Seven Years After

by Marvin Perkins

  “So far there's no real motive for the murder, what you think Carson?”

  “There's a motive okay, we just ain't found it yet. There always is. Could be someone was after this guy, but for some reason I just don't buy it. The way the victim was killed seems to indicate the whole thing was a setup, but why, and by who?”

  “This guy's mother-in-law sure didn't have any love for our stiff, that's for sure.”

  “That don't mean anything, Chuck. She sounded like any mother-in-law would whose daughter married a schmuck who disappeared for seven years without a word.”

  “Yeah, I guess you're right. But what about this Lola chick, she was clueless, huh?”

  “Well you know what they say as stupid as it is, love is blind. I think in her case, deaf and dumb.”

  The detectives laughed, finishing up the rest of their burgers. It was getting close to nine so they headed towards their rendezvous.

  They arrived fashionably early around eight forty five, rang the doorbell and waited for the wife to answer the door. They knocked and rang and knocked some more and finally a dark, petite Afro-American lady peered out of a partially opened door. “Detectives?”

  “Yes ma'am,” Chuck said, always the polite one, flashing his shield. “We're a little bit early, I hope that's okay. I'm detective Brown and this is Detective Carson.”

  “Oh. yes, of course, come on in.”

  “My, you have a beautiful home,” Chuck said, by way of breaking the ice conversation.

  “Belongs to my folks, but thanks. Would you like some coffee or soda.”

  “Let's just get down to it, the hour is late, ma'am,” Carson said somewhat disgruntled.

  “Okay, we can talk here in the living room. Have a seat on the couch, gentleman.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Carson started the ball rolling. “Mrs. Smithson, we are of course sorry for your loss. We are doing everything possible to apprehend the killer or killers of your husband.”

  “No big loss, not to me at any rate,” Valerie said quietly, almost indistinguishably.

  “Ma'am?” Chuck said leaning over in an attempt to hear.

  Valerie cleared her throat. “I said, his death is not much of a loss, not to me anyway. He'd been gone without a trace for seven years and even before that he wasn't much of a husband or father. I'm glad it's over. Now I can get on with my life.”

  “Do you know of anyone who would wish Charles harm, enough to kill him?” Chuck inquired trying to move the conversation along.

  “Try anyone he ever met. He just had that kind of personality. He rubbed people the wrong way. Sure, I know a lot of people who hated Charles enough to kill him, but I don't have a clue who did, detectives.”

  “Your mom said you had a clandestine meeting with the deceased shortly before he was killed, what did he say exactly? Tell the whole story, even if you think it is not important,” Carson asked, looking like he wanted to be somewhere else.

  “Okay, it's gonna take a while. Charles disappeared after his brother kicked him out of his place in L.A. over seven years ago, and we haven't heard a word from him, none of us. A week or so ago I get a call from his sister Maria, saying they've found him. He's telling all the people at the hospital that he had a wife and child but they are dead. Also, there's some people after him, and he can't let them know about his family or they'll be in danger too. He won't let me and his daughter come see him at the hospital so we arranged a secret meeting at a park in Chula Vista.”

  Carson and Chuck were listening almost comatose as Valerie continued her story.

  “We were to walk up and down third ave., pretending to be window shopping for a while, then we were to go to the park, sit on a bench and wait for the idiot to show up. He finally did, looking crazy as all get out, scaring his poor daughter to death. Talking about some people were following him, and they wanted to kill him, and he had to disappear again. He told his daughter that he loved her and then he left . That's about it. I haven't seen or heard from him since.”

  Carson and Chuck looked at each other, not knowing who should ask the next question or what it should be.

  “So let me see if I am clear, Mrs. Smithson. Charles arranged a secret meeting with you and your daughter and he told you he was being followed by some people who wanted to kill him, and that you and your daughter would be in danger as well if they knew of your existence. And then Charles disappeared again. And no one has heard from him since, is that correct?” Chuck asked in summation.

  “That's pretty much it. That's all I know, after seven years. I would like to know what he's been doing for all those years, I'll tell you that.”

  “We would too, and we're going to check into that. Could be someone was following him and it could be the individual who murdered the victim,” Carson said matter-a-factually.

  “I don't believe anyone was following Charles myself. I think he's just a nut case, he always was. I hope you find who killed him, I really do, but I can't tell you anything else, sorry.”

  “Well, ma'am, we are just beginning our investigation of this matter. So right now we don't know what happened, but of course it is our job to find out. You said Charles had a sister and brothers?” Chuck inquired. “And also what family members currently reside at this residence?”.

  “Yes, he has a sister named Maria, and two brothers, Joe and Pete. And living here, my mom, Mary, my step dad, Michael, when he's not out to sea, and my daughter Brittany. ”

  “ Wow, that's quite a group. If you could provide us with phone numbers, that would be a great help”

  “No problem, let me get my phone.”

  After the interview with Valerie the detectives decided to call it a day, it had been a long one. They had a whole bunch of questions, but at that point not many answers. The next morning they would visit Lola and take a look at the victim's personal effects. Hopefully they would get some answers and not some more questions.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Lola Perez lived in a small gated apartment complex in La Jolla, the rich part of San Diego county. Her apartment was in the back with a spectacular view of the ocean and sail boats that floated gracefully by in the beautiful blue. Over to the right was a breath taking scene which included the downtown skyline, a back drop to a cloudless southern California morning.

