Before Romero could get the cap back on the pen, Sergeant Brent Rozman asked, "Is that the correct answer to the only question on the FBI entrance exam?"
"Sort of," the special agent said. "Thank you, lieutenant, for the introduction. As you all now know, my name is Romero Diaz and I've been with the FBI for about three years."
"I have a question," Detective Nate Boxley asked.
"Hold your questions, please," the special agent said. "The FBI has traditionally had a bad reputation with local law enforcement and the Director wants to fix that."
"Yeah, right," Detective Bryce "Zippy" Zippich said under his breath.
Romero pointed to the whiteboard. "'FBI' stands for the 'Federal Bureau of Investigation', but I'm sure you have other... more colorful... names for it. I'd like to hear some."
The room of full of investigators looked around at each other.
"Fumbling Bumbling Idiots," Sergeant Ted Lindsey said.
"You can do better than that," Romero challenged. "Something a little more original."
"Female Body Inspectors," Sergeant Ben Zaff offered.
"That's better. Anyone else?"
"Fucking Bunch of Idiots," Jerrod said.
"Good. Any others?"
"Famous, But Incompetent," the lieutenant said -- clearly enjoying the exercise.
"Thank you, sir," Romero continued. "I can tell you we have earned all of those names and I'm here to fix that." He looked at Nate. "You had a question, Detective."
"Yeah," Nate said. "So your telling us the days of the FBI just showing up and saying, 'We're the FBI. Tell us everything you know -- we're not going to tell you shit' are over?"
"They're over," Romero said. "We are here to help local law enforcement in any way we can."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Brent said.
"Well, you can believe it now. We're branching out from the big field offices. I moved in to a small office in a quiet little complex on the east side of Mesa about a week ago. A second agent will be assigned here in about a month. We'll be working exclusively in the Mesa-area and we're available for pretty much anything you need us for."
Ted Lindsey nodded.
"To help us get to know each other better, the lieutenant has invited me to... well... hang-out at your office anytime. I can help with any federal resources you might need. For example, I can expedite crime lab requests and fingerprint checks for you."
Detective Raymond "Shroom" Mingus perked up, but his face had a expression of doubt. "You can?"
"I can."
"You're my new best friend," Shroom said.
"I've left a stack of business cards with the lieutenant that have the new office and cell phone numbers on them. Call anytime. Any other questions?"
"You're a 'Special Agent', right?" Detective Marshall "Beach" Sutton asked.
"Yes."
"I've always wanted to know this: Does the FBI have "Regular Agents' or "Super-Duper Agents' or are all of you guys just... well... 'Special?'"
Romero smiled. "I guess we're all just 'Special'. Thanks for asking."
The room erupted in laughter as Romero thanked everyone for hearing him out.
CHAPTER 32
October 1990 -- Tuesday Night Poker Game
Jerrod Gold arrived at the bi-weekly poker game held at the home of Roger Collin's.
Jerrod's skills at poker had improved since he started playing with the group four years earlier. He understood all of the wild variations of the games played in the "dealer's choice" format. He had actually walked away on several nights with his ten dollars and some from the other players.
"Different format tonight," Roger announced. "We only have ten players, so we're going to play a tournament. Your ten bucks gets you twenty-five chips. Two tables of five players each. Texas Hold 'Em. Nothing wild. If you loose your chips, you're out. Game over. No re-buys. No more poker for you. Go have a beer. Watch TV or --."
"Sleep with your lovely wife," "Beach" Sutton interrupted.
"If you sleep with my lovely wife," Roger shot back. "You get a full beer bottle forcibly applied to the side of your head."
All of the players laughed.
"This is a winner-takes-all tournament," Roger added. "The last player with all the chips wins the hundred-buck pool. One winner. No second or third place pay-outs. Any questions?"
Nine men shook their heads.
"You five guys start play at that table. We five will play here. When we get to six players left, we'll combine into one final table.
On the second hand at Jerrod's table, a player went "all-in" and lost.
