The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery

by Louise Hathaway

  “But I want to meet her. She could tell me all kinds of things. Maybe she knows who my mother is.”

  “Okay, honey. But you’ve got to find her first.”

  “I’m not doing anything else right now.”

  “Looks like you’re going to be going back to the library today.”

  “I know a reference librarian there who can find anything.”

  Chapter 18

  Much to Clarissa’s dismay, the librarian is unable to find a phone number or address of Christine McAndrews. She tells Clarissa that it would be practically impossible to find the address of someone who moves in such powerful circles. People like her and the District Attorney probably go to a lot of efforts to maintain their privacy, especially since many of the disgruntled people whom the D.A. has prosecuted have an axe to grind with him.

  Clarissa calls the District Attorney’s Office, hoping to be able to get any information on the whereabouts of that woman, the wife of the former District Attorney. She is disappointed, but not surprised, when they tell her that they can’t give out that kind of information.

  She is starting to lose all hope of ever finding her mother. She thinks, Maybe if I keep reading the transcript of Dad’s trial, maybe there’s somebody in there who would be willing to help me find the phone number of who, quite possibly, could be my mother.

  She fishes out the transcript from her suitcase that she still hasn’t unpacked since she got back from Charleston. The transcript is coffee stained and looks like it’s been put through the wringer.

  She says to herself, Let’s see. I stopped with the testimony of the Forensic Pathologist. The second person on the witness stand is the detective who was in charge of her Dad’s murder investigation, Detective Santy. He started his testimony by saying his name, Dick Santy, and his job, detective at the Santa Ana Police Department. He’d worked in his present position for three years.

  He explained what he saw when he showed up at the crime scene and spoke of his interviews with both the staff at Green Gardens and the customer who found the body when he went to buy compost.

  He talked about going to The Register and speaking to Mr. Roger’s supervisor who told him that Steve Rogers and Ivan Romanov worked there together and had argued over a girl they both liked. Detective Santy explained that he interviewed the bartender and a waitress at the Swinging Door who saw Steve Rogers on the night of his murder leaving with someone who looked like Ivan Romanov.

  When the Public Defender, Iris Wallace, started cross-examining him, she asked him to speak of Steve Rogers’ arrest record for possession of drugs. “Isn’t it possible that he could have been a victim of a drug deal gone wrong?”

  When she asked this question, the Prosecution attorney said, “Objection, your Honor. Leading the witness. Calls for speculation.”

  The judge said, “Sustained.” The Defense attorney also raised the possibility that Steve Rogers may have been the victim of a copycat killer inspired by all of the press coverage of Ivan Romanov’s escape from jail and the ensuing manhunt. Once again the Prosecution objected to this “speculation”. Her last question to Detective Santy was if he thought that someone may be trying to pin Steve Roger’s murder on Ivan. The judge once again warned her to stop speculating.

  She said, “No further questions, your Honor.”

  Clarissa really admires the way that the lady defense attorney raised reasonable doubt about Ivan’s guilt and wonders if any of the jurors had been swayed by this cross-examination.

  As Clarissa is reading this testimony, she gets a “bright idea”. What if she can find this Detective Santy and see if he can help her find her mother? She calls up her cousin, Charlotte, to ask for any suggestions about how she could him.

  “Try going to the Santa Ana Police Department. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

  “Okay. Hey! I got some really, really big news to tell you.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “Well, you’re not going to believe me, but I think I’ve finally found my mother.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “I’ve been finding a lot of Dad’s old stuff in the attic and I ran across a picture of Dad with this woman at a protest rally at San Onofre.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “So, I picked up the newspaper this morning and there was a picture of the same lady. I swear it said that she’s the wife of the former District Attorney.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. I’m serious. Even Nana said that they look like the same person.”

  “So, now what?”

  “I’ve got to find her. I know it’s going to be really hard to get her address, but I’ve just got to find it.”

  “Well, I hope she wants you to find her.”

  “Don’t burst my bubble: I’m happy about this.”

  “I’m sorry. I know that finding her is foremost on your mind right now. Go for it!”

  “Wish me luck.”

  “I always do. Good detective work, cuz.”

  Chapter 19

  Clarissa decides that she is going to pay a visit to the Santa Ana Police Department to see if she can talk to this Detective Santy. She puts on her most conservative clothes, trying to look as respectable as possible when she visits. I don’t want them thinking I’m a character or anything. She brings the court transcripts with her.

  Clarissa sees her Nana as she’s walking out the door and says, “Nana, what do you think? How do I look?”

  “You look like you’re ready to go on a job interview. Where are you off to?”

  “The Santa Ana Police Department.”

  “What in God’s name are you going there for? You’re not in any trouble are you?”

  “No Nana, I’m not in trouble. I’m going to try and speak to a detective there. I’ve got some questions about investigating things and how the police do their jobs.”

  “I didn’t know that you were interested in becoming a police officer.”

  “Well, Nana, you never know…”

  “Good luck. I’ll have my fingers crossed for you.”

  If she only knew, Clarissa thinks as she heads out the door.

