“Negative, Detective. It should take you about forty-five minutes to get to Flagstaff with your siren, I’ve got three other units on the way, they should be there in thirty-five minutes. I also called Detective Sommerville to try and get him there sooner.”
“Why Flagstaff?” asked Pratt. “Because it’s at the Rabbi’s home,” the dispatcher replied.
Racing back to his car, Pratt again placed the police light on his dashboard, then hit the switch that started the siren, knowing it would take him some time to get to the house. He sped up to eighty-five miles per hour using Route 66. “Tell those units when they get there, they are not to touch or move anything without putting on their rubber gloves. I don’t want things getting contaminated by their fingerprints. Anyone injured?”
“Negative, the call came in as two shots fired but no injuries. Rabbi Bloom contacted 911,” the dispatcher added.
“Ten-sixty-nine. I’ll be there ASAP.” The dispatcher’s call raised the hairs on the back of the detective’s neck. Another shooting with just two shots and no one hit. Interesting!
He next heard the dispatcher in Sedona, “All units, orders from Detective Pratt, put on your rubber gloves before you touch anything and move nothing from where it is when you get there.”
One of the units responded knowing full well Pratt could hear them. “Tell the detective to kiss our ass, we know how to handle a case. Does he think we just got out of the academy?” Pratt laughed when he heard that response.
Using his siren, Pratt arrived just seventeen minutes later. The Rabbi was standing outside on his lawn and had already given his story to Detective Sommerville and the police officers from Flagstaff and Sedona who arrived before Pratt.
The Rabbi was alarmed at the shooting of his home; now it seemed that he was being targeted again. He remembered the other time they shot the wrong man in front of his synagogue, probably thinking it was him.
“I just don’t understand these shootings. I hope the marshal put you on this case, Detective,” said Bloom.
“He did, and I would have given him some lip if he hadn’t. Tell me what happened, Rabbi.”
“Well, I was just returning to my front door after getting my mail out of the mailbox down by the curb. Suddenly, I heard two gunshots, close enough to graze my ear, but they hit my front door, not me. This guy seems to be lacking target practice, because if he’s trying to kill me, he keeps on missing.”
“You have a sense of humor, Rabbi, considering you were almost killed twice.”
“Apparently, God wasn’t ready for me, yet. When I realized that I wasn’t dead, a tsunami of relief came over me and I guess that’s why I’m able to lighten up a bit.”
Trying to restrain himself, Johnny said respectfully, “Rabbi, this is no joke. Realistically, you may have been murdered because he tried once before.”
“I understand, Detective, and apologize for the remark. I didn’t see who was shooting at me. All I saw was the back of an old greenish pickup truck drive by and then a brown sedan behind it by about fifty yards. I believe that the sedan was too far behind the truck by the time the bullets struck my door. So, if the bullets came from a vehicle, they probably came from the pickup. Then again, I can’t be one hundred percent certain they didn’t come from behind those large shrubs directly across the street in my neighbor’s front yard.”
“Were you hurt at all this time, Rabbi?”
“No, not this time, just confused and frightened.”
Pratt told Bloom, “We’re going to have to remove your door to extract the bullets from it or we can leave the door where it is, but we’ll have to cut some really big square holes into it just to get to the bullets. These bullets are in very deep, and the holes they’ll cut will substantially damage it. Our department’s budget will permit us to replace it for you. I’ll have forensics remove your front door and install a temporary door with a lock until we can replace the door with a new permanent one. I want forensics to look for powder traces in and around the holes in the door.”
“No problem, Detective. Do you think you can have an officer sit in front of my home for a few days and nights, just to make sure there’s no third chance to shoot me?”
“I’ll talk to Detective Sommerville. I’m sure he’ll be able to arrange for your protection.”
Pratt radioed the detective in the gray sedan parked four houses away from the Rabbi’s home to keep an eye on him. “Steve, did you notice a green pickup doing any shooting at the Rabbi?”
“Negative. It happened so fast that when I heard the shots, the vehicle where the shots came from was long gone, or I would have left my post and chased after it.”
