James Ross - A Character-Based Collection (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “Do you know who drives it?” Bazz thought that he would try the direct approach.

  “Yes I do.”

  “Who?”

  “No way I’m falling that easy,” Tindra replied. “I want an agreement.”

  Bazz played dumb. “What are you talking about?”

  “You make me a deal. I give you the information you’re looking for. You talk to the judge and get me out of here.”

  “We don’t do things like that.”

  “Stop the crap, Detective. I want to leave here. You can get me out if you want. Talk to who you need to talk to so I can go home.”

  Lester J folded his hands and placed them on the table. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to but things don’t go the way that you think.”

  “Yes they do,” Tindra replied. “Snitches get preferential treatment. You know it and I know it.”

  “Cops and prosecutors have gotten tips from friendlies in the past. Crossing that line can present benefits and dangers,” Lester J shrugged. “A lot of what you’re talking about depends on how valuable the prosecutor values the information.”

  “How reliable is the inside scoop?” Bazz asked.

  “It’s good.”

  “Are you willing to testify in court?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the information accurate? Will it lead to an arrest? Things like that determine what sort of arrangement can be made.”

  “I have what you need and I want to go home.”

  Lester J jumped back in. “We can talk to the prosecutor and see if he is willing to be lenient with the rest of your sentence. However your situation is a bit different. Your sentence is short. The murder case probably won’t go to court before you are eligible to be released.”

  Bazz tried a quick one. “Now what do you have for us?”

  Tindra gave him a nasty look. “Get the paperwork done. Once you make me an offer I can live with then I’ll tell you who was driving that motorcycle.”

  “Everything from a prosecutor that I have seen refers to information that leads to an arrest and conviction,” Lester J explained.

  Tindra got up from her chair. She had a domineering, hard edge—abrupt and firm. Mullen and Basnahan felt it. “I’m not kidding. I want out of here.” She called for the guard and held out her hands to be cuffed. “See if he’ll release me if the information leads to an arrest. If it leads to prosecution then maybe he’ll drop my ten thousand dollar fine.” She headed for the door.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Lester J and Bazz left the jail and headed to a nearby gas station. It was a combination truck stop, Taco Bell, fried chicken place. Bazz could eat any item on the Taco Bell menu while Lester J went after the fried livers and gizzards next door. Each grabbed a mega-sized soft drink at the self-serve fountain area.

  Once back in the car Bazz asked, “What did you make of that?”

  “Every snitch is different, wouldn’t you say?” Lester J fetched a fried gizzard and chewed like a dog on a rubber bone. “She’s ready to go home and based on what she told us she has a damn good idea who that bike belongs to.” Lester J washed down the gizzard with a healthy sip through the straw.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yep. She’s seen that bike before and it sounds like it is in her inner circle.” Lester J was to the point. He drove ahead in silence with his free hand searching for a liver.

  “What are you thinking? Raul?”

  “Nope. She wouldn’t turn him in. She’s been looking for ways to keep him around.”

  “You read the texts that she was sending. They were vicious. She’s no angel.”

  Lester J grinned and glanced at Bazz. “I’m thinking she will say anything in court that we want her to say.”

  “You think she’ll go that far?”

  “She can’t stand Shari; hates her. We’ll need to get her on the stand to eventually convict. Covington won’t stand much of a chance to prosecute the case and win a capital murder conviction based on the evidence we have.” The soda helped wash down a dry liver. “She’ll have to get up there and say what we need her to say.” Lester J shook his head up and down as he played the scenario out in his head. “Can you imagine how valuable she’ll be as a witness if we clean her up, apply some makeup, and dress her properly?”

  “A jury would love her.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” Lester J said. “Look, we don’t have a damn thing to go on. There’s no gun, no motive, no motorcycle. Nothing. We’re going to need a cooperating witness that can tie everything together. She’ll be perfect.”

  “That’s fine if Covington agrees, but a snitch is a snitch. Her credibility won’t win any model citizen awards.”

  “There’s too much pressure on us to get this case solved. He’ll agree, especially if we can get a written confession.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You lost me there.” Bazz mumbled to himself as a glob of sour cream oozed out of the back side of his burrito and dropped on his crotch. “What’s a written confession from her going to do? She’s only leading us to the bike.”

  “My thinking is that the guy on the bike is the shooter. He has no connection to the victim.”

  “Richards?”

  “Yeah, Richards,” Lester J replied as he worked his jaws on another gizzard. “She can hook us up with the bike and…”

  “The shooter.”

  “You got it.”

  “Once we get that then we find out who put the shooter up to it. That’s where we get the written confession.”

  “Do you think that will be good enough to get a conviction for Covington?”

  “It’s going to have to be. We can’t seem to get shit for evidence.”

  “Those guys hate to try capital murder cases on circumstantial evidence.”

