A Deadly Legacy

by Julie Vail

  “Keep me posted,” Dale said. He wasn’t in uniform today, which meant he was lying low. He only wore the blues when he had meetings or was going out into the community. He had dumped his tie the minute he walked in, much like I wanted to do on any given day.

  “A home invasion at the crack of fucking dawn? Jesus, can’t these morons wait till the goddamn night shift?” Gonz was cranky.

  “I’ll call the waaambulance for ya,” I said grabbing my coffee.

  He gave me one of his big smiles, then said as we were walking to the parking lot, “Wonder if it’s the same crew?”

  “That’d be nice. Solve it and shelve it.”

  “Yeah, brother.”

  Gonz made a left on Palms, and stopped at a house at Palms and 6th. Patrol cars were scattered up and down the street blocking off Palms completely between 6th and 7th. They pulled the yellow tape away so we could drive up close to the house. A rash of home invasions had hit the area over the last six months. They do nothing extraordinary. They knock, someone opens the door, they barge in. Once they gain entry to the house, four of five guys would bust in, tie everyone up and rip the place blind. Then they would beat and rape the occupants if they felt they had some time to kill. This was new, though. They had never killed anyone, and they never struck in the morning.

  We parked cockeyed. It made us look important. We walked up to the house. The coroner was hovering over the body of a man in his fifties.

  “What have we got, Scott?” Absolutely no one thought that was funny except me—and Scott. Scott was one of the chief examiners in the coroner’s office. He had a keen eye for what wasn’t obvious, and I loved hearing his take on what he thought was going on. He was usually right in the end, after we had killed ourselves coming to the same conclusion.

  “Shot twice, looks like the fatal shot was to the heart.” It usually was. “They beat the hell out of him, too. Multiple contusions to the face and head. Lots of anger here, detective. Not like the others.”

  I nodded and looked around the room. “Witnesses?” I asked the officer standing to my right. I recognized him from the Stone the night Gonz and I had our confrontation with Officer Laborteaux.

  “Wife and son. They’re in here.” I followed the officer into the dining room where a woman of about the same age as the decedent sat with her head in her hands. Her son sat next to her in a daze. He looked to be in his late teens.

  I looked around one more time before I spoke. “Ma’am, I’m Detective John Testarossa, and this is my partner Detective Gonzales. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Evelyn Hagen and this is my son, Todd. My husband, Joe . . .” and she started to sob.

  “Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Two men . . . they came in that door over there.” She pointed to a sliding glass door that led into the back yard. “I was in the garage putting clothes in the dryer, and I walked back in just as they were . . .” Her sobs wracked her body.

  I turned to one of the patrolmen standing there. “Make sure the backyard is secured. I don’t want anyone tramping through there before we get a chance to check it out, okay?” He nodded and went and stood by the sliding glass door, then radioed for another patrolman to stand by the back gate. A patrolman who can figure out what the fuck I’m saying without me having to translate it into toddler-talk is a useful patrolman. I turned back to Mrs. Hagen. “Take your time,” I said, sitting down in the chair next to her.

  “. . . Just as they were walking in.”

  I felt Gonzo shift, then he said, “Todd, why don’t you and I go over here and have a talk, okay?” He saw something that I didn’t. Not many cops had the gut instincts that Mark Gonzales had, so I trusted that he was walking a road not traveled by others, and that a destination would be upon us soon. He was that good.

  “Go on, please,” I coaxed.

  “Well, I’m not sure what happened next. Everything happened so fast. They both had guns and they yelled for me to get on the floor, which I did. Right here.” She pointed to an area between the living room and the dining table where we sat. “Then my husband came out of the bedroom, and . . .” She couldn’t go on.

  “I know. I know,” I said, rubbing her back.

  “Then the one wearing the black beanie shot him. I don’t know why. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, he was no threat.” She shook her head. “Why did he shoot my husband?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Hagen, but we’re going to find out for you, okay?” I paused so that she could regain some composure. It was crucial that we get as much information out of her now as possible. She would remember more later on, after the shock wore off, but now it was important to get the details. “What happened next?”

