Pete Smithson, yelled from the upper window. “Come and get me. You'll never take me alive.” He pulled up an Uzi machine gun with a full clip and started blasting at the tank that was in the process of battering down his door.
The door was strong, but the battering ram was stronger, it fell like a fallen tree cut down by a woodsman. The team followed, clearing the downstairs, they proceeded to the second floor to take out the shooter.
The front door was alarmed and the shooter knew the team was on their way. He sprinted from the room he was in and took up a strategic vantage point in an adjoining room. The room he now manned was a “panic room.” It was bulletproof with a foot thick reinforced steel door. Escape was in the making now unbeknownst to the SWAT team that hunted him.
Pete Smithson always had an escape route just for such occasions. In the floor of the panic room was a trap door connected to a stairway that led to an underground parking garage where his armor plated SUV awaited.
Knocking down the door to the bedroom where they thought the shooter was holed up, the team discovered to their dismay that the room was empty. The team leader radioed to the commander, “All secure in the upper bedroom. The suspect has vanished, will continue sweep of the upstairs.”
Before they had a chance a black SUV came roaring out of an underground garage and shot past the barricade of police and emergency vehicles. It made a hard right, then a left and disappeared from view.
“He's getting away,” Carson yelled. “Come on Chuck lets get this guy.”
Blank also noticed the getaway and him and his partner joined Carson and Chuck as they ran to their respective vehicles. Blank yelled over his radio, “Suspect is in a black SUV, considered armed and extremely dangerous. We need to get some birds in the air quick, he's getting away.”
The race was on, the cops were losing, but hopefully once they got the copters in the air they could get a visual on Mr. Pete Smithson.
Chapter Forty Eight
Pete Smithson was a man with a plan. No way in heck were these coppers gonna take him alive. In fact they weren't even going to catch up with him. He was much too smart for these morons. Behind the wheel of his black SUV he roared down the street, smiling because he knew the big change up was up ahead.
He wheeled into a condo complex, took a hard right, pulled up to a garage door and pushed the remote control he had retrieved out of his glove box. The door to the garage opened, he eased in and disappeared inside. Another vehicle, a red 1995 Toyota Corolla was parked in the garage waiting for him.
Jumping out of the SUV, Pete hurriedly jumped in the Toyota, started it up, opened the garage door again and eased out. He closed the door behind him and before any one knew what was happening he was cruising down the street in an entirely different car, one the cops were sure as heck not looking for. It would be days, if not weeks before they figured out where the black SVU they were looking for had been parked.
Pete smiled sadistically as he drove down the street towards a private airport where he had an unscheduled flight scheduled just for him. He would disappear, just like his brother Charles had done. He had gotten some of the money, it would have to do for now.
Meanwhile our detectives and a large group of other cops in helicopters and squad cars frantically searched for the black SUV. It had to be somewhere, it couldn't have just disappeared off the face of the planet. But it had.
“I don't believe this horse crap. This guy's given us the slip,” Carson scowled and growled as he and Chuck raced down the street frantically searching for Mr. Pete Smithson.
“I don't see him Carson. Must have pulled in somewhere, but where is the question,” Chuck said.
The entourage of police vehicles hunted for the suspect like a pack of hound dogs for over two hours before they finally all agreed Speckle had given them the slip. He was gone, vanished. He was the LAPD's problem, Carson and Chuck decided. They had done all they could do in La La land and decided to head back to America's Finest City. They still had a murder to solve.
Chapter Forty Nine
The detectives sat lethargically at their desks the next morning doing what they normally did when they'd reached a dead end on a case. They were extremely disappointed at how the whole scenario in L.A. had played out. Charles Smithson was dead and the detectives still didn't have a viable suspect. The trail that they had followed had gone cold. Joe Smithson was dead as well as his so called girl friend Lola. Pete Smithson who they hadn't even considered a person of interest had vanished in thin air leaving behind a laundry list of unanswered questions.
“We got a sum total of nothing, Chuck,” Carson said, quietly tossing a crumpled piece of paper at the waste basket and missing as usual. “Well at least the little girl is home safely, that's the important thing.”
“For some reason or other I don't think this Pete character was involved in the murder of his brother Charles. He's a low life, murderer, kidnapper, thief and philanderer, but I just don't like him for the murder of his brother Charles, just not his style. This was done by someone who knew the victim and knew about his clandestine meeting with the wife, Valerie,” Chuck replied, taping at his keyboard.
“Had to be somebody who was pretty strong as well, to carry the victim up those five flights of stairs. But of course it could have been done by those two characters that blundered the kidnap job and let the little girl escape. For some reason or other I don't think so,” Carson said, tossing another piece of scrap paper.
“All we can do is go back to square one, Carson. I still think it was a family member. All the Smithsons are pretty much ruled out. That leaves the wife's family.” Chuck went over to their board, crossed out all the Smithsons and read the names of who was left. “We have the wife, Valerie, the mother-in-law Mary, the brother Danny and the step father Michael.”
