Seven Years After

by Marvin Perkins

  “Don't acknowledge me. They're might be people watching us.”

  “Charles, what is this all about? You're scaring your daughter, and me as well.”

  “It's a long story, I don't have time right now to tell you, we are in great danger. This place is not safe. All I can say is that I got myself into some deep trouble, with some bad people. I have to disappear again. Muffin, I love you. I just wanted you to know. When this is over, I will be back and we can spend some time together, I promise.”

  “Daddy!” Muffin got up to hug her dad but he was gone.

  Valerie again sat speechless on the verge of breakdown as she watched her child searching in vain and calling in the park for her father who was long gone.

  He had vanished again. How long would he be gone this time? Ten years or perhaps forever.

  Someone was following Charles, but he was unaware that he had picked up a tail. A man in a red Chevy pickup was pacing him as he walked down 3rd ave.

  Chapter Twelve

  Life resumed a somewhat normal pace after the meeting with Charles. Muffin questioned, even interrogated Valerie for days about the whereabouts of her precious daddy. Valerie was at her wits end with the whole matter. She couldn't eat, sleep or even concentrate on her job. She finally took family leave from her job to deal with the matter and with Muffin. She grew darker day by day. She slept too much and took way too much Ambien, hoping just to sleep through her day and not have to deal with the whole horrible ordeal.

  The brothers, Pete and Joe, had been told about the return of Charles and were none too happy about his refusal to see them. They hated Charles but still felt slighted. They thought he was a nutcase, who needed to be institutionalized, but he was still their brother. This latest story about someone being after him just further added fuel to the fire of their feeling towards their younger sibling.

  Charles' dad, Roger, was also quite upset that he had not got in touch with him. He was his father, he should have been the first one Charles should have contacted, he felt.

  So in the wake of the brief return of Charles Smithson, all that was left was heartache and bad feelings. The whole family, with the exception of Muffin, felt they had been better off thinking Charles was dead, they could deal with that, and move on with their lives. But this latest development had them all at a loss as to how to proceed with their lives. Valerie was the main one that had been adversely affected. She wanted to move on with her life, a life that had already had a shadow cast upon it during the seven years her husband had been missing. Now this reappearance, and the bizarre fashion in which this whole scenario had played out really had her in the doldrums.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In a new high rise building under construction in downtown San Diego, a startling site was waiting to be discovered by the hard hat workers when they came to work that morning. In the corner of the fifth floor, a badly beaten body with two gun shots wounds to the head, lie in a bloody heap on the floor. There was a thick pooling of dried blood underneath the head and the victim's face and hair were covered as well. Such was the brutality, the corpse no longer looked to be human, but only a bag of sanguinary bones as a glint of sunlight revealed the horror.

  A group of electricians finally reported for their duties around seven, joking and eating donuts, washed down by mugs of Starbucks coffee. At first the horror remained unseen, the workers being intent on their coffee and pastries. They joked about the events of the past evening at a downtown bar they patronize after their long work day ends.

  Finished with their “breakfast of champions,” it was time to go to work. Ralph Peterson was pulling cable in the corner when he all but stumbled on something on the floor and felt the stickiness that only coagulating blood can cause on concrete. He looked down in horror and surprise. “Holy crap!” he yelled, recoiling from what appeared to be a dead body. “Help, somebody, help!”

  He stepped back and stood trembling as two of his fellow workers came to see what Ralph was yelling about like a frightened school girl. He pointed at the floor. “ That's a dead body, oh my God.”

  The newly arrived two workers stood momentarily shocked, but one finally came to the revelation, “Somebody call 911!”

  A swarm of emergency personnel ascended on the high rise building in a matter of minutes. Police, paramedics, coroner's office, and CSI, took their prospective places in a dance they were all too familiar with; the dance of death.

  Sam Tomas from the city coroner's office examined the body as the remainder of the team waited for their chance to be called into action. “My God, what a mess,” Sam said as he turned the victim's head to get a better look. “Multiple blunt force trauma to the head and virtually the entire body. Two gun shot wounds to the front of the head, right between those baby blues, nasty. Looks like .22 caliber, can't be sure though”. He turned the head to the side so he could check the back of the victim's skull. “No exit wounds. Somebody, worked this guy over but good. Could be drug cartel related. Looks like something they would do.”

  Just arriving on the scene were two of San Diego's best and brightest homicide detectives, watching the examiner do his thing. John Carson, fifties, graying hair, Afro-American, somewhat overweight, and chewing on an unlit cigar and his partner Chuck Brown, white, athletic, sporting a stylish ensemble, waited for the chance to take a look at their latest stiff.

  Finishing up, Sam Tomas motioned Carson and Chuck over. “Gentleman, how are you doing this fine morning.? Good to see you. How have you guys been?”

  “Cut the small talk Tomas. What you got?” Carson grumbled.

  “Damn Carson, get up on the wrong side this morning?”

  “Sam, please!”

