Cross Examination

by James C. Gray

  "Go on," Jerrod said.

  "Anyways. Alan said he heard the dad was strangled, on the floor of his bedroom, with the sash from a blue bathrobe. That's all I know."

  "Did he say who he got that information from?" Stan asked.

  "I assumed it was from Donny," she said.

  "Thank you, Patty," Jerrod said.

  * * *

  "Are you absolutely sure the info about the blue sash was never released?" Stan asked as Jerrod pulled the Buick out of the DiStefano's driveway.

  "That was our 'keeper,'" Jerrod said. "Only people at the scene or directly involved in the investigation knew about that little tid-bit. If Donny knew about it, he has to be involved."

  "Let's go talk to Alan DiStefano."

  "Alan DiStefano, please," Jerrod asked the fifty year-old receptionist at the office of a Valle Verde produce brokerage firm.

  "And who are you?" she asked with a protective tone.

  Jerrod took a business card from his shirt pocket and slid it across the reception counter.

  "Oh," she said, "May I tell him what this visit is about?"

  "No, you may not," Jerrod said in the same tone she had used.

  She picked up the receiver of her desk phone and punched in four numbers.

  "Mr. DiStefano. There are two men... detectives... here to see you."

  She listened to the phone. "I don't know," she said. She listened more and said "okay" before hanging up.

  "He said he'll be right out. Please have a seat."

  "Thank you very much," Jerrod said.

  Alan DiStefano pushed open a large wooden door to the lobby and waved to the two investigators to join him.

  "I wasn't expecting a visit like this," Alan said. "We can talk in my office."

  "That'll be fine," Jerrod said.

  The office was spacious and furnished in a contemporary style. A big, black wood desk sat in the middle of the room. A big leather executive chair sat behind the desk. Two black chairs, in an oddly smaller scale than the desk, sat in front and facing the desk.

  "This is a little nicer than a bar stool at The CrowBar," Stan said.

  Alan laughed. "Yes it is. I'm not sure why I still go there. Kind of a habit, I guess."

  "We talked to your wife this morning," Jerrod said.

  "I'm sorry you had to do that," Alan said. "How drunk was she?"

  "She shouldn't drive a car," Stan said.

  "But she will," Alan said.

  "She called the Sheriff's office this morning--," Jerrod said.

  "We only argued this morning," Alan interrupted. "We argue all the time. I've never touched her in anger. She's been threatening to divorce me for the last five years."

  "That's not what she was reporting," Stan said.

  "Why did she call you guys?"

  "She told us," Jerrod said, "you told her some information about the Walter Jelinski homicide we have never released to the public."

  "I'm not following," Alan said.

  "She said you knew," Stan said as he paused to chose his words carefully, "how Mr. Jelinski was murdered and the 'item' used to do it."

  "Oh, the bathrobe... cord... thing," Alan said with a matter-of-fact shrug.

  "Yes," Jerrod said. "Where did you learn that? Donny?"

  "I haven't talked to Donny since his dad died," Alan said.

  "Where did you hear about the bathrobe sash?" Stan asked.

  "At the bar."

  "The CrowBar?" Jerrod asked.

  "Yes."

  "Who told you about it?" Stan asked.

  "Some guy just sitting at the bar. We were talking about the time you two came in and interviewed me and Dominic Hathaway. He overheard us and started talking about the old man getting strangled with the blue bathrobe sash-thing."

  "Do you know this guy's name?" Jerrod asked.

  "No."

  "Describe him," Stan asked.

  'Young guy. Skinny. I think he's a firefighter."

  * * *

  Timothy "Tim" Chaisson was on-duty at the South County Fire station when Jerrod and Stan arrived at twelve-thirty. He was rolling some fire hose in the driveway when the two investigators approached him.

  "Tim," Jerrod said. "We'd like to talk to you about a little situation we have."

  "Am I getting arrested?" Timothy asked.

  "Depends," Stan said.

  In the station break room, they all sat down around a table.

  "Tim?" Jerrod asked. "You were the firefighter who climbed through the window at the Jelinski house back in October. Correct?"