“Okay, Steve. I want you to take the first shift of watching his house overnight. Be careful and make sure that no one takes you out before they get to Bloom. And yes, I’ll pay you overtime. Sommerville will have your replacement there by 8:00 a.m. in the morning.”
“Ten-four. I’ll keep my eyes open and follow him if he leaves the house. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”
“Dispatch, I’m heading back to the custodian’s house,” said Pratt.
Thirteen
Pratt immediately called Jason Somerville on his radio; Jason would frequently partner with him on one crime or another. “You need to put out an APB for an old greenish pickup, on Andrew Douglas Road in the Forest Highlands community.”
Within ten minutes a response came back from one of the units. “Detective Sommerville, we stopped an old green pickup. The driver was a white male with a grunge look. A little like Charlie Manson only slightly bald on top. He permitted us to search him and his vehicle. We didn’t find any weapons on him or in the cab of his vehicle. All he had in the truck was shovels, hand saws, a chain saw, a toolbox and a wheelbarrow.”
“Identify yourself, officer. Did you ask him what he was doing in the area?” Pratt asked, since he was also listening.
“This is Officer Rob McCoy, and yes sir, I asked him what he was doing in the area and he said he was doing some landscaping on 1933 Majestic Dr., just two minutes away. We confirmed it with the owners at that address, so it seems that he has an alibi. He even said we could check with his boss at Greenery Landscaping in Sedona.”
“Did you check the bed of his truck?”
“Yes sir, I did, just more landscaping tools.”
“What about under the front seat in his cab?” asked Pratt.
“Oh shit! I forgot to look under the front seat, I’m sorry sir.”
Pratt speculated that the officer must have been a recent grad from the academy, having made such a dumb mistake. He got back on the radio and ordered Officer McCoy to, “Get back in your black and white and try and find the pickup again and this time handcuff him for your safety and search under the front seat. You also better hope that we don’t learn later that he was carrying a weapon in his truck and discarded somewhere right after you stopped him, or else you’ll be on your hands and knees searching that truck’s entire route looking for a weapon.”
“Ten-four,” replied the embarrassed McCoy.
◆◆◆
Twenty minutes later, Pratt returned to Andre’s house and parked his car. He looked around and noticed the neighbors looking at him again. Some were just standing in front of their houses and others were sitting on their stoop, but every pair of eyes except for the kids were focused on him. He knocked on Andre’s door again. only this time a woman answered the door.
“Good afternoon ma’am. I don’t believe we met before. My name is Detective Johnny Pratt and I need to speak to Andre again.”
“Yes, I was expecting you sooner or later. I’m his wife Olivia and he told me about the fifteen seconds you spent here the last time to ask him questions about the shooting at the synagogue but had to leave as soon as you got here. Don’t know what happened but I’m sure you had a good reason to leave, Detective.”
“What happened the last time was I got a call about another shooting and had to get there as quickly as I cou
ld. Is Andre available for me to speak to?”
“Yes, I’ll get him from the backyard. He has a little tomato patch back there and you won’t believe how well he grows them. Why, we must get at least seventy-five tomatoes each season from that small patch.” Pointing to an upholstered chair in the corner of the living room, she said, “Please have a seat on that chair, he’ll be right in.”
“Thank you, ma’am” Pratt replied politely.
Andre came in from outside through the kitchen door and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. He approached the detective nervously and said, “Well hello, Detective, another round of five seconds of questioning?” attempting at a bit of humor to lessen his own nervousness.
“May I call you Andre or Mr....” as he was interrupted.
“Hernandez, Detective, Andre Hernandez but it’s fine to call me Andre, that’s what everyone calls me.”
“All right, Andre, please tell me how you got involved in the shooting of Mr. Green.”
“Detective, sir, I did not get involved in the shooting of Mr. Green.”
“I apologize for my poor wording, Mr. Hernandez. Can you tell me how you learned of the shooting?”
