by Deanna King
Cheech was at his desk when they walked into the CSU offices.
“Cheech, what’cha got?” Jack was anxious.
“Come on, let’s go to the lab.”
. . .
The seat belt straps were hanging in an enclosed chamber with heat-resistant glass.
“The seat belt straps arrived late this morning, and I began the superglue fuming. I would have called you earlier, but I had a scene to go out and process for Robbery.”
Jack stepped closer to the glass window. “Those white patches, those fingerprints, Cheech?”
“Uh-huh, here, I’m going to take them out.” Cheech gloved up and opened the chamber door, removed the straps, and carried them over to a workstation. Placing the strap that goes over the torso area on a large slide, he jacked the microscope to one-hundred times and peered into it.
“See, fellas, this is a usable print, here take a look, Jack.”
Cheech stepped to the side so Jack got a closer look. “This is great, that’s a clear print.”
“This strap has what appears to be three prints, see here?” Cheech pointed out two more prints on the underside, as he turned the strap over. “That might be a thumbprint right here, on the outer side, forefinger and middle finger here.” He pointed to the smaller closer prints. “I am assuming that the person grabbed the seat belt like this and then popped the tongue into the buckle to lock it.”
“You know, what I don’t get is this…if she was dead, why seat belt her in?”
“Killers can’t always be perfect. If they didn’t make mistakes, we’d never catch them, ya know?”
Cheech was right, no one was perfect, there was no denying that fact at all, even the best of the best screwed up at least once, but not ever on purpose.
“This other strap, the one that goes around the waist, one print was picked up, and that’s right near the tongue, it’s a possible thumbprint. The prints on the backside were just blobs, sorry,” Cheech apologized.
“Hey, what you did get was better than nothing. Send them to Latent Prints, would ya, Cheech?”
“No problem, Jack, I’ll have someone call you ASAP.”
“Now,” Lucky stated as they were leaving the CSU offices, “we have something to look forward to.”
“This, plus I’m hoping that 7-11 gets a positive ID on the man who shot Skip Johanson. The club has a video feed on the corners. Nothing is that random, Lucky, I think it is connected, however, it could’ve been a robbery gone sideways, you know, but I just don’t see that, or I don’t wanna see it.”
Lucky had to agree that this was not a pure coincidence at all.
. . .
There were two notes on Jack’s desk when he walked into the squad room the next morning. One was a message that said to call Tori in Latent Prints after nine, the other was from Xi Chang, and it simply said, “Jack, stay at the station until Jace and I get there, Xi.”
It was right at 8:30.
Patience wasn’t a virtue Jack had right now. Picking up his cell, he texted Xi…I’m in the squad room, won’t leave till you get here—just get here.
Xi texted back, We’ll be there in about five.
“Morning, Jack,” Lucky said as he slumped into his chair. “Did you get any news from anyone yet?”
“Tori in Latents left me a message. Wants me to call her after nine and Xi left a message on my desk, said stay at the station until they get here.”
“It’s eight thirty-three, be a long forty minutes until we get to talk to Tori. What do you think Xi wants?”
“Not a clue. He said he’d be here in about five. Man, I hope we get a solid lead with those prints.” Jack’s nerves were on edge.
“Me too, I…” Luck was about to say something when Xi Chang opened the door.
“Hey, Jack, Luck, the captain wants to see all four of us,” Xi said as he held the squad room door open, only his head poked in. “Jace and I are headed to his office now.”
“Okay, we’re on our way.” Jack rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Have no clue.”
“Me neither,” Lucky said as he stood up and headed for the door.
. . .
“I’ve called you all here because we have had more than too many weird things that have happened.”
Captain Yao was silent for a moment just staring at them.
“Gentlemen, I’ve been in law enforcement for going on now twenty-four years, and I’ve seen lots of shit, and that’s the only way to say it, a helluva lot of shit. To say that anything, and I mean anything, is a coincidence, which is not a word we use in law enforcement often, is a stretch of the imagination.”