  "Yes."

  "And found Walter had been killed?" Jerrod added.

  "Yes."

  "And you saw the item used to strangle Mr. Jelinski?" Stan asked.

  "Yes."

  "Do you frequent The CrowBar?" Jerrod asked.

  "Sometimes," Tim gulped.

  "And did you happen to mention that 'item' from the crime scene to anyone at the bar?" Stan asked.

  "I don't think so," Tim said.

  "Are you sure?" Jerrod said.

  "I may have mentioned something," Tim said as he gulped again.

  "When was that?" Stan asked.

  "These guys were talking about the murder and I... I said I had been there... at the scene."

  "And?" Jerrod asked.

  "They started asking me questions and I... may have... said something about the bathrobe thing."

  "May have?" Stan asked.

  "I'm pretty sure I did," Tim said. His eyes looked back and forth between Jerrod and Stan. "Am I going to jail?"

  "No," Jerrod said. "But your big mouth just caused us a huge problem."

  * * *

  "Still the best carne asada in the area," Jerrod said before taking the first bite of his burrito.

  Jerrod and Stan sat at a small table inside Garcia's Mexican Food near downtown Valle Verde.

  "Pretty damn good," Stan said after he swallowed the first bite of his burrito.

  "The first time I met Oso -- it was in this restaurant," Jerrod said as he nodded toward the front door. "We had a little tug-of-war at the screen door over there."

  Stan glanced at the door. "Hopefully he's off to prison in Lompoc or somewhere equally fun doing federal time. What a piece of work he was. Should have seen him in court. Five bailiffs around him just in case he went off."

  Jerrod sipped his Coke. "I thought we had something going on the Jelinski case this morning... with that bathrobe thing."

  "Me too," Stan said. "Now we're back to zero."

  CHAPTER 65

  January16, 1991 -- Wednesday Morning Meeting

  Mitchell T. Sullivan was seated at his uncluttered desk. Jacket on. "There was a homicide in the south county last night." He looked at Brent Rozman. "Sergeant, please catch everyone up on the situation."

  Brent cleared his throat and sat up in his chair at the table. "Well, Patrol got called to a trailer park just outside the Valle Verde city limits last night. An elderly man was found, dead, in the bedroom, by a family member who went there to check on him. The victim's name was Marian Jones. He went by the name of 'Hank.' He was seventy-five years old."

  The "elderly man dead in his bedroom" part got Jerrod Gold's attention as he thumbed through the stack of property-related crime reports the lieutenant had left for him. An image of Walter Jelinski laying on his bedroom floor with the bathrobe sash around his neck popped into his head.

  "The grandson, Jordan Jones," Brent continued, "had checked on Hank about noon and everything was fine. He came back around seven o'clock and found Hank's car gone from the carport. He said that was weird because Hank never drives after dark."

  Detective Calvin Yee nodded.

  "Jordan decided to check the trailer anyway," Brent said, "and knocked on the door. Hank didn't answer, so he tried the door and found it unlocked -- which was also very weird. He went inside and found Hank laying on the bed, with his head bloodied, dead."

  "How was he killed?" Detective Bryce "Zippy" Zippich asked.
r />   "It looks like," Brent said, "there was a struggle and Hank was struck over the head with a heavy object."

  "Was there any property taken from the trailer?" Detective Nate Boxley asked.

  "A TV and a VCR were taken and, as I mentioned, Hank's car is missing. It's a light blue Mercury Monarch. Two-door. 1976 model."

  The lieutenant asked, "A neighbor saw someone at the trailer. Correct, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, sir," Brent said. "A neighbor, she's eighty years old, lives in the trailer next door. She said she came outside and saw a man loading something into the trunk of the Monarch. That was around four o'clock. She talked to him for a second before he drove off in the car."

  "What did the guy look like?" Jerrod asked.

  "White guy," Brent said. "Forties. Tall. Thin. Facial hair."

  "Think the witness can do an artist sketch?" Jerrod asked.

