Marco looked at them and smiled then laughed. Abdul began to slink down behind the counter. Marco looked over and saw it and asked, “What are you doing?” “I don’t want trouble in my store. You know they are looking for any reason to start a riot.” Marco laughed and said, “Relax, Abdul. I know those kids. They ran with Alverez and his group. They’re out of work right now. Besides, they don’t want to mess with a cop.” Abdul stood back up, and he looked on at Marco and said, “I guess that’s true. You are a big intimidating officer.” Marco laughed out loud and walked back to where the bangers were hanging.

  He spotted nine millimeters in the waistbands of two of the five guys. He walked over to them and slapped one of them on the side of the head, pulling the weapon from his waistband. “What…the fuck…are you…thinking?” Marco held it in the air and then pointed it at the kid. There were a few tense moments, and he handed the gun back. Abdul saw the whole exchange and had a confused look on his face.

  Marco said, “A fuckin’ toy gun…you guys get killed over these fuckers every day. What the fuck are you thinking?” The kid held the gun in his hand and said, “We’s on the street, man…we got to have our reps, man…it’s all good…they don’t fucks with me. I don’t fucks with them.” Marco shook his head and pulled his Glock from its holster and pointed it at the five. “And I can kill all of you right here, right now, and there won’t even be a question. You’re armed. It makes no difference if the weapon is real or not…I can’t tell…I shoot first, ask questions later.” “Yea, but you a Mexican like us. You won’t shoot.”

  Marco shook his head, holstering his gun. “That’s because I know you thugs, but whitey, nigger, and chink cops don’t see you like me…one of them walks in or sees you on the street…BANG!…you’re dead!” There was a moment of silence as they realized what was just said. “What you want, man?” one of the other kids rattled off. “Who’s taking over for Alberto?” “No word.” “Bullshit…don’t fuck with me. I’m a Mexican with a badge and a bad attitude, and you’re five well-known banger thugs toting weapons…”

  Marco put his hand on his weapon. The tone became serious, and Abdul, while he could not hear the conversation, could tell by the looks on the kids’ faces that Marco had said something serious. Marco had his back to Abdul as well as the front door. The chime on the store door rang, and Marco kept his back to it, staring at the kids. All of them were wearing sunglasses, and Marco could see the reflection of the man who came in in them. He didn’t move. His hand was still on his weapon when he said, “Well…hello…Andre.” The kids waited for their next instructions. Andre Espinoza was second in command to Alverez, and Marco knew he was packing.

  Steve and John beat Jim back to the federal building on Wilshire. John helped Steve, and the two men made their way into the building before hearing Jim screaming at the top of his lungs in a security line at the building entrance. “I’m the goddamned Sheriff of Los Angeles fuckin’ County. Why is it that every time I come to this mother fuckin’ building I’m treated like the local rabble?” Steve called out and said, “For God’s sake, men, let the Sheriff through. He’s not going to shoot up the damn place.” Jim pushed his way through the metal detectors, setting them off and wreaking havoc on the system.

  John and Steve were by a bank of elevators and before Jim could say another word John said, “Just shut up!” Jim was silent as they entered the elevator, and Steve took them to the top floor of the building where inmates were processed and personnel were given IDs. John walked across the hall from the elevator without saying a word, and Jim went to follow him, but Steve put his hand on Jim’s arm to stop him. He looked up at Jim and said, “Just wait.” John disappeared behind two dark glass unmarked doors and five minutes later emerged with something in his hand. He was walking in an angry and deliberate way as he approached them.

  John reached out his hand with two small items in it and said, “
Here. You have clearance. Use the employee entrance from now on. Follow me.” Steve and Jim said nothing as they got back on the elevator and went down to John’s office floor and into the lab. He pulled out the evidence bag, opened it, and placed it on a white screen. The document was projected onto a white board in front of them, and Jim and Steve’s jaws dropped when they saw what was on it.

  Chapter Three

  “We have a killer, gentlemen,

  and that killer has just declared

  war on the LAPD.”

