“Why?”
“Do you want me to come down and explain?”
Cyrus thought about it for less than a half a second, “No,” he said sharply. Cyrus did not like to talk about anything technical with Thad without some kind of visual aid.
He hung up the phone, grabbed his notebook and pen, and headed for the lab. When he walked through the door, Thad was standing next to an x-ray, backlit and displayed on the wall. Cyrus noticed several empty coffee cups were scattered about Thad’s desk. Pale, with dark circles under his red eyes, Thad pointed to the neck portion of the display.
“Here’s what I missed, Cyrus.”
“Where?”
“It’s here at the base of the neck. I am sorry I didn’t notice it before, but as you can see his neck was broken.”
Cyrus walked over to the x-ray and stooped down to get a better look.
“Yes, I see, so the problem is explaining how he could have been killed at the beach from a blow to the head while he was standing up. To have his neck broken that way, he would have to have been sitting down with something solid just below the back of the neck, like the back of a chair, or the headrest of a car seat set too low, right?”
“Exactly, he definitely was not standing up,” Thad said. “His body would have given way to the force of the blow and his neck would not have been broken. There just wasn’t enough force delivered by the single rap to the front of the head to cause a concomitant injury like that.”
“There was more than one blow to the head?”
“Yes, the two to the back of the head were the ones we noticed at the beach. They were hard to distinguish since they nearly hit the exact same area. There was also a strike delivered to his forehead here. Not a forceful one either, he was probably already dead when this one hit him. There is no way this amount of force applied to the forehead standing up could have caused the fracture in the neck; he had to be sitting upright against a support.”
Cyrus paced back and forth in front of the x-ray. “So whoever killed him did it when he was sitting in his car.”
Cyrus walked over to Thad’s desk and looked at the photographs of Mike’s corpse, “He doesn’t have any fresh bruises or cuts on his shins or feet, just the usual knots and calluses surfers usually get, so probably he wasn’t dragged. If Mike was in his car when someone hit him with the bat and then carried him down the beach stairs and dumped him on the beach, then there should be blood traces on the driver’s seat or side panels.”
“There weren’t, but there was bleach everywhere. Dana must have cleaned up the blood.”
“Max and I noticed the same. Thanks Thad, you did a great job on this autopsy, just like always,” he said.
“I am going to release the body back to his Father. I guess it doesn’t really matter now how he was killed. The killer’s already confessed.”
Cyrus nodded, and then he left. As he walked back down the hall to his desk, he felt a slight twinge of guilt for not being straight with Thad about the new evidence he had concerning Mike Tanner’s murder. But it couldn’t be helped. The less the real murderer knew about what he knew the better. This new information from Thad boosted his confidence in Mathers’s innocence. He couldn’t possibly have killed Mike Tanner in the parking lot and then carried him down the stairs. Then who could?
He picked up his notebook and looked over the notes he took while he was at Grigoryan’s. His interview with the big Russian reinforced his suspicion that Jack Tanner was also innocent. The night before, when they met him on the porch, Cyrus could tell at once Jack Tanner’s grief was no act. Granted, telling the difference between grief and remorse wasn’t easy. But even if Jack had killed his own son to save his company, it wouldn’t make sense for him to frame Dana for the murder and then try to kill him. He needed Dana and his special report to find oil.
In contrast, Duncan, a man trained as a spy, an organizer, and a person capable of learning how to be a chopper pilot in a few weeks, did have a motive for killing Dana. Like the Rusky told him, he needed to stop Tanner from getting to the oil Dana’s report claimed existed. But why kill Mike? Duncan most likely works for the so called anonymous share holders. I guess friendship doesn’t mean a whole lot to hired assassins.
Then there was Briana. Missing the obvious mistake she made in her statement about Dana’s ability to run twisted his insides. If she had just made a mistake, and not lied, that would be fine by him. He knew from twenty years of dealing with eyewitnesses that they aren’t always reliable. Especially when the event they witness is a violent one and their adrenalin starts to flow. Their imaginations often blur reality.