  "Maybe," Brent said. "I plan on calling the artist right after the meeting."

  The lieutenant asked, "How much does a rendering cost, Sergeant?"

  "About two hundred bucks, sir," Brent said.

  "Make sure the witness is capable of completing the sketch before committing the artist," the lieutenant added.

  "Yes, sir," Brent said.

  Detective Marshall "Beach" Sutton groaned.

  "Something to add, Detective?" the lieutenant asked Beach.

  "No, sir," Beach said. "Uh... my foot went to sleep. Sorry."

  The lieutenant asked Sergeant Ted Lindsey, "What time did you finish the crime scene last night?"

  "Shroom... uh... CSU finished with the scene at about eleven-thirty," Ted said. "We made the body removal around midnight and I left the morgue around one, sir."

  "Has the autopsy been scheduled?" the lieutenant asked.

  I called Doctor Torosian last night. I don't know when he plans on doing the autopsy, sir,"

  "Try to get it done during normal business hours," the lieutenant suggested.

  "Yes, sir," Ted said.

  "Sergeant Rozman will be working on this homicide," the lieutenant said. 'Everyone else has their normal duties to attend to."

  After the morning meeting, Jerrod walked into Brent's office and closed the door behind him. "What the hell, Brent?"

  "What?"

  "No call last night? I was ten minutes away from the scene."

  "Sullivan said we had enough people out there at the scene already. I'd have called everyone and we would have worked all night. You know that."

  "I guess this is how its going to be from now on," Jerrod said.

  "Guess so."

  At ten-thirty, Linda came to the Property Crimes office door. "Sergeant," she said.

  "What's up?" Jerrod asked.

  "You need to see something interesting on this new homicide case."

  "Okay," he said -- having learned to listen to Linda whenever she found something "interesting" on any case.

  She walked across the office and spread some papers on his desk.

  "The victim from last night was named 'Marian Jones.' He went by the nickname of 'Hank.'"

  "Okay."

  "He was found dead by his grandson -- Jordan Jones," she said.

  Jerrod nodded.

  "Jordan Jones' father, and the son of Hank Jones, is named William Jones," Linda continued. "He goes by 'Billy.' Billy is married to a woman named 'Alexis.'"

  "I'm sorry," Jerrod said. "You're losing me here."

  "'Alexis Jones,''' Linda said. "She used to have another last name before she married Billy."

  "And?"

  "It was 'Usher,'" she said. "She is Nicholas Usher's ex-wife. Billy Jones was the guy Nick Usher beat the crap out of. You looked at Nick Usher in the Jelinski murder."

  "Where's Brent?" Jerrod asked.

  "He's down in Valle Verde getting the artist sketch done with the neighbor."

  "Tell me as soon as he gets back to the office."

  "Okay."

  Jerrod pulled out his file on the Jelinski murder and found the color booking photo of Nicholas Usher. White. Forties. Tall. Thin. Facial hair.

  An hour later, Jerrod answered his ringing desk phone.

  "Brent's on his way in from the parking lot," Linda said.

  Jerrod met Brent as soon as he walked into the Investigations Division. He held the photo of Nick Usher by his side. "Linda came up with something doing background on the victim's family."

  "What?"

  "Did you get a sketch done?" Jerrod asked.

  "Yeah. The witness was great."

  "Let me see it," Jerrod said.

  Brent pulled out the ten-inch by twelve-inch pencil rendering of a man's face as Jerrod held out the photo of Nick Usher.

  Brent looked at the photo and back at the sketch. Three words came out: "Holy fucking shit."

  CHAPTER 66

  In the lieutenant's office, Jerrod and Brent outlined the Nick Usher connection between the Jelinski and Jones murder cases. Darrell Renger and Linda sat in on the meeting.

  Mitchell Sullivan asked Jerrod, "This is the same person who was at the Jelinski house the day of the murder and subsequently passed a polygraph. Correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And he has a past violent criminal background against a member of the Jones family?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And this man is a dead-ringer for the witness sketch this morning?"