  “Well, I started screaming and one of the men put a gun to my head and told me to shut up or I’d be next.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Black—African-American, shaved head, one of those rags on his head.”

  “How old were they?”

  “Late teens. No older than twenty.”

  This was definitely not the work of the home invasion crew who’d worked the area for the last year or so. What I was sure of was that it wasn’t random. “Where was your son during all of this?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. One of the men held a gun on me, but I was looking at Joe. I didn’t see the other guy until . . . one of them said ‘let’s go’ and that was it. They left the way they came.” She sat with her hands cupped over her mouth. “Then Todd came out and saw his father, and then we called you and . . .”

  “Todd came out of where?”

  “From behind me. As soon as he came out I got up.”

  “Did he come from the bedroom?”

  “Maybe . . . I don’t know. I think so, yes.”

  “Did you see the two men take anything? Did they have anything in their hands when they left?”

  “No, not that I noticed.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Hagen. Sometimes when a person has received a shock like this, the details can be foggy. So, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to talk to you more a little later. Would that be okay?” I kept my hand on her shoulder as I spoke, and she put her hand over mine without looking at me, and nodded.

  “Okay.” I got up and wandered over to where Gonzo was just finishing up with the kid.

  “Something’s fucked up here, John. That kid knows more than he’s telling me. This was not a home invasion, I can tell you that much. And it wasn’t our guys.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “What did you get out of mom?”

  I repeated what Mrs. Hagen had told me.

  “So this wasn’t a robbery,” Gonz remarked after I had finished. He scanned the room while we spoke. “They walk away with nothing after they shoot an unarmed man, and the kid—Todd—materializes after the shit goes down.”

  “You’re thinking they were after him?”

  “I’m moving down that path.”

  “I’ll follow. What now?”

  “I want to search that kid’s room, and I want to talk to him again.”

  We backed off and let the coroner take Joe Hagen’s body to the morgue. Then we got Mrs. Hagen to go with a neighbor and we asked Todd to stay with us. We read him his rights and he refused a lawyer. We found he was actually 19, so we didn’t need to have his mother around while we questioned him. Two patrol cars stayed to back us up. One car, Adam-6, belonged to Mason Laborteaux and his partner, Sebby Castro. They secured the perimeter, while another pair watched our boy while we searched the house with the SID guys. Gonz and I stepped outside. It was starting to drizzle now, a metallic smell filling the air. The sooner we could cut the patrol guys loose, the happier I’d be—especially Laborteaux. While Todd sat in the back of a patrol car and we waited for SID to finish up, Gonz perched his ass on the hood of his car, lit a cigarette, and started to plan lunch.

  “Where are we going for lunch, brother? Please give me something to look forward to.” I cracked up. I was n
ever sure what was more important to Gonzo, food or sex. I wasn’t sure how much sex he was getting lately, but I knew that if this big man didn’t get food soon, we’d all be in trouble. So, Gonzo and I discussed lunch, where we would go, and what, exactly, we would have. As he talked, you’d have thought he was relating a recent sexual fantasy, when it was only food.

  The SID guys were coming out the front door now with their silver cases and their manila envelopes filled with God only knew what. I had called and filled Dale in and told him Gonz and I would be staying behind to look the place over some more. Something stunk with this case, and I wanted to find its source. Dale said he would send Alex and Mike Shin over to help. I parked the car parallel to the curb as everyone started to clear out. Alex and Mike would be here soon. Another pair or two of eyes never hurt.

  Gonz and I went back inside. We let one patrol car go. A-6 was still securing the property.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked Gonz.

  “I dunno. Drugs, maybe. This kid was involved in something. These yahoos wanted him. I’m sure of it.” Gonz scanned the room while we spoke. He was always looking around, rarely in the eye of the person he was addressing, unless it was just us, out on my deck.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking the same. You want to take his room and I’ll take him?”

  “Yeah. If we get nothin’ here, maybe our freshly painted interrogation room will help him with his memory.”

  I nodded.