  The detectives were fashionably early again, arriving at the residence at nine forty five. Chuck rang the doorbell, and as they waited for Lola to answer, they talked quietly about how they were going to proceed. This was a crucial part of the investigation, within these walls could be vital clues as to whom the killer might be. At least a clue as to the motive behind the murder, which so far they had none.

  Lola answered the door somewhat surprised to see the detectives. “Detectives? You're here. A little early.” She was wearing a negligee, that would put to shame any outfit she might wear at the “Hooter's.” “Please give me a minute, won't you come in?”

  She showed the shocked detectives to the living room and told them to have a seat, she would be back momentarily. They could hear her talking to someone in a back bedroom and the sound of a man's voice. Shortly the door slammed, presumably her gentleman caller had departed the premises.

  In a few minutes she joined the detectives in the living room, wearing short shorts and a half blouse showing her flat tan stomach, looking as if nothing was going on. “I had company last night. A girl has to pay the rent.”

  Chuck and Carson sat speechless for a beat.

  “Oh, it's not what you think, he's just a friend.”

  Carson, cleared his throat and started, “May we see his room now Ms. Perez?”

  “Oh, sure follow me,” Lola said quietly as she lead the detectives to a back bedroom.

  What they found there surprised and shocked them as well. The whole room was done in red, with mirrors on the ceiling and walls. The spread on the bed was some type of animal fur, possibly tiger, or it looked to be. Inside the closet was even more surprising. Th
ere were Versace, Armani, and all kinds of expensive name brand clothes. Sitting on the shelves embedded in the walls of the closet was a collection of expensive watches, bracelets and necklaces. Not to mention hundreds of pairs of men and ladies shoes, also very name brand and expensive, covered the remaining shelves.

  “Wow, this is quite a room,” Chuck marveled as the detectives stood awestruck at the magnificence of what they were seeing.

  “Thanks,” Lola said with pride, “Charles designed it himself, isn't it cool?”

  “We need to see his personal papers, bank accounts, bills, letters from friends and family, that sort of thing,” Carson said breaking the mood.

  Lola pointed to a safe in the corner of closet. “They would be in there. He never let me look at any of his private stuff. He would spend hours in here sometimes, just looking at something.”

  “I don't guess you know the combination?” Chuck said already knowing the answer.

  “No, Charles was very secretive about his personal life.”

  “Chuck, get on the horn and get a safe cracker over here, ASAP. That's okay, right ma'am?”

  “I don't mind, no. I would like to see what's in that safe myself.”

  An hour later the locksmith was opening the safe. More surprises were within.

  “Carson, will you look at that?”

  A stack of cash sat in the safe surrounded by diamond earrings, rings, and watches. The detectives did a quick count on the money and discovered it was over $50,000. In another box was a collection of rare coins, who's value was undetermined, but estimated in the thousands.

  “Holy crap!” Carson yelled. “Will you look at this stuff. Our boy was a high roller. I think we might have just found our motive Chuck.”

  Since none of the money or jewelry was illegal and technically belonged to the resident of the apartment, the detectives just made a list of the items and left them with their now rich owner, Lola, who was all smiles as the detectives left her residence shaking their heads in wonder over what they had discovered.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  An USNS tanker slid through the calm seas of the Persian Gulf, leaving only a slight signature in its wake. On board were 90 civilian mariners including Michael Parson, the Medical Services Officer, who was busy sorting through a pile of medical records. His work was tedious but necessary to maintain the readiness of the crew who were assigned to arduous duty on board the vessel.

  Michael was in his mid-fifties, with a full crop of gray hair. He was a huge man, standing 6 ft 5 inches tall with bulging muscles from hours spent pumping iron in the weight room. He was a retired Navy corpsman, who had spent several years with Marines in the fields of Vietnam. Normally mild mannered, he did have a temper, and was definitely someone you didn't want to mess with when he was mad.

  Having been assigned to the ship for only a week, he was just getting to know his new command. His thoughts were back at home with his family, especially his youngest girl Veronica who was going through hard times, but he had important work to do, and didn't have time to dwell on his problems at home.

  “Doc, I slipped on a wet deck, banged my head and it's bleeding like hell,” a crew member suddenly showed up at the “Doc's” door breaking his train of thought. Blood was oozing out of a gaping wound on the back of the mariner's head turning his blond hair red.

  “Have a seat and let me take a look at it. What happened?”

  “I was stripping a deck on the 04 level and you know that stripper is pretty slick, and before I knew it I fell and banged my head on the deck.”

  “Well the good news is, you're going to live, the bad news is it looks like you're going need some stitches. Might hurt just a little. Put pressure on the back of your head while I get the stuff ready to sew you up, ” Michael said handing the man a sterile dressing.

  He sewed him up and sent him to his room to rest for the remainder of the day. “You might have a slight concussion, take one of these every eight hours with food,” Michael said handing the mariner a little plastic pouch of 800 mg Motrin. “I'll contact your supervisor and let him know you're on bed rest. Go, get some rest.”