What about her cameo in the WTO riot? Her Black Bloc days may be over, but he still had his suspicions. Jeff Moon is very active in Black Bloc and he also had close ties with Mike Tanner.
He marveled at how complicated this simple, over and done, case had become and hoped mightily that Briana hadn’t lied about what she said. She was so gentle and tenderhearted. Their first meeting, when she took his hands in hers, replayed in his mind. She made him feel so comfortable, as if they’d been friends all their lives. Wearied from the recent events, he escaped from the sadness he felt into a deep sleep.
After several hours, Cyrus woke up and saw the face of the bailiff, Jim Thurston staring back at him.
“Cyrus,” he said, “Who’s going to sign for Mike Tanner’s stuff?”
Cyrus sat up straight in his chair and blinked his eyes, “What are you talking about Thurston?”
“The Tanner kid’s stuff. The case is closed now so we have to return it. I need you or Max to look it over and make sure it’s all there and then sign off on it.”
“All right.” Cyrus got up from his chair and followed Thurston to the evidence locker. Thurston reached into the top drawer of the desk, retrieved a set of keys, and unlocked the iron barred door to the locker and pushed it open so hard it slammed against the concrete wall.
“Tanner’s stuff is over by the rear door. I got everything laid out for inspection.”
Cyrus and Thurston walked to the back of the room. Mike’s laptop, wetsuit, shorts and a small surfboard lay on the floor in front of him. He noticed a huge surfboard leaning against the concrete wall, wrapped up in plain brown paper. He was surprised at how big it actually was, more than ten feet he guessed.
“Thurston, is this Mike Tanner’s surf board? I thought it was the small one there,” he said pointing to the blue, six foot, board with the ding on the side.
“Yeah, both of them are. Funny thing, a couple of kids found the big one a few hundred yards north of the where they found Mike’s body.”
“Help me take the paper off.”
After they had the paper off, Cyrus leaned it back against the concrete wall. It looked just like he had expected. It was long and wide, almost like a small boat, and made out of redwood. There was a hand-sized, neatly printed swastika near the nose. He picked it up to feel how heavy it was. Thurston shook his head and sighed loudly as though he were disgusted. “What are you doing, you gremmie. Haven’t you ever seen a surfboard before?”
“Isn’t this kind of surfboard known as a floating sidewalk? They made them way, way back in your day, before they even made wetsuits.”
“You damned straight! That’s when you had to be a man to surf! You are looking at a masterpiece. That is an original, handmade, Pacific Systems. It was made in the 1930s. Believe it or not that was before my day. Did you notice the swastika on the nose?”
“Yes I did, but I didn’t know surfing was popular in Nazi Germany.”
“That board was made in San Francisco before the war, the swastika was originally a Hindu symbol that meant peace and joy. If you look closely you can see that the swastika symbol on the surfboard is actually a mirror image of the Nazis symbol. There were only nine made with it on the nose, they stopped making them with the swastika as soon as they found out that it was also the symbol for Nazism. It’s worth fifteen, maybe twenty thousand dollars.”
&n
bsp; “This piece of redwood is worth twenty thousand dollars? Why would anybody risk riding a board worth this much and damaging it?”
“They wouldn’t, unless they were some non-surfing barney-like you.”
“Thurston, do you think Dana Mathers would know how valuable this surfboard was?”
“Sure, anybody who surfed, especially as well as Dana would know. Why do you think I said it was odd? Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Actually no. Sorry, force of habit.”
Before Thurston could reply, the ringtone from Cyrus’s cell phone sounded and he pulled it out and held it to his ear. He nodded his head and then he said, “I’m coming right now.” He put his cell away and said to Thurston, “Could you put this stuff away like it was. Don’t release any of it.”
Thurston shook his head affirmatively and said, “Where are you going?”