  “Very well. Male Caucasian, two to the head, small caliber, probably .22. Somebody beat the hell out of this guy first. Didn't find a weapon at the scene, more than likely a baseball bat. Seems to have been beaten somewhere else and then the killer or killers dragged him here, then shot him. Blood is present but not the kind of castoff splatter on the walls and floor you'd have with bludgeoning. Due to the state of rigor, I say he's been dead around ten to twelve hours.”

  “More than likely, he knew his attackers then?” Chuck chimed in, but Carson shot him a glance like he wanted the next question instead.

  “Yeah, yeah, he knew his attacker or attackers and from the looks of him, he got to know them if he didn't already. They find any ID on the body doc?” Carson had to ask but knew the answer before he asked the question.

  “Nope, no ID,” Sam said trying to hide a chuckle.

  “That figures. Do murder victims ever have identification these days?” Carson almost spit around the cigar that dangled from his lip.

  Chuck was taking a look at the victim's hands and noticed something odd. “His hands are not bruised. No defensive wounds. That's kinda strange isn't it? Me, if someone was beating the heck out me with a bat, I'd be trying my best to cover up.”

  “That is odd,” Tomas concurred. “Most of the time in these types of cases, there is considerable damage to the hands and the forearms. But you're right Chuck,” Sam said taking another look at the victims arms and hands. “There doesn't seem to be much damage. Very curious. I'll have to see about that when I get him on the table.”

  “Okay, Doc, go ahead and tag and bag him, Nothing more to see here. Let forensics take over and see if they can give us a hand on this thing.” Carson waved at Tomas to take the stiff away. “We need to talk to the workers who found the body.”

  The threesome that were involved in the discovery of the body stood over in a corner waiting patiently. Ralph Peterson, being the one who actually stumbled across the corpse would be the main one the detectives would want to talk to first.

  “So did you touch the body at all?” Chuck asked a still shaking Ralph.

  “No, no sir. I've never seen a dead body before. It scared the hell out me. I just yelled for the other guys to come over.”

  “Did any of you guys touch the body?” Carson g
rowled.

  No, was the consensus of the group. They all said it was too gross to touch.

  “Okay, did any of you guys see anybody suspicious hanging around the work site this morning when you came in or last night when you left.”

  “No,” they all replied almost in unison.

  “Okay, you guys can go. If we have any further questions for you, we'll let you know” Carson said, giving the workers the word they wanted to hear.

  “As usual, we got nothing Carson,” Chuck opined.

  “Yep, you're right. Let's do a canvass of the area and see if anyone saw this poor gentleman being dragged in here or heard a couple of gun shots.” Carson said, motioning towards the door. “I just hope CSI and the coroner come up with something.”

  “I'm sure they will Carson, they always do,”

  “Let's get to work.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Just as expected the canvass turned up nothing. It figures no one would have seen or heard anything in the middle of the night, at a secluded work site. So, the detectives weren't discouraged, not really thinking the canvass would turn up anything anyway. But they had to do the leg work.

  Sitting at their beat up old desks, in their dingy downtown office, with dozens of other detectives, Carson and Chuck reviewed the information they had up to that point.

  “Tomas claims the victim was beaten at one location and shot at the job site where his body was found. Why would our killer do that? Why not just shoot the victim at the same location where the beating took place?” Chuck asked, but really didn't expect an answer.

  “Maybe the killer was afraid the gunshot would be heard, so brought the victim to the job site to finish the guy off.”

  “Could be. But why not beat the victim at the job site as well? Maybe our killer has some ties to the high rise.”

  “You know what that means Chuck? We have two crime scenes instead of one. The problem is we don't know where the other crime scene is right now.”

  “Once we establish the victim's identity, maybe we might get a clue as to where that second scene might be.”

  “Yeah, if we're lucky, which we usually aren't. ”

  “Well let's not be too negative Carson, it could happen.”

  “In the meantime, let's go back to the scene one more time. It's not far, hell we could walk it. Beautiful day, a little fresh air would do us both some good.”

  “Okay, I'll buy that. What are we looking for when we return to the scene?”

  Carson, chewed on a fresh unlit cigar butt, spit in a nearby trash can. “I'm just curious as to how our killer or killers got our victim up to the fifth floor. Did they take him up some stairs, a service elevator, or what?” We could find something we missed on the route they took to the victim's final destination”

  “Oh, I got you. Could be some blood, hair, DNA, or other forensic stuff our bad guys left that might give us a clue as to their identity.” Chuck said, scratching his head.

  “You got it.” Let's get to hoofing.”

  A few minutes later the duo arrived at the crime scene, which by now was alive with workers of various sorts coming and going. Surveying the building from afar, the detectives tried to envision how the killer or killers had approached the building. “Had to be in some type of vehicle,” Chuck said finally breaking the silence.

  “You think,” Carson replied mocking the statement his junior partner had just made. “Of course they were in a vehicle, but hell, by now there must be a hundred fresh tire tracks around the joint”

  “Not going to be able to get a make on the vehicle by now from the tire tracks is what you're saying?”

  “Duh.”

  “Okay, let's check and see if there is a service elevator that could have been used.”

  “Yes, now you've got the idea my friend.”