  “Should I let the patrol guys in back go?”

  “Nah. Not yet.” I started to turn away, then thought of something. “Hey.”

  He turned toward me, raised his head, and looked me in the eye.

  “Come on over tonight,” I said finally. “We’ll have a few beers.”

  “I’ll have to check my calendar.” And then he laughed.

  I stepped outside the house just as Alex and Mike rode up. I filled them in, and they both glanced in the car at the kid, who was now looking pretty shook up.

  “I’m gonna chat with this one here. You wanna go inside and help Gonz?”

  “Yeah,” said Alex. “Where’s patrol?” He gestured toward the black-and-white.

  “Out back. Gonna cut ‘em loose soon. Suspects went out the back, so they were securing the scene.”

  “I’ll tell ‘em,” Alex said, and started up the walk.

  “Hey,” I said. Alex turned around. “Gonz is coming by tonight. Why don’t you both come, too.”

  “You cookin’?” Mike asked.

  “Not likely”

  Alex chuckled and continued up the walk as two shots rang out, loud, deep. Those were followed by two more shots, high-pitched. I would remember this later, but not at the time. No, not at the time. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, including us. Shin drew his weapon, but I held him.

  “Call it in,” I shouted. I heard him calling in a code three shots fired and then telling the kid to get down on the floor of the car. Alex and I ran up to the house with guns drawn. My feet felt like lead. It was like a dream. We entered, and I could smell the gunpowder in the air. I ran through the living room, into the dining area, through the sliding doors and into the back yard. A body lay just outside the doors. A patrolman was leaning over him.

  Mason Laborteaux.

  Mark Gonzales lay on the ground, and another man lay ten feet into the yard. Laborteaux held Gonzo’s head in his arms and looked up at me.

  “Get off!” I holstered my gun as Laborteaux’s partner came running from the side of the yard.

  “What the. . . . Oh, fuckin’A. Labby, what happened?”

  I pushed Laborteaux out of the way and knelt next to Gonzo.

  “Gonz. Oh, God . . . c’mon, buddy.”

  Alex came out through the door. “Oh, fuck . . .” He knelt down, too.

  “Secure Laborteaux’s weapon, and find out what the fuck happened here.” I didn’t recognize my own voice.

  I heard Alex walking away with Mason Laborteaux as his partner felt the pulse of the other man who lay, presumably, dead. I could see now he was barely a man—if he was over 18 I’d be shocked.

  He wore a black beanie and he held a gun in his lifeless hand. I looked down at Gonz. A small hole stood out against the white of his shirt. Blood oozed out, mixing perfectly with maroon stripes that ran vertically. His gun was still fastened in its holster.

  I suddenly felt very cold, like someone had just turned up the air. The smell of a freshly fired gun penetrated the air, even though we were outside. The sun was coming through the large jacaranda tree that took up most of the yard. The shadows danced over his body, as birds chirped in the tree. Somewhere off in the distance, a child was crying.

  Then Gonzo began to convulse.

  “C’mon, Gonz, hang on . . .” I yanked my jacket off and covered him. “Hang on, man. Hang on, brother.”

  Laborteaux’s partner approached. Sebby Castro. I recognized him from The Stone.

  “Detective . . .”

  “Call an ambulance,” I said, calm, cool, collected . . .

  Blood began to dribble out of Gonzo’s mouth, and he looked so small all of a sudden, like the fade at the end of a B movie. He was in shock, and I knew, after seeing as many gunshot wounds as I did in my career, that the seemingly innocuous ones could be as fatal as the gaping, nasty, guts-oozing-out ones. This one had done more damage than was evident.

  Alex came over and knelt next to Gonz. Shin came out through the glass doors, and knelt down as well. I couldn’t hear anything, only the rasping breath coming from Mark Gonzales.

  “Stay with us, buddy. Goddammit, Gonzo. You stay with us,” Alex whispered. Tears were running down his face.

  Gonzo tried to speak, and I took his hand in mine. “Laabooo . . . maaaasss . . .”