“To get Dana out of jail, someone just tried to kill him.”
Chapter 15
Earlier that same day...
Rays of California sunshine opened Dana’s eyes. He was in solitary, kept away from the prison population for his own safety. Placed in a double sized prison cell with a window usually reserved for prison librarians or trustees, Dana gazed out the small opening at the blue, white dotted, sky. A loud banging noise coming from his cell door caused him to sit up. It was the Ombudsman. He held a package in his hands and grinned. “You know I don’t often envy prisoners,” he said, “but man you are one lucky guy”. He opened the cell door and handed Dana the parcel.
Dana took the taped up box and sat down. “Yeah, lucky, I suppose so.”
“I mean that girl of yours, Kelsey. Man, she is something special.”
“It’s too bad she got mixed up with the not so special likes of me.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She sure thinks you’re special.”
Dana examined the outside of the box for a pull tab or some way of taking off the top. “How am I going to open it?” he said.
“Oh yeah,” the Ombudsman reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pocket knife. He started to reach for the package and then stopped. Instead, he tossed the knife to Dana, “You open it; it’s your package.”
Dana smiled back and opened the knife. He carefully slit the top edges of the box and lifted it off. It was filled with washcloths, packs of soap, combs, and snacks.
“Thanks,” Dana said as he handed the Ombudsman back his knife.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. My kid, and every kid he knows, thinks you’re special. It’s hard to believe I am standing here with you Dana. You’re famous.”
Dana laughed.
“What’s funny?” the Ombudsman said.
“A cop with kids who have a convicted felon for a hero, kind of ironic, isn’t it?”
“I’m not a cop, I am prison employee. Besides, everyone screws up now and then.”
“Second degree manslaughter isn’t exactly what I’d call screwing up. It’s major. And I hurt a lot of other people besides Mike.”
“He must have drove you to it, is all I can say.”
Dana hung his head. “He didn’t drive me to do anything. I’ve always liked to get into a good scrap. I’ve got a problem with self-control. You should tell your kids the truth about me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I belong here and I am not a hero. You don’t want your kids looking up to me. I can’t change, not really. I try not to like fighting, but I can’t help it.”
“Is it like you said, Dana, did you kill that Tanner kid?”
“No, I didn’t. But I gave everyone around me, including the cops, every reason to believe I did kill him. I am not too proud of that.”
“Then why did you take the plea?”
“It’s a long story and I don’t think Detective Fleming would want me to say any more-no offense.”
“I get you, none taken.”
Dana nodded his head. He picked up the box and began sorting out the items on his bed. The Ombudsman sat down on the cot across from Dana.
“Hey, what’s this under your bunk?” He reached down under the mattress and picked up a black, hardbound, Bible. The pages were dog-eared and worn. The Ombudsman thumbed through it and said, “Look at all these notes and underlines in your Bible.” He set the worn text on the lamp table next to Dana’s bunk. “So how come a man who’s been through all you’ve been through can still believe this mumbo jumbo?”
Dana smiled and then pointing at his Bible he said, “It belongs to that special girl, you like, Kelsey Tanner. She’s got me doing Bible lessons with her. That’s the least I can do for her. She saved my life you know.”
“How’s that?”
“If it hadn’t been for her I probably wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.”
“Wow,” a look of astonishment and then confusion filled the Ombudsman’s face. “I didn’t mean to – ”
“It’s okay.”
The Ombudsman picked up a bar of soap from Dana’s bunk. “I’ll help you unpack your goodies.” He walked over to the sink and the other end of the cell. Then he stopped, turned around, and said, “You know Dana, no matter what you think, you are a special guy.” He paused for a moment, laughed, and then he continued, “Cyrus thinks I need to keep you away from the prisoners. He’s crazy; you are the most popular inmate at CMC. I pity any fool who tries to hurt you. The prisoners here will eat him alive.”
