The explosive device sat dormant underneath Fred’s car, waiting to be pressed into action. A charge of C-4 big enough to blow a large building, connected to a remote switch, it waited for a signal, the wait would soon be over.
Out of nowhere Fred’s BMW exploded into a huge ball of flames, the remnants of the car flying in the air with a deafening sound followed by silence, except for the crackling of the flames that engulfed the twisted vehicle. Fred had been hurled out of the vehicle like a cannon shot, his charred body flaming and smoking as it thudded on the pavement a hundred feet from the metal carnage. The scene was devastating. Another member of the Magnificent Seven was dead, four were left.
The doctor watched from afar as emergency vehicles arrived on the scene and snuffed out the huge fire that raged on for what seemed like hours. He watched them load the charred body in the coroner’s van with a sense of great satisfaction. He could check another one off his list. The list was getting short now indeed. Soon his work would be done.
Chapter Thirty Three
Dr. Morton
Charred remains laid on Dr. Morton’s autopsy table, the smell was horrendous but he was oblivious as he went about his work. Muddering to himself, he rinsed off the body and began picking through the flesh. “My friend it saddens me to see you like this. Wish we could have met under different circumstances. I fear the only conclusion I can draw here is you died from the explosion. Not very exciting but true nonetheless.”
Dr. Morton took photos of the deceased’s teeth for dental identification. It was presumed that the charred body was Fred Sanders, but he wanted to make a positive identification. It was fruitless to do any further examination because for sure the victim didn’t die of natural causes. From the devastation of the body, it was obvious the cause of death was no accident. Death had been caused by an explosion of enormous magnitude. In short he was looking at another homicide.
After finishing up his evaluation and reports Dr. Morton placed the burnt remains in a body bag and securely zipped it up. His work was done, nothing else he could do. He would give his good friend Carson a call. The doctor knew he would find the individual responsible for this poor man’s untimely demise.
Chapter Thirty Four
Frank
Frank Desio pushed his call button for the nurse to come and render assistance. He was still in an enormous amount of pain. The morphine drip was doing some good but he still needed something extra for the pain. He was oblivious to all the mayheim that had transpired while he lay helpless, near death for what seemed like years.
Maria and Bill and of course his daughter, had been by to visit, but they didn’t tell Frank about the deaths of his beloved club members, former brothers-in-arms. Maria had started to act distant, preoccupied. This whole ordeal had weakened an already shaky situation. The frequency of her visits had diminished, down to only stopping by every couple of days for a few minutes.
The bodies had started to pile up. Roy Harris, Rick Sanchez, and now Fred Sanders had gone on to meet their maker. The killer or killers, along with who was behind the attempt on his life, were still as of yet a mystery.
The nurse finally showed up and gave him an additional shot for pain. Frank felt almost ashamed for his weakness of needing and wanting the pain medication so badly. He had always thought of himself as one tough son of a bitch, and was troubled by his dependence on a substance, even one that brought him such welcome relief.
Dinner that night was as usual bland and unappetizing; Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes without salt or pepper and of course no butter, and green beans that were tasteless and had the consistency of rubber. Frank had managed to choke down a few bites of each entrée and had placed the tray on the table. He was feeling a little better and now all he wanted to do was sleep.
Welcome sleep began to overtake his body. Soon he would be totally unconscious. One thing about the medication, it had completely stopped Frank from having the terrible dreams he had been plagued with for so long. Maybe that was part of the reason he loved the drugs so, the peace the medication gave him was worth any price.
Frank was indeed totally out of it as the nurse and a doctor came in to check on him. They checked his vitals and saw that he was doing fine, getting some much needed rest. The doctor was new but no one paid him any attention. Afterall he had on the white coat with the stethoscope around his neck. Why would anyone question his presense?
The nurse left the room and the doctor stayed, checking Frank’s chart and just staring at the patient who was oblivious to him. He went over, checked the I.V. and shook his head like all was well.
Then something very curious happened. The doctor pulled a syringe out of his pocket, checked for an air bubble, squirted the contents out of the needle and bent over to administer a shot into Frank’s right arm.
Frank stirred as the needle entered his arm and the contents were deposited therein. The weirdest thing happened. As the drug was surging through his body, Frank suddenly came to consciousness and was appalled by what he witnessed in those brief moments. He thought it was a nightmare, as usual. Surely what he saw was not real.
Standing over him was a figure he knew somehow. He recognized the apparition, no it couldn’t be. He must be hallucinating from all the drugs. That’s what it was, it had to be. He was barely conscious but he managed to point a finger at the figure that leaned over him and utter a single word, “You?”
And just as quickly as Frank had suddenly awakened, he was back in a deep sleep once again. Maybe he would not return from this rest. He slipped deeper and deeper as the individual who administered the lethal cocktail turned and quietly left the room, leaving Frank spiraling into the darkness.
The nurse just happened to come into his room for something she had forgotten to check. She noticed Frank was in a deep sleep. Just as she had suspected he would be after the additional medication she had given him. She smiled to see him resting so peacefully. She had grown very fond of Frank in the few days he had been her patient. She fluffed up his pillow and made him more comfortable.