He leaned into his desk and placed his hands on top then laced his fingers together forming a steeple. Then he placed the tips of his fingers on his mouth, and he sat, thinking.
No one said a word while they waited for him to continue.
Laying his hands and arms on the desk, he leaned in at all four of them. “Chang, Severson,” Captain Yao addressed them, “almost two months ago, I gave two cold cases, one each, to West and Luck here.” He gestured with a nod of his head, over to Jack and Lucky.
Jack gave Captain Yao a questioning expression; he was going to bring 7-11 in on their cold cases? Jack was under the impression that he wanted to keep a lid on these cases, now what was the plan?
The captain turned his head and spoke to Team 7-11 again. “The cases they are working unpredictably intersected, and are connected—a missing girl case and an unsolved murder of another girl, of all things. This twist of fate never happens, not with two cases that are both twenty-five years old. That has to be a million and one shot, at best.” He turned his head toward Jack and Dawson, then back at Chang and Severson. Both Jack West and Dawson Luck bobbled their heads in short bouncy nods.
“I’ve been getting reports from them and updates, and this has been on the QT, due to the sensitive nature of some of the names that have been intertwined with their cases,” he told Team 7-11.
Captain Yao then turned his attention back to Jack and Dawson. “I know that 7-11 told you about the murder they caught early yesterday morning, they told me they told you about it yesterday afternoon when they were updating me. I have to commend both of you for keeping a lid on your cases when 7-11 told ya’ll who the guys was that was popped, and where.”
The question mark expressions on both Jack and Lucky’s faces didn’t slide by the captain. Someone taking Skip out didn’t mean it was connected to their cases. Maybe a robbery went sideways, that happens. Club owners and managers carry cash and lots of it, on their persons…Jack was aware of that fact. 7-11 were in the first 48 hours of the investigation, no telling which way the case would turn.
“Jack, Dawson, they got the surveillance video from the club last night, and there is a clear clean photo of the perp. The camera showed an empty parking lot, sans the employees’ vehicles, which were all checked out. The perp walked up to the front of the club, took out his cell phone, and dialed a number. About three minutes later, our vic, this Johanson man, walked out of the club. He meets the man and then they walk to the side corner and talk for ten minutes. Our perp took a gun out of his inside coat pocket and shot the vic once in the head. Then he very casually walked off. It was not a robbery, it was a murder, execution style.”
All four of the detectives sat there, knowing this was a cold-blooded killer. What ran through all their heads was one question…why?
Captain Yao let that entire story sink in for a few seconds before he spoke up again.
“Jack,” Yao addressed him singularly. “You remember the conversation you had with that Walden woman?”
“Sure, I remember it all, why?”
“You told me about the conversation you had with her husband in the yard while she rested, remember that?”
“Cap, what are you getting at, what does this have to do with 7-11’s case, or for that matter, what does their case have to do with ours?”
It didn’t mean a damn thing. Skip’s murder could be nothing more than very bad timing.
“Jack, here’s a picture of 7-11’s perp. They got it from facial recognition, late last night. Recognize him, Jack?”
Jack stared at the picture. His mouth dropped open, his ire rose, and his insides began to boil. He handed the picture to Lucky.
“Okay, Jack, who is this?” Dawson Luck stared at the picture of a merciless, cold-blooded killer.
“It’s Harvey Walden, that’s who it is. Son of a bitch,” Jack swore.
The conversation he had with the man called Harvey Walden played back in his head. He hadn’t wanted her to tell her story, let sleeping dogs lie, you can’t change the past, it’s her life story, not mine, it was her last request to him. He already knew the story, and most importantly, he’d said with conviction, that this was her life story, not his.
“How does he fit in here? Who is this man, I mean the real man, not the sad sack husband I saw that day?” Jack stood up, he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t any room.
“His real name is Harvey Walden…Buccella, Jack. Walden is his mother’s maiden name. He wasn’t using the last name Buccella, but it popped as an alias when we did a background check.” Yao looked up at him. “And sit back down, hurts my neck to look up to talk to you when you’re standing up.”