Nine players.
Jerrod picked up a few chips a few hands later. A player at Roger's table lost his last chip and was out.
Eight left.
"I kind of like this tournament thing," Jerrod said to Beach.
"This is fun," Beach said.
Nate Boxley and Rudolfo "Rudy" Saavedra lost all their chips after Beach got a full-house when the fifth "river" card was dealt -- beating Nate Boxley's flush and Rudy's straight.
"Sick. You lucky bastard," Nate said as he got up from the table and headed to the kitchen for a beer.
"Poker is a game of skill," Beach said. "Luck had nothing to do with it."
Six players were left.
"You two bring your chips over here," Roger said as Jerrod and Beach joined the other remaining players at his table. Jerrod nodded to Ted Lindsey as he sat down. Ted smiled back.
Beach stood up on the very next hand when he bluffed at a pot with just an ace-high hand and got beat by Roger's pair of tens.
Five players.
Jerrod and Roger both won a few pots in the next several hands, but no players were eliminated.
Ted knocked out one player. Jerrod eliminated another.
Three players left.
Roger was out when his three-of-kind, or "set" was beat by Ted's straight.
"You and me now, pal," Ted said. "Heads-Up for the grand prize."
"Okay," Jerrod said. He looked at the stack of chips in front of Ted and then his own. Ted had, by a very small margin, the most chips.
Several hands were dealt and no real action developed. The deck shifted back and forth for six more hands as they alternated dealing, but the chip count stayed pretty much the same. Ted still had a slight chip lead.
Ted dealt Jerrod the king and ten of hearts. Jerrod raised and Ted called.
The flop came out with the two of spades, the six of hearts, and the queen of hearts. Jerrod had fours cards to a king-high flush and bet. Ted called.
The turn-card was the three of hearts -- completing Jerrod's king-high heart flush.
Jerrod bet and Ted called.
The river-card was the nine of clubs and didn't change the board.
Jerrod bet half of his remaining chips.
Ted didn't move immediately. He bent forward in his chair and glared into Jerrod's eyes.
"Can you see my soul in there?" Jerrod asked.
"Yes," Ted snapped back.
"I've got you 'covered,' Ted said -- meaning he had more chips than Jerrod. If Ted bet them all and Jerrod called with a losing hand -- Jerrod would be eliminated .
"Decision time, sir," Jerrod said as he looked at the board again and realized Ted would have to have two hearts in his hand -- and one of them would have to be the ace -- to beat him.
Ted studied Jerrod for nearly thirty-seconds. Jerrod opened his eyes as wide as he could to allow him and a better look into his mind.
Jerrod also studied Ted. He watched Ted pucker his lips slightly and he appeared to bite at the skin of his inner cheek as he calculated his move.
He couldn't recall ever noticing Ted do that before.
"I'm all-in," Ted announced as he used both hands to push his remaining chips toward the center of the green felt table.
"'Decision time, sir," Ted parroted as he started chewing at his inner cheek again.
The tournament and one-hundred dollars was on the line. If Jerrod
won the hand, Ted would have just a few chips left and would be severely crippled. If he folded, he would still have half of his previous chip stack left and still be alive in the game.
Jerrod watched Ted chew at his inner cheek. What are the odds he has two hearts -- including the ace? Seconds felt like hours as he weighed his only two choices -- calling or folding. Jerrod picked up his cards and looked at them again.
Some of the other players watching game groaned when Jerrod flipped his cards, face up, onto the table.
"Fold," he said -- giving the entire pot to Ted. "Show me the ace."
Ted wasn't obligated to show his cards and didn't speak in response. He flipped his cards face-up -- with one directly on top the other -- showing the ace of hearts.
"Nice lay-down, Jerrod," he heard a player standing behind him say.
Ted used his forefinger to push the ace to the side and expose the queen of spades. All he held was a pair of queens with an ace "kicker." He didn't have a flush at all. Ted's all-in raise had been stone-cold bluff and Jerrod had thrown away the winning hand.