“I was cleaning the synagogue after Rabbi Bloom left out back. That’s where we park our cars you know. I was walking through the rows sweeping the floor and wiping any marks off the benches. Sometimes somebody drops a piece of gum and I have to pick it up.”
“I understand all that Mr. Hernandez; would you please tell me about the gun shots?” Pratt coaxed him.
“I’m sorry, Detective. Like I told the other police officers, I heard two gunshots. I dropped the broom and went out the front doors to see what was happening. Mr. Green was lying in a pool of blood on the front walkway and grabbing his lower backside.”
“What made you think they were gunshots?”
“Well sir, I served in the Marines fighting the Viet Cong and believe you me, I know a gunshot when I hear one.”
“I see. Thank you for your service, Andre, now please continue.”
“I checked to see if Mr. Green was still breathing and when I felt his breath, I immediately ran inside to my custodian’s closet and found some clean rags. Then I ran out to help Mr. Green by using the rags to put pressure on his wound to try and stop the bleeding. I called 911 at the same time. I told them that a man was shot and laying outside on the walkway in front of the synagogue. The operator gave me instructions on how to provide first aid and told me not to hang up until the police arrived.”
“As I pressed down hard, he sure was screaming, but that was all I could do. I kept changing rags when they got soaked with blood and pressed down again. I was telling him that the ambulance was on its way and that he would be all right. He looked up at me, thanked me and then passed out.”
“A fire engine arrived first and some firemen with medical equipment asked me to step away while they administered to his wound. Then a few minutes later the ambulance arrived, and they told the firemen that they would take over. I didn’t see what they did to his wound because the firemen were in the way, but I did see the EMT put an IV into one of his arms and then lifted him onto a gurney and shoved it into the ambulance. Then they left with their siren blaring. And that’s all I know.”
“Mr. Hernandez, you most likely saved his life with your first aid. Did you notice anything unusual going on, or perhaps see someone who may have shot him?”
“The only thing I saw that day that was unusual, detective, was a man lying on the sidewalk in front of the synagogue, bleeding from a gunshot wound, I have no idea who shot him or why. Wait a minute. I do remember seeing a green pickup truck going down the street. He must have stopped to help Mr. Green and when he saw me come out to help him, he just drove off.”
“Andre, this is very important, did you catch sight of the license plate on that truck?”
“No, he was too far gone for me to see it.”
“Can you tell me any other details about the truck that you may have noticed? For example, was it missing any hub caps, was any part of the pickup a different color, or did you notice any dents?”
“Well, Detective, I know it was old and kinda ratty looking, I think it was some kind of green, but I didn’t notice anything else, just some scratches on the body of the truck, but I don’t remember any dents; he just drove off too fast.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Hernandez, you’ve been a big help and I don’t expect to be calling on you again, unless you are needed to testify in court. That will only happen if we apprehend the shooter and need you to repeat what you just told me.”
That last sentence made Andre incredibly nervous. He imagined that testifying in court is terrifying. He was sure that if he went to court, it would make him a target to the shooter or the shooter’s partner, if he had one, who may not have yet been arrested. Going to court was the last thing Andre wanted.
Fourteen
The next month after Jack’s recovery, the four partners were golfing together again and were practicing for a local pro-am tournament. Temperatures were in the mid-eighties but dry, making for a perfect day to have a golf game. The four of them, having played together for slightly over ten years, were next to be called after a foursome ahead of them completed their second hole. The club separated foursomes by at least two holes to avoid overlap, which means that another foursome wouldn’t have to request a “play through.” They were playing at the St. Germain Golf Club in Sedona, Arizona. It was an unusually warm day for wintertime, although playing golf in Sedona has no weather drawbacks.
Naturally the three of them were interested in how Jack was feeling and asked him. His answer was, “Up to par. Pun intended!”
They all got a chuckle out of the response as he was getting ready to tee-off. He placed his orange golf ball cautiously on the tee, careful not to hit it by accident—not that it would have made much of a difference. On the first hole, he picked the driver out of the golf bag, addressed the ball, and took several practice swings near the tee. Ultimately, he swung at the ball and sliced it 75 yards on this 250-yard, par-four hole.