“These are our suspects. One of them or all of them is guilty, but which one or ones were involved in killing Charles Smithson, that is the question,” Carson asked, but didn't think Chuck had any more answers than he had.
Chuck and Carson sat in silence for a few minutes hoping something would happen to give them a break in the case, however, nothing did. Somehow they had to connect the dots. The whole case was a jigsaw puzzle strewn on their desks and they had to figure out how the pieces fit. The whole family might have schemed together to kill the victim and collect the half a million dollar insurance policy. A half a million was a lot of motive to commit the crime.
The detectives next move was to do just that, connect the dots and put the pieces in place. They needed to establish a pattern of behavior that showed how the killers planned and carried out the murder. The two persons-of-interest they hadn't interviewed were the brother Danny and the step father, Michael. The problem was Danny was in Tucson, Arizona and the step father was on a ship possibly out to sea. The detectives decided these two guys were the key to unlock the door to the whole mystery.
Chapter Fifty
Two months later, there was once again cause for celebration at the Parson household. Michael was back home again after doing his four months on board the USNS Walter S. Diehl. The family was planning their semi-annual trip to Disneyland and discussing all the craziness that had transpired while Michael was gone.
He tried to relax but there was an uneasiness he couldn't explain. Being home brought the whole horrendous scene rushing back like it had happened just yesterday. Michael knew that the detectives would be coming to interview him and soon. “No sweat, I've got all the answers. Let them come,” he said to himself. “I'm ready.” He only hoped that he was. Danny had called him a number of times describing the interrogation he had been put through. They knew about his trip to San Diego around the time of the murder, but didn't have any clue about the stolen truck, the gun or the X that he had procured for his step father.
That night Michael lie in bed with his wife of thirty years, tossing and turning. He had a nightmare, but unfortunately it was an accurate account of what had happened that
day, but even more hideous and distorted in his dream state.
The dream started like a normal day but soon escalated as he could visualize himself meeting with Danny, driving the red pickup truck, preparing the syringe of the drug that would incapacitate Charles. Then suddenly Charles was in the truck. Michael saw the .22 pistol in his hand.
A baseball bat swings, blood flies, as he beat Charles with powerful, angry strokes. He felt vindicated but remorseful at the same time as he continued to swing the bat. Now he was driving, Charles' bloody body in the bed of the red truck. He felt the weight of the body as he carried it up the stairs to the fifth floor. He put it on the floor, the blood, the horror. Michael saw the pistol in his hand, he fired two rounds between Charles' eyes. The dream was all too real, he screamed, waking up with a start.
Mary woke up as well. “Dear, dear are you okay. What's wrong?”
“Just a dream, a terrible dream,” Michael said, tears streaming down his face. He had not told his wife about the murder. He felt she didn't need to know. He didn't want her involved. But now he needed someone to lean on. But how could he tell her he had done such a terrible thing?
Chapter Fifty One
Our detectives, Chuck and Carson had been in limbo for two months trying desperately to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but they just wouldn't fit. Fact was they were at a loss in the murder case of poor Charles Smithson. They had talked to Danny Randle, with the help of the Tucson PD, but hadn't come up with anything much connecting him to the whole affair. He had been in San Diego shortly before the murder but it had been confirmed that he was at a seminar, just like he had stated. He had many witnesses to that fact. Even though he did do time for weapons, drugs and car theft, past bad actions weren't proof that he was involved in the murder.
After re-interviewing the rest of the family one discrepancy had emerged that had the detectives scratching their heads. The time frame when the step father, Michael, had left to report to his ship didn't add up. Mary had said he left on one particular day, having personally dropped him off at the airport, however the actual day he flew out of San Diego Airport was three days later. This was strange because during those three days is when the victim had been murdered.
Also in the course of investigation they had come to find out more about this step father, who was laughingly called Grouch by the kids. Turns out he had been a Navy corpsman who had served with the Marines near the close of the Vietnam war. Now he was employed by the Military Sealift Command as a Medical Services Officer or MSO as they are called. If that wasn't enough, they discovered that Michael Parson stood six feet five inches tall and weighed in the neighborhood of 250 lbs. He also, even at the age of 58, was an avid body builder, who reportedly could bench 450 several times without breaking a sweat.
Needless to say the detectives were looking to have a long conversation with this individual just as soon as he returned.
“This guy is the one, I can feel it,” Carson said, reviewing the information they had on the father-in-law. “He has all the skills and strength to have committed this crime, Chuck. I mean come on.”
“Don't get excited. We still don't have any proof as of yet. And what was his motive if he is the one? Chuck asked.
“ Could be he just hated his son-in-law and wanted him out of his step daughter's life. Or maybe he wanted a chunk of the half a million insurance money. I don't know, but he's the one, I'm telling you Chuck. He should be home soon and I can't wait to talk to this character,” Carson growled.
Their wait was short. They had asked the person- of- interest's wife, Mary, to call them when he came home and low and behold she called later that day.