  Brent interceded, "Detective Moreno's preparing a photo lineup with Usher in it right now, sir. We'll be running right back down to Valle Verde to show it to the neighbor."

  Darrell Renger had been quiet during the meeting to that point. He looked at Brent. "I hope this guy, Usher, is your killer." He then turned to Jerrod and canted his block head. "But it would be too bad that a second old-guy had to die to get him off the street."

  "Funny you mention that... Einstein," Jerrod said. "Hadn't even occurred to me."

  A brief stare-off between Jerrod and Darrell was interrupted when Jeff Moreno walked into the office. "The line-up's ready," he said as he plopped the photo array on the table.

  "Nice," Brent said. "Good line-up."

  Jeff Moreno smiled.

  Six color MCSO jail booking photos had been expertly placed in a manila file folder with six small windows cut into it. When the file was viewed, three photos appeared along the top, marked #1, #2, and #3, and three below, marked #4, #5, and #6. All six photos had captured the faces of six men -- all white, all in their late thirties or early forties, all with dark hair, and all with facial hair. The photo containing Nick Usher's photo had been placed in the #4 position.

  Brent looked to Jerrod. "Let's give this a go."

  Jerrod met Brent at the Valle Verde trailer park and followed him onto the front porch of the single-wide trailer next to the one in which Marian "Hank" Jones had been found dead the night before.

  "The witness' name is 'Mitzi,'" Brent said as he knocked on the trailer door. "'Mitzi Orosz.'"

  The door opened and a fragilely thin woman stood in the doorway being supported by a walker.

  "Mitzi," Brent said in a pleasant voice. "This is Sergeant Gold. He's working on Hanks' case with me. May we come in?"

  "Sure," Mitzi said. "I love having company."

  The trailer interior was clean, but cluttered with a life-long collection of memories. Tchotchkes sat atop every flat surface. Family photos hung on every wall.

  "You like that 'dust-catcher,'" Mitzi asked as Jerrod admired a matt-finished porcelain Lladro figurine depicting a woman holding a child. "My daughter gave that to me."

  "It's very nice," he said. "My mother has a few Lladros."

  "Mitzi," Brent said in a careful and deliberate tone. "I'm here again to talk to you about that man you saw yesterday at Hank's car. The fellow we did the sketch of this morning."

  "Yes," she said.

  "Could you get his face visualized in your mind again?" Brent asked.

  Mitzi closed her eyes. "I see him clear as day."

  "Mitzi," Brent continued as Mitzi ope
ned her eyes. "I have the pictures of six men to show you. The picture of the man you saw yesterday may, or may not, be in one of those photographs. Okay. Please look closely at all of the photographs before you say anything about them. You're not under an obligation to pick any picture, but please tell us if you recognize anyone."

  "Okay," Mitzi said.

  Brent pulled out the six-photo line-up as Mitzi adjusted a pair of reading glasses on her nose.

  "Here you go,' Brent said as he handed the line-up to Mitzi.

  Mitzi pivoted slightly to the left to get better light on the line-up and did exactly what most people viewing a line-up tend to do -- started at photograph #1 and worked left to right and top to bottom through to #6. She paused at #3 and studied it for a few seconds before moving to #4. Her mouth made a odd curl as she viewed Nick Usher's photo. She then glanced at #5 and #6 before handed the line-up back to Brent.

  "I'm pretty sure he wasn't any of the men in those pictures," she said confidently.

  "Is there any picture that stands out to you?" Brent asked -- taking great care to conceal his disappointment.

  She looked at the line-up again. "This one," she said as she pointed to photo #3 -- a "filler" photo. "He looks familiar, but I don't remember from where."

  "Thank you, Mitzi," Brent said. "You've have been a great help."

  Outside in the driveway of Mitzi's trailer, Jerrod asked Brent, "Want the good news or the bad news?"

  "I know the bad news," Brent said. "She didn't pick Usher. Can't think of any good news right now."

  "The only good news is: If it's not Usher -- I can tell Regner to go fuck himself."

  Brent laughed. "What does that guy do anyway? Besides kiss the lieutenant's ass."