Jack sat in his chair. He was fuming; that bastard played him that day.
“Xi and Jace went out to his place last night to bring him in for questioning, but he was gone. Jack, the house was empty.”
“I guess she died then, or he wouldn’t have left.” Jack’s voice growled with anger, but he contained it and continued. “That was about what, almost two and a half weeks ago. He told me that day, that Hospice was coming in a couple of days. She was in bad shape. Chances are it didn’t take long for her to die. Is there a For Sale sign on the property?” Jack questioned Chang and Severson.
“No, but the place was cleared out, the house, the garage, and the shed were empty, the only thing left in them was an echo, no vehicles at all, nothing,” Jace told him.
“I’m betting, knowing that she was dying, he was already prepared to skedaddle, had it all arranged, that bastard.” Jack wasn’t just mad, he was mad as hell.
“Is someone going to tell me and 11 here what’s going on,” Jace Severson spoke up, “because I feel like Xi and I are walking into the middle of a movie here.”
“Dudes,” Xi said, “can someone catch us up?”
“Jack, did you hear back from Latent Prints yet?” Yao asked ignoring 7-11’s request to catch them up on what the deal was.
“Yeah, I’ll be back, gonna call Tori right now.”
“Step out, do that, then come back. While you’re gone, Lucky and I will get 7-11 caught up.”
Jack left and headed back to his desk. He knew that if he were to see his reflection in a mirror, his ears should be firecracker red, with smoke steadily streaming out. He was that pissed off. He had a conversation with Harvey-fucking-Walden-fucking-Buccella in person, only a few days ago. Who was he in relation to Scottie Buccella, and why had he whacked Skip? And how many more people had he whacked over the years?
Jack snatched up the phone on his desk and punched in the number for Latent Prints.
“Tori, this is West in Homicide, it’s after nine, whatdaya got for me?”
Jack sat up straight, took out a pen. “Can you send that in an email with an attachment so I can print it out? Tori, can you keep this to yourself for now, it’s imperative that you do, I’m sure you understand, right? Thanks, I owe ya.” He was about to hang up, but she said something funny.
“Yeah, yeah, a box of jelly donuts, then you’re paid in full, is that it?” Tori cracked him up. Two minutes later the email showed up, he popped it open and printed the attachment.
Back in the captain’s office, Jack took his seat, and he beamed… his ship had come in.
“So, what did Tori have, Jack?” Lucky squared his body around toward the door.
“Lucky, Captain, 7-11…I’ve got a gold mine.”
Then he told them what Latent Prints had found, and watched as all four of them sat staring at him with their mouths open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Are they sure, Jack, I mean, hell, this is crazy.” Captain Yao stood up, he had nowhere to go, but he couldn’t sit.
“It’s right there, Captain, we can’t change that, and we sure can’t ignore it.” His baritone voice increased in volume with each word as he stood up, crumpling the paper he had been holding in his right hand.
“I know, Detective West.” The captain’s jaw muscles were working overtime. He wasn’t angry with Jack; he was infuriated with the more than difficult situation they were all dealing with. All eyes would be on him now as this played out, department eyes and all political eyes…this was in one word, a clusterfuck.
“I’m sorry, Captain, what do you want us to do? I mean, hell…” He raked his hand through his hair as he glimpsed at his partner. Lucky, Xi and Jace were trying to absorb what he’d told them. Lucky was aware, but he hadn’t believed it to be true, it couldn’t, could it?
“Here’s what we are going to do. Xi and Jace will hunt for Harvey Walden Buccella. Get the warrants squad to help you, put, hell, twenty men on it if you have to, but find that bastard before someone else dies. Now go!” Yao shouted, and then stopped them.
“Xi, Jace, sorry I’m not yelling at either of you, I’m yelling because I am, and just because.” He took his hand and waved them out. “Just go, and report back to me later or sooner if you get something.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, we will,” Jace said as he walked out behind Xi.
“Captain,” Jack said as Yao stood there. “What’s our next move?” He looked at his partner, then back at the captain.