But suddenly her smile turned into horror as she checked the monitor for his vitals. His blood pressure had dropped drastically and his pulse had slowed to thirty beats a minute. Frank was dying right before her eyes. It was up to her to save his life. Still looking at the monitor she watched and listened as her patient flatlined.
She pushed the call button repeatedly for help and ran to get a defiberator and grabbed an oxygen mask to put over Frank’s face. She ripped Frank’s gown open and hooked up the shocking device. She yelled, “ clear”, out of habit, although no one had showed up to help as of yet. The current surged through Frank’s body, twitching from the electricity but there was still no response, he was still flat lining.
Luckily the attending pysician and two additional nurse arrived and they sprang into action. They were losing their patient. They had to act fast and decisively.
The doctor who caused all of the disturbance eased down the back stairs unnoticed. His work here was done.
Chapter Thirty Five
Carson and Chuck
The smell of burnt flesh still permeated the air as the detectives entered the morgue once more as per another request from Dr. Morton. Carson, admittedly was getting a little tired of getting calls from the coroner about yet another homicide, the detective’s plate already being full of unsolved cases. They of course didn’t know who the charred victim was who was laid out like human barbeque on the good doctor’s autopsy table.
“Meet Fred Sanders,” Dr. Morton said as the two detectives looked at the remains on the table in horror. “He got himself burned up and blown the hell in a car explosion. It was no accident, I can assure you.”
“Damn doc, can you let us solve one homicide before you call us on another,” Carson growled. “We are really swamped.”
Doctor Morton replied matter of factly, “Just thought you might be interested in this one, that’s all.”
“
And why might that be, doctor?” Chuck just had to ask.
Morton gave sort of of a half laugh and throat clearing reply. “Seems this individual was driving a car at the time of his death that was registered to a Dr. Bill Riley. I think you might know him.”
“Are you shitting us?” Carson said, not believing what he just heard.
“I shit you not,” Morton replied.
Chuck said, echoing Carson’s sentiments, “Damn. Unbelieveable.”
The detectives didn’t know what to think of this latest development. They had seen enough of Fred Sander’s charred body and dead bodies in general, to last them a lifetime. They said their goodbyes to Dr. Morton and gladly left the morgue. The stench of burned flesh would linger with them for quite sometime thereafter. So many dead bodies, so little time.
It was clear to Chuck and Carson that they were dealing with a pyshcopath. One that was bent on the destruction of a select group of men, namely the men who had served in Vietnam with Frank Desio and Dr. Bill Riley.
Dr. Bill Riley, his name kept popping up. Could just be coincidence, but the detectives didn’t believe in those.
Would a murderer blow up his victim while he was driving a car that belonged to him? Seemed unlikely, but still possible. A pyscho might do almost anything. He might, but since the car was demolished and the victim was burned beyond recognition, there of course was no evidence linking anyone to the crime.
Riley had been the number one suspect all along. He had the expertise and the motive to perpetrate these heinous crimes. He had the most to gain from the deaths of the individuals that lay in the morgue and in their graves. Time for another visit, but they were sure by this time his mouth piece was likely to be involved and the good doctor wasn’t going to do any talking.
That being the case they decided to run down the lead the pretty tan lady in the bikini had given them. “Dr. D” was the name she had said was on the personalized license plate. Easy enough to check through the DMV website which the detectives had access to of course.
Back at the office, Chuck punched in the information while Carson looked on, still trying to figure out how computers worked. He was an old school kind of guy and data bases and computer programs were a mystery to him. But Chuck, he was in his element when it came to this sort of thing. He quickly brought up the personalized plate and the corresponding information. The plate was registered to a Doctor Ben Wyen of La Jolla. An Asian guy, just like bikini lady had first said. Interesting the detectives thought, but not anything to get too excited about.
They had an office address so they decided to pay Dr. Wyen a visit. Maybe they could catch him off guard and he might confess to all the crimes. More than likely he was just in the neighborhood visiting a friend or was just out for a jog. It’s a free country, a man can jog pretty much any where he wishes to do so.
The address was in a swank highrise office building in beautiful La Jolla, where the rich people of this area of Southern California live, work and play. It was a gorgeous day as the detectives parked their unmarked unit and walked in awe towards the office complex. This doctor was in the money for sure. He had to be to afford an office at this location.
Carson had always been intimidated by the rich and luxury. He was a simple man who never made more than $60,000 a year in his life. Chuck on the other hand loved the life the rich led and dreamed of being wealthy himself someday. He was an aspiring screenplay writer, who hoped to make it big in Hollywood someday. Everybody’s got to have a dream.
Entering the address, the interior didn’t disappoint. It was every bit as plush and luxurious as the exterior. Marble floors that shined like polished glass greeted them along with walls that looked as if they were made of precious metal. Real paintings, not prints were placed carefully on the walls overlooking their entrance into the building with style. Chuck pushed the up button and the the pair waited patiently for the elevator.
Ding went the elevator bell as the door opened. Even the elevator oozed prosperity, the detectives noted as they entered and Carson pushed the button for the fifth floor. They waited patiently for the elevator to reach their destination in silence looking up at the display showing the floors as they went by.