  Marco had moved out of the store and was standing next to his cruiser with Andre. They were speaking quietly, however, in the public eye. “What the fuck, man?” Andre said with a bitter tone in his voice. “What the fuck?...I’ll tell you what the fuck…You call me before you make any moves, any decisions, and you sure as hell call me when you got word on the street about Alverez’s replacement.” “Not here!” “Get in my fuckin’ car.” Andre pulled the passenger door open and got in. Marco sat down in the driver’s seat and asked, “Well?” “Well…what the fuck, Marco? I’ve been under deep cover for almost a year, and you’re going to come in and blow everything out of the water? Do you know the wrath of shit you will bring down on us with Captain Boyd? Jesus Christ! We are sitting in a fucking parking lot in the middle of East LA. Do you really think this is the place to have this conversation?”

  Marco looked around at the faces staring at the two of them in the cruiser. “Um…yea. What the hell? Tell me what I want to know!” “Jesus Christ, Marco, you just signed my death warrant.” “All the more reason to tell me what you know.” “I don’t have a name. Several members of Alberto’s family are coming up from Mexico, now that the funeral is done, to make a decision.” Marco handed Andre a piece of paper and said, “Names…write down the names and then get the fuck out of my car.” Andre wrote quickly in Spanish and went to get out of the cruiser. “WAIT!” Marco said, “you forgot something.” Andre took the paper and wrote several more things. Marco took the paper and looked it over and said, “Good, very good. I want the family names, but I also need the names of the mules that are bringing the drugs. Good boy. Now, get out of the car.” Andre said, “Fuck you, asshole. I’m going to kick your ass the next time I see you at the station.”

  Andre got out, as did Marco. He walked around the front of the car and said, “Don’t worry. I’m about to save your life.” He started yelling at Andre in Spanish for everyone to hear. He watched as people began to congregate on the streets and porches of homes, and he pulled out his police baton and began to beat Andre with it, all the while yelling at him. The growing crowd started to get angry as Marco yelled insults at Andre and beat him. He kicked Andre in the ribs and pulled him close to his face and whispered, “You will be sore tomorrow, but you will be alive.” Andre winced as he was pushed against the pavement. He whispered back, “Payback is a bitch, Marco.” With that, Marco put the baton back in his car and drove away.

  “The PIGS of the Los Angeles Police Department have lived long enough!” was the headline of the document retrieved from the coat jacket of LAPD Detective Mario Sanchez. The pamphlet found in his pocket was a typed and printed list of LA cops and internal affairs officers. John said, “We have a killer, gentlemen, and that killer has just declared war on the LAPD.” Jim laughed, taking a cigarette out of his top left pocket and said, “This might be the killer’s formal declaration of war, but whoever this is has fired the first shot!” Steve was looking at the note and reading the names. John saw that Steve was intense, and he asked, “What do you see, Steve?” John looked back at the screen and the list of names. Steve started to recite the names of the killer’s targets.

  “Mary Schultz, Internal Affairs LAPD (deceased); Mario Sanchez, Detective LAPD (now deceased); Gilbert Chavez, Detective LAPD; Howard Washington, Patrol Officer LAPD; Patricia Salazar, Detective and Internal Affairs Officer LAPD; Brian Boyd, Captain LAPD, Internal Affairs and police union president; Harry Chilton, Lieutenant LAPD Homicide Supervisor and Field Investigator; Ricardo Pina, Public Relations Officer LAPD; Vince Espeno, Deputy Chief of Police LAPD; Albert Ralston, Chief of Police LAPD.”

  “Jesus Christ, men! This killer is going to take out the central command of the LAPD.” Steve said it with an air of both frustration and anger. John looked on at the names listed on the screen as Jim chomped on the smoke between his teeth.

  John sat down, staring at the screen, and said, “Okay, so we have a hit list. The question is how do we keep the rest of these folks alive while hunting this killer?” Jim let out a little laugh, and John shot him a look, “What’s so funny?” Jim leaned back in his chair and said, “I know, or in the case of the first two, knew, these people, and I can tell you they were dirty cops.” Steve looked at him and asked, “Now just how the fuck do you know that?” Jim laughed, “John and I were recently appointed as county and federal independent consultants to a case of a cop that the people on this list were targeting.” Steve looked at the list and said, “What happened?” “They fired him!” Steve smiled and said, “Well, there you go. You know the killer’s name?” Jim nodded and said, “Well, fuck, the case is solved. Send someone out to pick him up.” He laughed, and John interrupted, “We can’t, Jim, and you know that.” Steve got a pissed off look on his face and asked, “Why the fuck not?” “Because he’s already in jail,” Jim said with a smart-ass tone in his voice. “Who’s in jail?” Steve asked. “The victim of those named on that list. His name is Garrison Cantrell. He’s been in jail since we found the body of Mary Schultz. LAPD hung her murder around his neck like a medallion,” Jim said, taking the smoke out of his mouth and putting it behind his ear.