Bright and early the next morning it was show time. The interview was set for nine in the morning. The detectives showed up fashionably early at a quarter til ready to do battle. The discrepancy in the time was the main thing the detectives wanted to know about. They would use that one issue to try and push the guy into making some more mistakes. Hopefully he wouldn't ask for a lawyer before they had him talking.
“Good morning detectives,” Mary said, greeting Carson and Chuck at the door. “Come on in. My husband is expecting you.”
They knew the lay out of the house but followed her to the den where a huge mountain of a man sat, but rose to offer a hand as the detectives entered the room. “Hello. I'm Michael Parson. I hear you have some questions for me.”
Carson introduced himself and Chuck.
“Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? We just made a fresh pot,” Michael graciously said.
Both of the detectives said yes, they'd love some, black.
Chuck started the ball rolling with an introduction. Later they would get to the tough questions. “We are here, Mr. Parson, as a part of an ongoing investigation into the murder of your son-in-law, Charles Smithson. Since you have been out of the country, we've not been able to talk with you. Just routine.”
“Of course. I'm willing to answer any question you might have if it will help find the killer. I'm not sure how I can be of help though.”
“I'm sure you're familiar with the case through your family. As you know your son-in-law was found dead in a high rise building under construction in downtown San Diego under mysterious circumstances. Do you own a hand gun Mr. Parson?” Chuck inquired getting right down to business.
“No, I do not.
“Do you own a baseball bat? Carson asked.
“No, I don't. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Where were you on the evening of March the 9th of this year? Be careful when you answer, 'cause we've did a little checking,” Chuck said.
Michael thought for a moment then realized what the detectives were going for. It was time to lawyer up. They knew about the time difference. He knew it was going to come up. That's where his alibi witness came in. Sherry owed him big time, because a couple of years ago Michael had saved her daughter's life. “I'm not answering any more questions until I consult with my lawyer. This interview is over.
That's what they thought he was going to do. If he wasn't guilty, then why ask for a lawyer?
Pulling a set of cuffs off his belt Carson growled, “ Mr. Parson you're under arrest for the murder of Charles Randolph Smithson.” He proceeded to read Michael his rights and in cuffs they led him out to their unmarked unit.
Mary and the rest of the family stood in silent disbelief. Surely a man they had known for all these years, a gentle, loving, kind man, had not committed this terrible crime. They watched as the detectives' car pulled out of sight, still stunned and silent.
Chapter Fifty Two
Just like an episode from the T.V. series “Law and Order” the whole scenario played out. Chuck and Carson had made their arrest, but it was up to the prosecutor to prove that Michael Parson was indeed guilty of the murder of Charles Smithson. The whole case was circumstantial, having no eye witnesses, DNA, fingerprints, or any other forensic evidence to back up the State's case. The detectives had made the arrest on a gut feeling and the grand jury had indicted on the little bit of evidence they did have. It is always said “a grand jury would indict a ham sandwich,” which is what they did in this case.
Executing a search warrant for the residence and all the vehicles owned by the family members turned out to be a waste of time and resources. They found no baseball bat, .22 pistol, bloody clothing or shoes, or any evidence to support the claim that the body was transported to its final destination in any vehicle registered to anyone residing at the residence where the accused lived.
The detectives also checked to see if the accused had rented a vehicle during the time frame when the murder occurred. They were unable to find any record of a car or truck being rented by a Michael K. Parson. Next step was to check stolen vehicles that had ended up missing during the time frame, but since there were hundreds, this seemed like an impossible task not worth pursuing.
The three days unaccounted for was where Chuck and Carson thought they had the crafty ki
ller. Turns out the accused had an alibi for those three days. Go figure. The lady, named Sherry Miller, was the key to the prosecutions' whole case and the defense's ace in the hole.
They set up a meeting with the witness for the next day at ten. The detectives arrived fashionably early, as usual, around a quarter of ten.
“Ms. Miller, I'm Detective Brown and this is Detective Carson,” Chuck said, by way of introduction as the witness peeped out of a chained door at the detectives, who were flashing their shields.
Sherry Miller was an attractive, middle aged lady, with big blue eyes and bleached blond hair and an athletic build. She motioned for them to come in and have a seat on an old but comfortable couch in the living room. “Could I get you gentleman a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, black,” Chuck and Carson said almost in unison.
Comfortably seated on the couch, Carson broke the ice after a few moments of sipping coffee and clearing throats. “So, Ms. Miller. Can I call you Sherry?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, Sherry. As you know we are here to speak to you about your relationship with Michael Parson and his whereabouts between the days of March 9th and 12th of this year. Can you help us clarify this situation?”
“Well, where should I begin?” Sherry said, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “I like to keep in shape and I go to the gym on base at the 32d street Naval Station. My ex is in the Navy and I still have my dependent ID card. That's where I met Michael. He's an avid body builder and I like to lift so just by happenstance, we met, got to talking, and one thing led to another. We've been seeing each other now for over a year, that is whenever he's in town. That weekend you are referring to, we were together, all weekend. No one saw us, we never left the apartment. I took him to the airport that Monday morning to make his flight.”
Seven Years After Page 11