He turned back around and placed the bar of soap on the tray above the sink and then he narrowed his eyes. After he studied the large misshapen white bar for a few moments he said, “Hey, this bar of soap looks about twice the size of the usual ones.” He turned around and took a step toward Dana, who was sitting on his bunk holding up a toothbrush. “Hey,” the Ombudsman said, “that toothbrush is motorized. Those are not permitted in prisoner packages. Let me see that.”
Dana stood up and handed him the toothbrush. Then he sat back down and said, “Is there something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” The Ombudsman held up the toothbrush and examined it closely. “It looks like the one I have at home. I guess maybe they changed the list. It happens.”
He put his thumb on the push button and pressed it down. Dana heard a soft whirring sound followed instantly by a deafening, sharp crack, like thunder. A bright flash of white and orange light engulfed the Ombudsman’s silhouette for an instant and then the force of the explosion lifted his body and flung it into Dana, pinning him against the bars of the cell. He felt the warm blood from the Ombudsman’s shredded back pour down his legs and his chest. The stench of burning flesh mixed with a noxious odor of sulfur made him gag. The Ombudsman’s pale, lifeless, face was next to his, eyes and mouth frozen open, as if he had tried to scream.
When Cyrus arrived at CMC, two EMTs were loading the gurney with Ombudsman’s body into an ambulance. Cyrus stopped them and pulled back the cover. He paused, examining the cadaver for several minutes before he recognized it, and then he said to the EMT, “Was anyone else hurt?”
“One of the prisoners is in the infirmary with minor wounds. This guard here took most of the blast. Saved the prisoner’s life.”
“Where are you taking the corpse?”
“County Morgue in Santa Barbara.”
“Thanks.” Cyrus headed for the main lobby of the prison. Before he could reach the entrance he was met by Bernie Frizell, who held out a partially melted piece of toothbrush. “This was the detonator,” he said to Cyrus. “Someone got it into the Packages R Us parcel. It’s all phony. We inventoried the box and found everything but the bar of soap. That was probably the plastique.”
“What do you mean by phony?”
“Well the box is from Packages R Us, an authorized prison vendor, but the box was taped shut. They’re never taped. This tooth brush is-or at least was- motorized. That’s not allowed. This is what set off the bomb.”
“How?”
“EMI, or electromagnetic interference.”
“What the
hell are you talking about?”
“The tooth brush motor sends out random radio waves. They interfere with other electronic gizmos. In this case it was a detonator. There was a receiver in a soap box filled with plastique that detected the radio waves and then boom. These toothbrushes put out a lot of random radio waves. I set off the fire alarm in my hotel once with one of these things.”
“But you’re sure the package is authentic?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“Where’s the person in prison receiving that checked in the package?”
“What’s left of him is in that ambulance pulling out behind you.”
“Damn, did anyone see who delivered the package?”
“Yes, the guard in the reception lobby.”
“What’d he say he looked like?”
Bernie took out his notebook and started reading, “The guard said he was short, dark hair, wore a baseball cap, an Hawaiian shirt, and he had his hair done up in a pony tail.”
“Thanks, I got to go,” Cyrus said as he turned back toward the parking lot.
“Where are going? You just arrived.”
“I think I can track them down.”
“Track who?”
“The two dirt bags responsible for this, that’s who, they are probably following the ambulance to make sure they killed Dana. Put out an APB for a black Ford 350 with a vanity tag that says GREEN.”
Bernie nodded and turned back to the prison entrance.
“One more thing, Bernie,” Cyrus called out.
After making only a couple of steps, Bernie stopped and turned around, “What’s that?”
“Get a couple of uniforms to guard Dana. Tell him I am coming back to get him out of here.”
“You better hurry or you’ll never get to your car. Look behind you.”
When Cyrus turned around, he was confronted with the sight of a small platoon of reporters and TV cameramen marching towards him.
“Bernie, I need you to help me out of this. I’ve got to go after those two freaks. The Ombudsman was a good friend of mine.”
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