This time they had more than a chuckle, breaking out in laughter, which Jack took crushingly and already felt defeated. He blamed the poor swing on the recent surgical pain and not on his golfing abilities, retorting, “I do not desire to be the sport of your entertainment and if you persist, I will no longer be part of this game with you guys, if all you can do is mock me.”
Todd gracefully acknowledged their rudeness and delicately answered, “Jackie, don’t take our ribbing so close to your vest. You certainly have thicker skin than that, which even your surgeon verified. We all make fun of each other often enough to cover eighteen holes, ten-fold.”
“Okay, okay,” Jack said, “I was just bluffing you guys to try and make you feel guilty, but I can tell it didn’t work. Tony, you’re up after me, show us how it’s done.”
Tony, still chuckling from the conversation, approached the tee that Green pushed into the ground for him and placed his red ball on it. Each of the four of them used a different color ball, so there was no confusion as they approached the green regarding whose ball was closest to the hole, removing all possibility of continuing old arguments.
He walked slowly over to the tee, placed the ball on it and straightened up for the swing. He also took a few practice swings, eyed the flagstick, and then studied the angle he would need to hit the ball. This first hole curved to the right on its way to the cup 250 yards away.
He swung and hit the ball with the trajectory turning right, just as the course dictated, landing on the green two yards from the hole. “I think that shot deserves some applause,” Tony suggested to his partners.
“Make the putt when it’s your turn again and we’ll give you a standing ovation,” Jack responded caustically.
Neil was next to tee off, but first decided to give a small sermon to his cohorts: “Boys, boys, you are not behaving yourselves. Remember this is just a golf game and not a comedy roast. Le
t’s not spoil our fun today. Just behave yourselves, okay?”
Rabbi Neil Bloom, the third player of the group, was nicknamed “Putz” by the other three, due to his dreadful putting. The term was also a friendly Yiddish term for “dickhead.” They met every Sunday at 8:00 a.m. for a round of eighteen holes. Usually the Rabbi played their final putts first. He had yet to finish the eighteenth hole without either landing in a sand trap or a water pond first. They think he’s a grand guy, but he had very beginner golfing skills even after all those years. He loved telling strangers he met on the course that one day he scored a seventy-two. He waited until they ooh’d and aah’d, and then added his regular punch line, “And then I got to the second hole.” This frequently resulted in some chuckles, but more often a few weak smiles as if they’d heard that one before.
Both men nodded their assent to the mini-sermon and assured him they would now conduct themselves with no further negativity. Bloom placed his green ball on the tee and struck it on the first swing, hitting it on the sweet spot of the wood. His drive flew straight approximately 125 yards right into a sand trap. He now had no more than three additional attempts to reach the green and putt the ball into the hole. He was not familiar with the art of getting a golf ball out of a sand trap and was almost paralyzed with thoughts of not getting out of the trap. He should have read Golf for Dummies, a primer on how to play all kinds of shots, like how to take a divot of sand out with the swing of the club. Even had he read that tip, he still wouldn’t have known which club to use.
Todd’s turn came next and he used a blue ball to tee off. If he did say so himself, he had a perfect backswing and hit the ball onto the green on the first stroke, approximately twenty yards from the hole, which also had a break with an uphill lie. Naturally, his ego soared like an eagle, just knowing that he could make the putt in two attempts and earn a birdie, meaning one under par.
He was so apprehensive about those two shots he had left that he didn’t want to permit Jack to go next again, but Jack cut in anyway, thereby blocking Todd’s attempt to finish the hole. With no caddy’s help, Jack had to decide for himself which club to choose. Having practiced on driving ranges so often, he had learned which club to use based on how far the ball landed from the green. He then marked each club in permanent black on the lower side of the head, which in a bag faces up if left uncovered. This gave him an advantage over the rest of them, who were still trying to figure out which club would be best for certain distances and lies.
A Hole In One Page 7