  “Flight quarters, flight quarters, all designated personnel man your flight quarters stations.” The word came blaring over the 1MC.

  “Damn, I forgot about flight quarters. Non-stop fun around here.”

  As MSO, Michael had to stand by during the evolution as safety observer and of course if someone got hurt and needed medical attention. On the ship he was it. He would have to patch them up until they could get them to a shore side facility. Nothing ever happened and it normally was a couple of hours of pure boredom.

  The flight deck crew did a FOD walk down to make sure there was no foreign matter on the deck that would fly into the propellers of the helicopter and cause it to be disabled or even crash. That having been done the fire party, dressed in red jerseys, float coats and cranial, laid out a rubber hose that would deliver AFFF on the fire in the event of a crash on the deck. AFFF is aqueous film forming foam, an agent used to smother the fire.

  The LSE guided the bird, dressed in a yellow jersey and a cranial to match. He is sort of the quarterback on the deck, he calls the shots, directs the bird's every move.

  Michael was in the helo hanger with his medical bag, talking to one of the other officers, the cargo mate third. They were just getting into a good conversation when all of sudden the helo crash alarm sounded. “What the hell?” They both said at the same time and started to run towards the flight deck just in time to see the bird hit the deck and erupt into a ball of flames.

  The fire party sprang into action spraying foam on the deck in an attempt to squelch the flames that were raging. There was chaos as the fire parties scrambled to contain the blaze. Michael's big question was what was the status of the pilots and the crew that were aboard the helicopter. All sorts of scenarios played in his head as what condition the crew would be in when they were finally pulled from the wreckage.

  The two hot suit guys in the silver fire retardant ensembles moved slowly towards the bird following a pathway of foam on the ship's helicopter deck. One of the men had a CO2 bottle the other a special tool used to pry open and punch holes into the flaming bird. Their first assignment was to disconnect the battery, then drag the injured pilots and crew members out of the bird to safety.

  The cock pit was still blazing, so the man with the extinguisher took care of that, quickly, to alleviate as much damage and misery as possible to the occupants within. They grabbed the first pilot and shuttled him to safety where the stretcher bearers were waiting to take him to a triage area that had been set up by the MSO and two other specially trained mariners. It was worst than Michael could have ever imagined, it reminded him of his days in the field with the Marines back in the early seventies. The pilot was still alive but badly burned and in great pain. Treating his burns and trying to keep him from going into shock, Michael had to mentally prepare himself for the next victim who was heading his way. Unfortunately the other pilot was gone, there was nothing Doc could do for him. He had no pulse and wasn't breathing. Basic rules of triage mandate one takes care of the patients that can be saved, not waste precious time on victims that have a small percentage of a chance of making it.

  Next came came a crew member with only minor cuts and abrasions, although he had been knocked out in the collision his vital signs were good. The last victim had a broken lower left leg and was screaming his head out from the pain. The members of the triage team fabricated him a splint and administered a shot of morphine for the pain.

  Having finally extinguished the fires on the copter itself as best they could the fire party jettisoned the wrecked bird over the side. It creaked and steamed as it hit the murky waters, and sank not leaving a trace that it have ever existed.

  The victims themselves along with the deceased pilot were air lifted to the closest friendly shore side hospital facility in Bahrain. It was quite a day for the MSO who sat in his stateroom drain
ed and exhausted, knowing he had earned his pay and saved at least one life on that terrible day. But for some reason something else kept creeping into his exhausted mind.

 

  Chapter Twenty Three

  A late model red Chevy pickup sat in the parking garage as of yet undiscovered. Hundreds of people had walked by it in the week or so it had sat idle, secrets yet to be revealed awaited. The man who had left it there and disappeared had hoped he would be long gone before the vehicle was discovered and his wish had been granted. The truck still sat like a murder mystery book as of yet to be opened. No one had even looked at the first chapter.

  Back at the office the detectives sat scratching their heads, Carson pouring through a stack of papers and Chuck on his laptop, as was their usual way of problem solving.

  “Once we find the motive, then we'll solve the case. Isn't that what you said Chuckie boy?” Carson said, chewing on his cigar, and poking fun at his junior partner.

  “Okay, maybe not. But we really don't know for sure what the real motive is. So actually my theory is still valid, Carson.”

  “The more we find out about this case, the less we seem to know. Seems like just about everyone this guy ever knew had reason to kill him.”

  “That's what the wife said. Look at the list of suspects we have right off the bat. The girl friend Lola, the wife Valerie. Let's not forget the mother-in-law, Mary. All ladies, who couldn't have committed the crime, not by themselves, at any rate. Of course let's not forget the people, real or imagined, that were following the deceased, and wanted him dead. Whomever they might happen to be.”

  “Well one thing we know for sure, the man is dead, and we got zippo, nadda” Carson growled.

  “We still need to interview the sister, and the two brothers. Maybe they might shed some light on our little problem. Also we need to find out where Mr. Smithson got all that loot we found in his safe and his closet. Therein lies the real story my friend.”

  Chapter Twenty Four