The door opened to the fifth floor, one filled with numerous offices. Dr. Wyen’s number was 506, to the left as they got off the elevator. A receptionist sat at her desk busy working on her computer and talking on the phone as the detectives entered the plosh offices. She motioned at them to wait for a moment until she was free to help them.
Momentarily she was off the phone, a beautiful young blond, blue eyed beach bunny, showing cleavage the detectives couldn’t help but notice but tried to ignore. She spoke with a somewhat “valley girl”, but at the same time intelligent accent. “Could I help you gentleman?” She tossed her blond hair back from her face as she spoke.
Chuck, of course jumped in to make the introductions. “Yes you could ma’am.” He proceeded to introduce himself and Carson and told her they needed to speak to Dr. Wyen.
Through the course of Chuck’s conversation with the lovely receptionist, the detectives learned that the doctor was a plastic surgeon who did work for the rich and famous, including some movie stars.
Dr. Wyen came out after a few minutes wait. He was short and thin, but strong looking Asian man in his fifties. His hair was short cropped like a military man. He had a noticeable scar under his right eye that was so hideous it betrayed his own profession. They also noticed he had two fingers, the little and ring finger, missing off his right hand. It seemed odd and out of place in the luxurious surroundings with nothing but beauty and perfection.
“I’m Detective Carson and this is my partner Detective Brown,” Carson said by way of introduction holding out his hand. They all shook hands ceremoniously and the doctor recommended that they go to his private office where they could talk away from prying ears and eyes.
“What is this all about gentleman?” Dr. Wyen inquired as they got settled into his private office. “How can I help San Diego’s finest today?”
“We are conducting a homicide investgation into the murder of a Rick Sanchez, who was killed a few days ago. He lived on the 500 block of Sycamore Street in Chula Vista. Did you know him Doctor?” Chuck inquired.
“No I don’t believe I know him, why?” Wyen replied looking somewhat confused.
“A witness saw your Mercedes 300S with the license plate “Dr. D” in the neighborhood the morning Mr. Sanchez was killed,” Carson continued
Laughing, Dr. Wyen answered, “Oh no, I wasn’t in the neighborhood to kill anyone, I have a patient on that street. I just stopped by to check on her on the way to the office. You can ask her if you like. I’ll give you her name. Oh, that’s rich.”
“Murder is not a laughing matter Doctor. We will check with your patient if you don’t mind. Just to eliminate you as a suspect, of course,” Chuck said somewhat peeved.
“I will have my receptionist give you her name and address. I am really very busy. Will there be anything else? You can see yourselves out, I have an important call to make. Good day gentleman.” Dr. Wyen dismissed them like they were school children being let out for recess.
Licking their wounds and trying to recover their pride, Carson and Chuck left the offices of Dr.Wyen, plastic surgeon to the rich and famous movie stars. What had just happened in those offices the detectives couldn’t help but marvel, as they headed towards their car. Being a cocky bastard wasn’t a reason to consider someone a murder suspect but this doctor had a mesmerizing quality they couldn’t quite put their fingers on for some reason. The receptionist had given them the name of his patient the doctor said he was visiting the day Rick Sanchez was killed. They had no doubt the alibi was legitimate. They would check it out nonetheless.
Chapter Thirty Six
Emilio Rodrigues
The bloated body of a young Latino man washed up on the shores of Imperial Beach, He had been dead, from the looks of the damage to th
e corpse, for a few days, but it was hard to tell. He was a big man with lots of jailhouse tats, one prominent one said Rodrigues and was written in bold letters across his broad shoulders. Probably a gang banger, most likely the victim of gang violence associated with the drug business.
Small children playing on the beach, building a sand castle, had to their horror discovered the body. It was a grizzly scene for sure, especially for small children. The body covered with sea weed, and in its bloated condition, looked like some kind of a monster, especially to the little ones who were unfortunate enough to stumble across it that morning.
They immediately ran to tell their folks who were lying on a beach towel, catching rays, enjoying the beautiful Southern California morning. So much for this family’s nice day at the beach. They watched in horror as the coroner’s department people loaded the hideous corpse into the meat wagon, and drove away down the beach. .
The next stop for the death machine was the coroner’s office. Dr. Morton no doubt would be interested to see his latest vistor and uncover the mystery of their untimely demise. He had been very busy of late, just the way he liked it.
Many corpses draped in white sheets, name tags dangling, crowded the coroner’s lab. One individual was stirring in the dark of night, none other than Dr. Morton making his rounds visiting with the newly dead. There were many types of individuals of various sexes, ages and ethnic backgrounds laid out in peace. They all got the same care and consideration in Dr. Morton’s house. They were all his good friends.
Emilio Rodrigues was one among many lying on a table waiting to tell his tale of how and under what circumstances he came to be in this place of final resting. Dr. Morton visited with a few other guests. One gentleman died of a heart attack or so his chart said. A little girl’s mangled body lay on her final bed, a victim of a car crash, very sad. An old lady died of natural causes, she was ninety. These were just a few of his guests that night, along with Emilio.
Delayed Justice Page 10