  “Anything can happen in a courtroom. Let’s get what we can get and let those guys decide what they want to do.”

  “Where to now?”

  “We’re going to have to get in to see Covington.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  It didn’t take long for Khalid Gandapur to get in touch with Detectives Mullen and Basnahan. In a distinct Pakistani accent, he informed the pair that he was representing Tindra Svahnstrom. He scheduled an immediate meeting with the detectives and prosecutor for the sole purpose of striking a deal for leniency.

  It was not an “all-win” situation for Tindra. In exchange for her information about the motorcycle she would be released from prison if it led to an arrest. Her $10,000 fine would be waived only if it led to a conviction. If she would provide information on the motorcycle and testimony in court that led to the conviction of the murderer of Richard W. Richards then she would get the deal that she was seeking. All charges and convictions would be wiped off the slate and her criminal record would be clean.

  Afterward Lester J and Bazz had an opportunity to talk about the recent turn of events.

  “Were you surprised that Covington let her have what she wanted?” Bazz asked.

  “No, not really,” Lester J replied. “We need a break to solve this murder. If she can identify the owner of that bike and where it is and who was on it, then that will go a long way to helping us.”

  “But we’re still going to have problems.”

  “A multitude of them. Even with a confession, it is not a slam dunk case. Our evidence is so thin a good defense attorney can appeal to a jury.”

  “We’re going to have a lot of work to do.”

  “The bottom line is that she struck a decent deal for herself,” Lester J said.

  “If she can give us the tip we need that leads us to the killer, then I’m all for it,” Bazz added.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Detectives Mullen and Basnahan were in the interview room when Tindra and Khalid arrived with the guard. With Khalid at her side she was ready to talk. It was her opportunity to be truthful. Even though she got the deal that she wanted her disposition was as cranky as a hungry female bear.

/>   “You know why we’re here,” Lester J began. “You got what you wanted.”

  Tindra appeared nervous. Ratting out an acquaintance was not an everyday occurrence. She looked at her attorney and asked, “Is it okay?” Khalid nodded.

  “The agreement called for the total truth,” Bazz said.

  “You know what we want. Whose motorcycle was it?” Lester J asked.

  Tindra tapped her fingers on the table. “I can get out of here?”

  “Yes, if the information leads to an arrest. Your fine will be waived if the information leads to a conviction.” Khalid smiled when he heard that. The detectives assumed that was how he was to collect his fee.

  “How long will that take?”

  “It depends on what comes out of the lead.”

  Tindra glanced at her lawyer. With reservation she blurted a name. “Rico.”

  “Rico? Who is Rico?”

  “I don’t know his last name.”

  “Dammit!” Bazz exploded. “You’ve got to do better than that!”

  Lester J raised both of his hands signaling for Bazz to calm down. “How do you know Rico?”

  “He’s a friend of Raul’s.”

  The detectives exchanged glances. “How do they know each other?”

  “They came to the country together.”

  “What does this Rico character do?”

  “I don’t really know. Odd jobs I think.”

  “Come on, Tindra,” Bazz urged. “Your memory is going to have to get better.”

  “I don’t really know him.”

  “Where did you see this motorcycle?”

  “In our driveway.”

  “At your house in Kirkwood?” Lester J asked.

  Tindra nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “When did you see this motorcycle?”

  “It’s been a long time ago. Way back in the summer.”

  Bazz was astonished. He was hoping that it was recently. “Nine months ago?”

  “Maybe longer,” Tindra replied.

  Lester J and Bazz looked at each other. They were disappointed but at least they had a name. “Does Raul know that you are giving us his friend’s name?”

  Tindra shook her head back and forth. “No.” Her eyes were lowered to the table. The hardened appearance turned meek.

  “Does he know Rico’s last name?”

  “I think.”

  “Where can we find this Rico guy?”

  “I don’t know where he lives.”

  “Quit lying to us,” Bazz said.

  “I’m not. I don’t know.”

  “How often does Raul talk to him?”

  “I don’t know that he does right now.”

  “Wait a minute,” Bazz interrupted, “you’re telling us that your boyfriend came over here with this guy, they’re friends, and now they don’t talk to each other?”

  Tindra nodded yes.

  “Quit the bull crap, Tindra!” Bazz snapped. “If you want this agreement to stick, you’ve got to get a lot better with your memory.”

  She started crying. “That’s all I know.”

  “Why should we believe you?” Bazz persisted. “You’ve lied to us every time we’ve talked to you.”

  “That’s all I know,” Tindra cried.

  “Can you get his last name and his address from your boyfriend?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m talking to you.”

  Bazz turned to the lawyer. “Well, Mr. Khalid, it looks like you are about to earn your fee. We want Rico’s last name and where we can reach him. Get it to us by the end of the day or the deal is off.”