  After walking around the high rise under construction and talking to several of the workers, they came to the conclusion there was no service elevator. “Had to use the stairs,” Carson finally conceded.

  “So somebody or perhaps two people, carried this poor sap up five flights of stairs and shot him?” Chuck said with a look of disbelief on his face.

  “Well he didn't fly up there, so he got up there somehow.”

  “That's a long climb carrying a bloody, beaten up guy, possibly out cold at that point.”

  “Yeah, that's true Chuck. That's why I'm thinking it must have been at least two. One guy would be hard pressed to carry our stiff up five flights.”

  They start the climb up the stairs searching for anything that might lead to the identity of the perpetrators. Lots of footprints, debris, and fingerprints, littered the entire area rendering their search all but fruitless. “This ain't getting us anywhere, Carson. These stairs are too contaminated. A hundred guys walked up and down here just this morning.”

  “Just keep looking. You give up too easily Chuck. There's got to be something.”

  That's when they saw it stuck over in the corner of one of the steps. Carson, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, fished it out, careful not to smudge any prints, if there were any. He held up a gold bracelet and beamed a big smile. “Look what we got here?”

  “That could be anybody's.” Chuck replied.

  “Yeah and it might be somebody's. One of the killers.”

  Carson put the bracelet gently into a plastic bag like he had found a buried treasure.

  They searched the rest of the stairwell and came up empty handed. They had their first clue, well maybe.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam Tomas had a body of great interest on the cutting table, many mysteries were yet to unfold before this autopsy was concluded. The victim was our “John Doe” found on the fifth floor of the under construction high rise the day before. He noticed something that he hadn't at the crime scene; from the apparent entry of the bullets between the victim's eyes, he was in a prone position when the fatal shots were fired. Also the wounds that were inflicted on the body by some sort of blunt object were also struck while the victim was lying on his back. There was no trauma to the shoulders or the back region or to the undersides of the legs. It was almost like the victim was unconscious at the time the blows were struck.

  The teeth had not been shattered even though the face was badly beaten, so Tomas took pictures of the region to aide in identification from dental records. He fingerprinted, took a sample for DNA comparison, and drew blood for a toxicology screen. He would know more when the results came back, hopefully.

  It was obvious the cause of death was the two gunshots to the head, that was the easy part. But what led to the victim's demise was quite another story.

  “Carson, this is Tomas over at the coroner's office, how's it hanging?”

  “Tomas, what's with you and all the chit chat? I don't have time for all that crap. You got something for us?”

  “Yes and No.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I need you and your partner to hotfoot it on over here ASAP and I'll explain it to you. Bye.”

  Carson closed up his cell. “That was Tomas over at the coroner's office.”

  “Yeah, I got that much,” Chuck said with a smirk..

  “He wants us over at the lab ASAP as he put it.”

  “Well, let's go. See what he's got.”

  No matter how many times Carson and Chuck visited the house of death, it still gave them the creeps. All those dead bodies covered in sheets with name tags hanging from their toes. Creepy, and almost scary they always said. Like out of a horror movie. They couldn't even fathom what it would be like to work in such a place.

  “Carson and Chuck,” Sam beamed, a little too cheerily for the detectives given the setting. “I'm so happy you could come.”

  “Sam, how are you,” Chuck replied as cordially as he could manage.

  “Show us the stiff, enough of the small talk,” Carson grumbled in his usual fashion.

  “Okay, here is Mr. John Doe #28. That's wha
t he is for right now until I get identification back from the lab guys. Like I said at the scene, cause of death was two to the head, right between the eyes at close range. Also because of the angle of the wounds the victim was lying on on the floor, the shooter stood over him and fired the lethal bullets. I dug two severely damaged bullets out of his skull. Sent them over to ballistics for analysis, appeared to be .22, as I stated also at the scene. Also the other wounds that were inflicted on the victim by a blunt object of some kind appears also to have been done while the victim was in a prone position, probably unconscious or drugged.”

  Carson and Chuck both were somewhat taken aback and just stood staring at the body for a few moments. Finally, Chuck broke the silence. “So, let me get this straight Doc. The victim was lying down when he was shot as well as when the beating occurred, correct?”

  “That is correct, my young friend.”

  “And at this point you feel the victim was unconscious or drugged at the time the beating took place?”

  “Correct again, because of the lack of wounds on the hands and forearms we discussed at the scene. I'm sure toxicology will confirm when the results come back.”

  “Cut to the chase doctor. What are you really trying to say,” Carson growled.

  “Well, it is my opinion that someone tried to make it look as if this poor lad was beaten by someone trying to get him to give up some information, but the victim couldn't say anything 'cause he was already out cold.”

  “So, someone tried to make it look like they were trying to get information but in your opinion didn't do a very good job of it?” Chuck inquired.

  “But why, is the question. Why beat an unconscious man, take him to a highrise under construction and put two in his brain bucket?” Carson asked looking from Chuck to Sam and back again.

  Tomas laughed. “I guess you guys had better get to work.”

  “Thanks Doctor. Let's go Chuck. You got my cell number right?”

  “Got it.”

  “You give me a call when you get anything, I mean anything.”