  Clarissa parks her car in the public lot just across the street from the Santa Ana Police Station. She’s starting to get familiar with the downtown area after her courtroom visits. She feels her heart beating strongly as she sits in her car, trying to summon up the courage to go inside.

  This is silly, she thinks. Why am I so nervous about this? In her mind, she has gone over and over what she is going to say to them about her mother and the trial she has been reading about.

  Taking a deep breath, she opens the car door and walks over to the Police Department. Everything is going to be all right, she tells herself over and over. A uniformed officer holds the door for as she is coming up the stairs. “Thank you, sir,” she says, listening to what she just uttered. “I’m so dumb! You don’t say sir! Act grownup!” Inside, she approaches the Information Desk manned by several female police cadets, all smartly dressed in blue uniforms. The lobby is noisy, full of people speaking in loud, rushed tones that are full of anger and uncertainty.

  “Can I help you?” a cadet named Angela asks Clarissa.

  “Yes, uh, I’d like to speak to ah, Detective Santy if I may, please,” Clarissa nervously asks.

  “I’m sorry, who was that, I couldn’t hear you? Did you say Detective Santy?”

  “Yes, Santy, S-A-N-T-Y”, Clarissa says, speaking up. Angela looks puzzled and looks at her computer for a second.

  “Let me look that up for you. Do you know what unit he works in?”

  Clarissa says loudly, trying to speak over the noise, “I think Homicide. He was the detective on the murder trial of my father. I’ve got the transcript right here.” The lobby area goes quiet as everyone turns to look at the person whose father was murdered. Clarissa turns red as Angela asks her if she would like to sit down.

  “Yes, thank you, Angela.”

  �
��I’m so sorry for your loss. Let me see if I can help you,” Angela says.

  Another cadet, nearby, has overheard the conversation and the two cadets speak to each other in Spanish for a few minutes. Angela turns to Clarissa and says, “It looks like Detective Santy is no longer with the department. He left a few years back. I’m so sorry.”

  “Do you have his phone number?” Clarissa asks.

  “I’m sorry but we can’t give out that kind of information out. It is confidential. I hope you understand,” Angela says.

  Clarissa’s slinks down in her chair; the wind has gone out of her sails.

  “I was hoping he could tell me something about my father and mother. I thought he might have some information on them, somehow. Boy was I stupid.”

  Clarissa rises out of her chair and reaches for her purse.

  “Hold on a second,” Angela says, grabbing hold of her hand. “Give me your phone number and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise you anything, you understand; but let me see if I can find something out.”

  A smile returns to Clarissa’s face and she takes both of Angela’s hands in hers and thanks her profusely. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!” she says over and over. “You are an angel.”

  Taken aback, Angela regains her composure and assures Clarissa someone will call her back and that it might take a few days.

  “I know you’ll help me. Thank you so much!” Clarissa says as she turns to leave. The entire lobby is staring at Clarissa as she leaves, bounding happily down the stairs towards the parking lot and her car.

  Chapter 20

  Dick Santy has been retired now for a little over two years. He felt the gradual changes coming to the department, the unavoidable inertia of new technology and decided it was time for him to go. He couldn’t get on board with all the new changes in policing that seemed to shift the focus away from the smarts of a good detective in favor of new, technological methods. His colleagues knew it was coming. They tried to convince him that he should stay and try to learn the new methods, but inside they all knew he wouldn’t. He was the best detective they had and they sure didn’t want to lose him. Even his boss, Lieutenant Cordoba, grudgingly admitted that he was the best in the department, despite never quite getting the hang of the new ways.

  So they weren’t surprised that, while the unit was celebrating successfully solving a case Santy had been leading, instead of sharing beers at The Olde Ship, he was back at the department typing his resignation letter. He put the letter, his gun and badge on the lieutenants’ desk and walked out of the now deserted Homicide unit for the last time.

  That was how he liked things. No fuss, no celebration. A loner all his life, he never really had time for the opposite sex. He had a few, short relationships which died from their own inattention. He was not a mean guy; he just didn’t put the energy into the relationships.

  He loved the beach and had a dream of retiring down by the ocean in a motor home he had his eyes on. One of his acquaintances at the Sheriff’s Department knew about a small RV “camping resort” just south of the Huntington Beach pier. His uncle and aunt owned the resort and had a few spots open, if he was interested. Santy jumped at the chance and before long he was settled in at the Seaside RV Resort. Situated just across Pacific Coast Highway, he could sit outside and watch the sun go down, enjoying a drink or two and a favorite cigar. He was in paradise. He had lost his beloved Bert a few years back, but went right out and got himself a Jack Russell. He contacted the breeder where he originally found Bert, out in the wine country of Temecula. He had a newly born litter of puppies available right at that time. Before long, he picked up a new, freshly-minted baby boy, from the same bloodline as Bert. Santy christened him Gumbo, after his favorite Cajun food, and they were inseparable.

  It was there in his RV that he got a call from his old friend, Detective Brown.