"Holy shit," another player said.
"See. I told you," Beach whispered to Nate. "Poker is a game of skill."
Jerrod lost his remaining chips on the next hand. Ted raised both arms over his head -- Rocky-style -- to claim his victory.
"Good game," Jerrod said as he stood up and headed toward the kitchen for a Heineken.
"Good game," Ted said.
CHAPTER 33
October 1990 -- Wednesday Morning
"Sergeant," Linda Westphal said as she peaked into Jerrod Gold's office.
"What's up, Linda?"
"Dispatch just called. Patrol's out with a dead man in a house just outside Valle Verde. They said the scene is suspicious... possibly a homicide. They're asking for detectives, CSU, and the Coroner to respond. The fire department's already been there."
"Have CSU and Coroner been notified?"
"They're on the way, but that's the thing. Sergeant Rozman's in Fresno on that shooting case and Sergeant Zaff called-in sick this morning. And, of course, the lieutenant is off surfing somewhere in Maui. There's no supervisor to send to the scene... except you."
"I'm not really supposed to run any cases. You know how the L-T set this position up --."
"You're the only one here," she interrupted.
"Okay. Give me the address and I'll get something started."
She handed him a yellow Post-It. "Here you go. The address is on there."
"Nate. Zippy," Jerrod said as he entered their shared office and interrupted a deep conversation with FBI Special Agent Romero Diaz... which somehow involved the game of basketball. "Sorry to bust up your party, gentlemen, but we have a situation in South County."
"What is it, Sarge?" Zippy asked.
"Patrol's out with a suspicious death just outside Valle Verde. Possible homicide. They're calling for CSU, Coroner, and us. I'm the only sergeant here today, so I guess we're going to handle it."
"Okay," Nate said. "What and where?"
"A dead man in a house is all I really know right now," Jerrod said as he handed him the Post-It with the address.
"Where do you want me?" Zippy asked.
"I'm going to have you stay here at the office. Nate and I will funnel info to you as we gather it."
"Mind if I go check it out?" Romero asked. "I've never been to a homicide scene."
"Are you serious?" Jerrod asked. "If you go, I'm putting you to work. This ain't no ride-along, G-Man. And you might get some blood on that nice suit."
"Sure. No problem," Romero said. "Whatever you need."
"Okay," Jerrod said. "Get the address from Nate and I'll see you there."
* * *
The drive from the SO to the crime scene took a little over a half-hour. Jerrod, Nate, and Romero arrived in separate cars within a few minutes from each other.
Located about a mile east of the Valle Verde city limits, the aging neighborhood on Sunland Avenue had probably never seen so much activity. The focus was on an unkept quarter-acre lot containing a small, faded green, single story, thirty-year-old house. The bushes around the front of the house had grown into the eves and what was once a front lawn had become a patch of dirt with a few strands of yellowing grass.
A SO green-and-white and two unmarked white full-size Chevrolet vans from the CSU and Coroner were parked in the street in front of the house. Bright yellow CRIME SCENE DO NOT ENTER tape was strung around the front and sides of the house and yard. A few neighbors stood outside the tape with coffee cups and watched the activities.
Also behind the crime scene tape was Former Valle Verde Sun crime beat reporter -- and current freelance videographer -- Bruce Witt. With his large black commercial news camera hanging from from his right hand, he yelled, "Jerrod... Sergeant Gold... a minute, please."
In California, as the result of some appellate court decisions, all television, radio, and print media reporters and camera operators were given great access to accident and natural disaster scenes to report the events to the public... even if the access is potentially hazardous to them. Law enforcement had an informal name for this access -- "The California Media Right-To-Die" rulings.
The only exception to those rulings has been an active crime scene. Hence, when law enforcement was actively investigating a crime and the perimeter of that scene has been established, the media was prohibited, by law, from entering the scene. The use of yellow crime scene tape is the most common way to establish that perimeter -- a magical barrier -- and limit access to only those directly involved in the investigation.