Davis Yao reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of antacids, shook three out, and chewed; his stomach was on fire, and his head was about to split wide open. Neither Jack nor Dawson Luck said a word, they waited for him to chew and swallow. Jack felt bad for him, he knew the captain had ulcers, and these cases were not just irritating the ones he already had. Jack was sure the acid in his stomach was creating even more ulcers.
“Tail him. I’m sure he’s heard the news about Skip, and if he hasn’t he will. You both know that bad new travels faster than light. There is not a doubt in my mind that Wolff doesn’t know who Skip is. I want you to find a way to get his DNA, without his knowledge, take pictures, and then take the stuff to Bennie, and put an ‘I wanted this yesterday’ rush on it.”
“Jack,” Yao said, and Jack turned around.
“Yes, sir, Captain?”
“Get a tail on that Delvecchio dude, I don’t care what you tell them or who you get, just make it happen, Jack, and get a warrant for this Max Renner, have someone go and pick him up.”
“We’ll get someone to pick up Renner. Delvecchio, you mean Ralph Delvecchio, the bartender from the Crystal Barrel?” Jack wanted to know what he had to do with the case.
“That’s the one.”
“Why?”
“Hey, Cap, what’s this Delvecchio man have to do with the case?” Lucky had a what’s the deal now expression flash across his face.
Captain Yao’s stomach gurgled again, and he closed his eyes as the fire in his gut blew in and then
out, before he spoke.
“This is a royal mess and don’t ask me how I found out, you know I have my own sources. Delvecchio is related to the judge, he’s his cousin on his mother’s side, and he works at the Crystal Barrel where this Skip fella used to work. I’m sure he knows Harvey Wald, uh, Buccella, and if I were a betting man, I’m betting he knows that your dead girl ain’t dead.”
“Captain, how many more twists are there going to be in this case, rather, these cases? I’m not sure we can take any more surprises.”
“I can’t answer that. All I can say is if we don’t get all these people rounded up, checked out, and interviewed, I know my gut is burning due to ulcers, but it tells me that if we don’t, you boys will have another murder case on your hands.”
Jack didn’t say it, but his gut was telling him the same damn thing.
. . .
Back in the squad room, Dawson Luck started on the warrant for Max “Sarge” Renner, while Jack called Mava at the courthouse. Lucky was glad that she flirted with Jack and had an older woman’s crush on his partner, because Jack was going to have to woo her into giving him, as inconspicuously as possible, the judge’s schedule.
“Hey, Jack, who we gonna ask to tail that Delvecchio dude while we’re on the judge?”
Jack took two seconds to think about it, and then picked up his phone.
“Hey, glad you answered. Does Vice have anything big going right now? No? Then can you and Sparky do me a favor, come up to six, have a sensitive issue to discuss.”
“You gonna get Rick and Sparky to help? Hey, you know that’s a brilliant idea.” Lucky beamed.
It took an hour to update Rick Tormo and Katherine Sparks.
“Here’s his home address, tail him, and since you guys are dressed that way, I’m betting you can blend in at the hole-in-the-wall tonight.” Jack smiled.
Rick “Tornado” Tormo had on shabby jeans and a red T-shirt with the words “Shark Bait” in black lettering and above that was a picture of black skull and crossbones. He was wearing worn-out black motorcycle boots, an old green John Deere ball cap, with a three-day scruffy beard working. Katherine “Sparky” Sparks, his partner, a feisty woman, at about five foot four, dripped with attitude. She had been able to handle her own with the boys in Vice, not taking crap off anyone. Most of the fellas wondered why she wasn’t nicknamed Taz, as in Tasmanian devil. She too was dressed in jeans, less shabby, but with holes appropriately placed, and they hugged her hips. Her pant legs stuffed into chick biker boots, she had on a pink T-shirt with the words, “Kiss My,” and below that a picture of a donkey. Her auburn-reddish hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she had on a white ball cap that read “Bite me, I bite back,” in black lettering across the front.