  “Brownie! To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Santy, how you doing? How’s the retired life treating you?”

  “Really, good Brownie, you should try it sometime,” Santy says.

  “It’s gonna be a long time for me Dick. Can’t afford it with all my bills and my kids’ college expenses. Never have kids, Dick. Never say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Don’t think we have to worry about that. So what’s up? I know you didn’t call just to see how my love life was going.”

  “One of our cadets told me that she talked to a girl who’s dying to talk with you. An eighteen year old girl.”

  “Come on, what’s the joke, I give up.”

  “No joke, Dick. Yesterday this girl comes into the department asking to talk with you about her father and some case you worked on a long time ago. She claims to be the daughter of a Steve Rogers and says you were involved in it. She even brought in the transcript of the trial. She said she is trying to find out who her mother is. Are your starting a family search business on the side Dick?”

  That name. Steve Rogers. The face shot back into his memory, the driver’s license picture from so many years ago. Santy was blessed, or maybe cursed, with the ability to remember just about everything he read. He could remember everyone’s birthday, anniversary, even their license number if asked. He won quite a few bucks over beer with his buddies because of his memory skills. He was a formidable detective with his skills of recollection. On the bad side, he still remembered just about every detail of each one of his cases. He dreamt about them and often went over each case at night in his mind, with Gumbo at his feet, watching the sun go down over the Pacific.

  “The daughter of Steve Rogers? Are you sure? Did you ID her?”

  “Heck, no. She just walked into the lobby and asked for you. She did leave her number and was very insistent that we contact you. Normally, we’d blow people like this off and refer them to the courts or Victim Witness, but there was something about this kid. The cadets said was pretty convincing and believable. I think she’s sincere. Look, I realize you’re retired and if I were you I’d say ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ I understand. But I wanted to make sure I told you. I remember how hard you worked on that case.”

  “Brownie, I do appreciate this. You know me, I remember everything and honestly, I’ve been going over that case lately and still am puzzled with how it turned out. Go ahead, give me the number. What have I got to worry about with an eighteen year old girl? What’s she gonna do, shoot me?”

  “Who knows Santy, read the paper? Everybody has a grudge these days.”

  “If she shoots me, Brownie, I’m coming for you!”

  Detective Brown gives Santy the number and offers to have him over for dinner.

  “We’d love to have you over anytime. Valerie worries about you down there all alone. She worries you’re going to shrink down to nothing with how you eat.”

  “Fish tacos ain’t gonna kill me. They’re good for you!”

  “Every day?”

  “I like ‘em! Hell, I’m retired, I can do what I want now! I have a nip of good whiskey every now and then too; doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Well, I told you; so if Valerie ever asks, don’t say I didn’t’ tell you. I’m sincere; any time, we’d love to have you.”

  “Thanks Brownie, you’re a good friend, and you don’t deserve such a good wife.”

  “Don’t I know it! Take it easy now and don’t be such a stranger. I gotta go and take care of some subpoenas. Have a whiskey for me.”

  “Thanks Brownie, talk to you later.”

  Chapter 21

  Clarissa is awakened by the phone ringing. It’s a faraway ring, yet it startles her from her sleep. At first she’s annoyed thinking, Come on, Nana. Please, answer the phone!” She looks over at the clock and it’s 9:30. Oh my god, I’m going to be late for work. She remembers that her grandmother was going to get her hair done at nine and before she went to bed last night she reminded Clarissa that she would be “on her own” in the morning. The phone keeps ringing. Rising out of bed, she wraps a sheet around herself, and g
oes in the back door to answer the wall phone in the kitchen.

  “Hello?” Clarissa answers, in her best annoyed, just-woke-up voice.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Clarissa Rogers. Does she live there?” the caller says.

  “Who?”

  “Clarissa Rogers. This is Dick Santy, I had a message that you wanted to speak with me.”

  Clarissa thinks, “Dick Santy, who is this guy?” Then it comes to her. She says, “Are you Detective Santy?”

  “Well, I used to be, yes. I’m retired now. Am I speaking to Clarissa Rogers?”

  “Yes, I’m Clarissa Rogers. Thank you for calling me back. I’m trying to find out more about my father and mother. My father died and his name was….oh my God, you know all about this, don’t you.”

  “Yes, I know all about the murder case involving your father. I’m so sorry for your loss and wished it hadn’t happened.”

  “Thank you so much for calling. I’ve been doing a lot of reading on my father’s case and I’ve got so many questions about him and who my mother is and…”

  “Whoa there, you’ve been reading about the case, have you? What’s this about your mother? What does she have to do with your father’s case?”

  “I don’t know. I mean… I don’t know what she has to do with anything. I want to find out who my mother is!”

  There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. Then, Detective Santy says, “Look, Clarissa, please understand that I’m really sorry for your loss, but I’m not sure I understand what I can do for you at this time. I’m not a policeman anymore and I sure don’t know who your mother is.”

  “I think I do,” Clarissa says.

  “Okay. Now I’m totally confused. You want me to help you find your mother, but you already know who she is. What’s wrong with this picture?”