  Steve looked thoughtfully and asked, “Where’s Garrison now?” “Men’s central jail, but his attorney has filed a motion to have him taken into federal custody until he can be tried as he is pleading not guilty, and there is fear for his safety,” Jim said as he stood up to stretch his legs. “Who’s the judge?” Steve asked. “Tracy Olson,” John replied, “I’m going to be at the hearing to argue that he needs to be in protective custody until his case can be heard.” Steve nodded slowly and said, “The cops will kill him. I’m surprised he’s still alive.” Jim laughed and said, “My deputies are watching over him; however, given this new twist in the case, I think Mr. Cantrell is not the one who has an axe to grind. I think we need to take a long look at the evidence in the two killings. I think LAPD is trying to railroad an innocent man.” John started laughing as he looked at his watch. “What did you do with Jim O’Brian? Where did he go? Are you some kind of pod person? Jim never thinks anyone is innocent.” Steve laughed and coughed a little, as did Jim who looked at John and said, “Go fuck yourself, asshole!”

  John and Steve arrived at the LA Superior Court for Cantrell’s hearing at eight thirty a.m. They were waved past security, and John was able to push Steve into an elevator that took them to the third floor and Judge Tracy Olson’s courtroom. He pushed Steve to the front and said, “I will be right back. I want to see if I can speak to the judge before anyone else gets in.” Steve nodded and sat in his wheelchair staring at the seal of the State of California behind the judge’s bench.

  John walked over to the judge’s clerk, who frowned when he saw him approach. “Special Agent Swenson, to what do we owe the honor of your presence?” “Good morning, Bill. I wanted to have a few moments with Tracy before she takes the bench in the Cantrell case.” Bill Gibbons had been Judge Olson’s clerk since she was appointed to fill a vacancy on the bench after the death of Marion Davis in the Los Angeles fires nearly three years earlier. John and Tracy had a history. They dated for about six months many years ago. Tracy wanted more, and John could not commit. He was an LAPD officer then, and since the breakup, and then John’s marriage to Sara, which went over like a lead balloon, tensions between Tracy and John ran high.

  Through all of it, though, John and Tracy managed to keep a professional relationship. Bill buzzed her chambers and annou
nced Agent Swenson. There was a moment of silence and an attorney approached Bill’s desk and was standing right on John’s heels. He turned to see that it was Howard Cohen, whom he greeted with a smile and a handshake before Bill told John, “The judge will see you now.” John waved goodbye to Howard and walked off to the sheriff-guarded door and onto the judge’s chambers. Howard looked at Bill and said, “WOW! I bet that’s going to be an awkward meeting.” Bill looked on, taking Howard’s business card, and said, “Ya think?”

  John rapped on Tracy’s door, and she called out, “Come in, Agent Swenson.” John opened the door and walked into the dimly lit room. The blinds were closed, and Judge Olson was sitting at her desk with a cloth over her eyes and a cup of coffee in her hands. “Migraine?” John asked. “Oh yes, John, a major mother fuckin’ migraine.” “Why didn’t you call in?” “John, we have hardly any judges on the bench. There is no way I can call in sick with the backlog of cases we are handling. Now, please, I beg you, get to the point of why you’re in my chambers.” She took a sip of the coffee and as she did, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pillbox. Olson shuddered at the noise, but John opened it and took out a large blue capsule, walked over, and handed it to her. “What’s this?” “Just take it…it’s fast acting, and the migraine will be gone.” She didn’t ask any questions. She popped the pill in her mouth and took two big sips of her coffee. She went to say something and John said, “Five minutes, Tracy. Give it five minutes, and then we can talk.”

  John sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of her desk and admired her legs that were up on a stool. She was a very beautiful woman. Her long red hair was down below her shoulders, and her green eyes set off well against her tanning bed tan and her pursed lips. She was in a light blue blouse and a matching short skirt. He watched and waited until she pulled her legs off the stool and sat up and asked, “What the hell did you give me?” “Nothing you haven’t taken before for your head.” He stood up and opened the blinds to the three windows in her corner chambers and let the morning sunlight flood in.