"Crime Scene Do Not Enter" meant just that... for both the public and the media.
"Hey, Bruce. I just got here and I've got nothing for you at the moment." Jerrod lifted the crime scene tape and walked under it. "Take all the video you want out here. I'll come back out and talk to you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The patrol deputy guarding the front of the house was one of the bi-weekly poker players -- Rudolfo "Rudy" Saavedra.
Rudy was aged at about fifty, was six foot-two and weighed close to 300 pounds. The buttons of his uniform shirt strained under the pressure of the mass around his waist. He had served nearly twenty-six years with the SO and had worked the South County Five Beat for many years.
"How you doing, Rudy?" Jerrod asked as they shook hands. "What do you got for us?"
"Hi, Sarge," Rudy said as he "man-nodded" Nate and Romero. "Follow me to the carport... too many ears out here."
The detectives and the SA followed Rudy to the attached carport to the left of the house. Jerrod noticed two unopened rolled copies of the Valle Verde Sun morning newspaper in the narrow driveway. Thin red rubber bands held the paper together in its roll.
A faded brown mid-'80s Dodge short-bed truck with rusting chrome bumpers was parked face-in the flat-roofed carport.
"I got a radio call," Rudy said, "to do a welfare check on an old guy here. His name is... was... Walter Jelinski. Seventy-two years old. Dispatch said his son was a patient at the Valle Verde Hospital and called because he hadn't heard from the his dad for over a day."
Jerrod nodded.
"Dispatch said if this Dodge truck was at the house, the old man -- Walter -- should be home."
"What happened next?" Nate asked.
"The pickup truck was locked and the engine was cold. I knocked on the door and called Mr. Jelinski's name, but got no answer. I peeked into the windows at the front of the house and nothing seemed out of place. Come on, follow me to the back yard."
The deputy led them past a six-foot-tall gray-weathered redwood fence without a gate. The backyard landscape was in worse shape than the front.
"I walked in to the backyard, here," Rudy said, "and looked into this bedroom window."
The deputy pointed to an open window four feet wide and three-feet tall that was situated about four feet off the ground. The right side, movable, portion of the window had been slid open t
o the left.
An aluminum-framed window screen lay on the ground under the window.
"The room was fairly dark," Rudy continued. "The screen over the window was so dirty I had to wipe the dust away with my hand. I cupped my hands around the sides of my eyes and looked inside. All I could see was a leg... a human leg... well... a pant leg and a sock... on the floor on the other side of the bed. I knocked and yelled, but the leg didn't move."
The deputy paused for a moment.
"I used my Buck Knife to remove the screen and found the bedroom window unlocked. I pushed the window open and yelled into the room. Nothing. I thought about climbing in through the window, but that was... uh... impractical." He glanced down at his formidable belly.
Jerrod looked in through the open window and saw the "leg" as described. Coroner Sergeant Ted Lindsey was in the room and snapped some Polaroid photos of whatever was attached to the leg on the other side of the bed. CSU Detective Ray "Shroom" Mingus took notes on a clipboard.
"I heard the Fire Department came out," Jerrod asked.
"Yeah," Rudy said. "I radioed for South County Fire and they sent a truck out Code 3. They got here about five minutes later."
"Who went inside?" Romero asked.
"One of the fire guys...a tall skinny kid, like you," Rudy said as he looked at Nate. "He climbed in with no problem to check... the leg. He walked across the bed and knelt down for a few seconds on the other side. He stood up and told me the man was.... his words... 'way dead' and there was nothing they could do for him. I told the fire guy not to touch anything, but to go to the front door and unlock it so I could get in."
"Did the firefighter say if the deadbolt was latched or if just the knob was locked," Nate asked.
Rudy thought for a few seconds. "He told me he had to unlock the knob to get out. He didn't mess with the deadbolt."
Cross Examination: The Second Jerrod Gold Novel (The Jerrod Gold Novels Book 2) Page 11