  “Okay. Just take it easy now. You’re gonna be fine, Gonz.” Tears streamed from his eyes. Then he looked up at me.

  I pressed my forehead against his. “Oh, Jesus . . . c’mon, buddy, don’t do this . . . fuck, don’t do this to me, please.”

  “Johnny.” Blood continued to run out of his mouth, and tears ran down the side of his face and into his ears. “Damn, Johnny. D-d-damn.” And then he coughed, spraying blood into my face and onto my shirt.

  We knelt there beside him forever as we waited for him to take that last gasp. He held on as a siren sounded outside. Within seconds, the paramedics were tending to him. As soon as they could, they loaded him onto a bed and moved him toward the rig. Out front, several patrol cars had converged, and Captain Dale was there, too. He watched silently as the gurney carrying Detective Mark Gonzales passed him.

  I got into the back of the rig with the gurney. As the ambulance sped away, I could see the light in Gonzo’s eyes start to fade.

  The ride seemed to take forever, and finally we rode up into the ambulance bay at the hospital. Doctors and nurses were outside waiting, and as they took him out and I jumped down, I almost didn’t see Karen standing there. It had been more than a month since I’d seen or spoken to her. Our last conversation hadn’t gone well.

  She looked at me, then down at him.

  “He’s going,” someone else said, and she climbed on top of him and began pushing on his chest while others pushed the gurney through the doors.

  They pushed him further inside as different voices began shouting out information about BP’s and vitals, and GSW’s . . . it was all gibberish to me. They pushed him into a room and transferred his large body onto another bed, then just as quickly Karen came to me and said, “Out.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Let me work, Johnny. I’ll find you.” I looked into her eyes and realized just how long it had been—more than a day was eons to me.

  I stuck my finger in her face. “You fix him, goddammit.”

  Her eyes bore into me. “Out now.” And then she placed her palm against my cheek.

  I stepped out into the hall and paced. A nurse I’d met before but whose name I couldn’t recall right now said, “Detective, we no
tified Doctor Gennaro as soon as we heard your partner was coming in. He’s in good hands. Can I get you anything?”

  “No.” I thanked her as an afterthought. I paced the hall, resisting the urge to go in there and tell Karen how to do her work. Within minutes, they burst through the door again. She was walking alongside the gurney.

  “I’m taking him to surgery, John. I’ll find you.” And she disappeared with him into the elevator. I took the next one. I wasn’t going to just sit around. That was for goddamned sure.

  I found my way into Operating Theater #3 and I watched from above as they all stood around Gonzo, trying to save him.

  “Doctor, we have company,” someone said, and Karen turned around and looked up. The microphone was on since this was a teaching hospital and students often sat up here and observed surgeries. Chairs were arranged in a semi circle so the students could see what was going on down below in the OR. I was the only one up here now. Karen turned her attention back to Gonzo.

  “He’s fine,” she said. “He can stay.”

  Everything was a blur. I saw her arms and hands moving quickly, grabbing the gleaming instruments up, then just as quickly throwing the dull, blood-covered things to the floor. Gauze pads and rags continued to litter the floor as she tried, in vain, to stop the bleeding. Her body moved like a dancer, instinct guiding her every move. Hers was a body I had come to know intimately, and so I knew when the moment had come, the moment when it was over. Her shoulders slumped, her head lowered, and the green spikes that crossed the monitor a moment ago became a straight line.

  I don’t want to be here, like this. Gonz said this to me the same day I saw Karen for the first time. I remembered how she had affected me then, and how she still affected me now. It was a lifetime ago, that day.

  How many more fuckin’ funerals can we go to? he had asked me. God, what I wouldn’t give for one more day like that, one more night.

  Oysters and scotch and friends.

  She pulled her mask down off her face, then turned around and walked out of the room while interns closed him up. I took a chair and threw it across the room.

  By the time I left the observation theater, the operating room where Mark died was empty, except for his body, which the clean-up crew had covered with a white sheet. I walked down the stairs and paced the large hall outside the room where my friend and colleague took his last breath. I was waiting to talk to Karen.