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Rico Avila was at one time a talented baseball player. He, along with Basilio Vasquez and Raul Mendez, formed the nucleus of a Caribbean All-Star baseball team that traveled to locations north of the equator. Those spots included the United States.

  That is where the version of the story changes. Raul claimed to Shari that the trio hopped a boat and came to the country together after Basilio signed with the Cardinals. In actuality the three baseball players skipped out on their team and stayed in the United States. Some say they defected from their country, but Puerto Rico is a United States territory so it is hard to say they actually committed an action that severe. A Puerto Rican born in Puerto Rico is a US citizen, at least after the Jones-Shafrot Act of 1917 was passed into law. The only distinction is that they are not born-in-the-US citizens.

  Raul played centerfield. Rico played second base. Basilio played first base. They stayed in the continental United States. Only Basilio made it to major league baseball stardom. The other two struggled. Raul became a waiter and physical therapy masseur while Rico struggled from odd job to odd job with significant stints as a pimp and bookie.

  Tindra lied to the detectives when the question arose. She provided Rico’s last name to Khalid after Mullen and Basnahan left the jail. She told Khalid after the pair left that she didn’t want to be intimidated by them. She wanted Khalid to make the call.

  After contacting the detectives Khalid, in broken English, said “Avila” and gave an address in Lemay, Missouri. The town borders the southern St. Louis City limits and was off of I-55 in St. Louis County.

  Once Lester J and Bazz had a name and address they looked for background information on their subject. A stroke of luck followed. Rico Avila had an outstanding warrant for his arrest on a bad check charge in St. Louis County. Lester J and Bazz ordered around the clock surveillance from officers on patrol and undercover cops on the street. It took less than 24 hours to locate Rico. They followed him around the clock until the warrant for his arrest was issued by St. Louis County authorities. Late one night Rico parked his used Ford Pinto on the street outside his aged two-story row house and entered. A patrol officer placed a call to Lester J and Bazz.

  It was just after midnight when the detectives arrived to apprehend Rico. The warrant was served and he was placed into custody. A few minutes later he was on his way to an interrogation room at police headquarters in Clayton. Rico dozed in an interrogation room while the detectives purposely made him wait and wonder. He was sound asleep when Mullen and Basnahan entered the room 45 minutes later. Bazz banged a recorder on the table to awaken Rico. Lester J sat across from him while Bazz grabbed a chair and sat off to the side to observe Rico’s reactions.

  Bazz turned on the recorder. Rico eyed it suspiciously. “Can I get you anything?” Lester J asked. “Would you like coffee or a soda; maybe a trip to the john?”

  “Nah, just tell me what this is about.” Rico reached into his pocket to grab a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Go ahead. Need a light?” Bazz had a flame in front of Rico’s face before he could put the cigarette in his mouth.

  “We picked you up on the bad check charges,” Lester J said. “We’re homicide detectives. What we are doing is routine. We’re in the middle of an investigation and we have reason to believe you could be a helpful witness.”

  The mention of homicide got Rico’s attention. “I haven’t killed nobody.”

  Bazz spoke next. “We didn’t say you did.” He pointed to the recorder. “We tape all interviews. It really doesn’t mean anything other than to protect you and serve as a reminder in case we miss something.”

  Lester J disclosed the date, time, and place of the interview and who was present. Lester J clearly read the Miranda rights. It was 1:22 a.m. Rico was told that he had the right to remain silent and that anything he said could and would be used against him in a court of law. “Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have the right to an attorney. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can stop answering questions at any time. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can request a lawyer at any time. Do you understand that?”


  “Yes.”

  “Are you willing to give us a statement about an incident that we are investigating?”

  “Yes.” Rico yawned and rubbed his eyes. “If it is about bad checks I can explain, but I’d still like to know what this is about.”

  “That will become clear in a few minutes,” Bazz replied.

  “Is your name Rico Pascual Avila?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live at 392 C Avenue in Lemay, Missouri?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are 38 years old?”

  “Yes.”

  Lester J wanted Rico to answer affirmatively to as many questions as he could to get him to relax. He wanted him to feel comfortable before Bazz lowered the boom.

  Bazz flipped through the notes on his legal pad. “Can you tell us what you were doing on the morning of June 12 last year?”

  “Sleeping, I hope. That was nine months ago. I’m sure I wasn’t writing a check.”

  “That date doesn’t ring a bell for you?”

  “Of course not. Why should it?”

  “We’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind,” Bazz shot back.

  Lester J took the lead. “I can understand why you can’t remember things that happened on that specific date. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember what happened yesterday, let alone nine months ago. Some of these questions won’t make any sense to you. We’re simply trying to rule out some things that we are investigating.” Lester J stopped for a second. He reached over to the notepad that Bazz was holding and grabbed an 8 X 10 glossy picture of a white Honda motorcycle with a purple stripe. “Have you ever owned a motorcycle like this?”

  Rico squirmed ever so slightly. He grabbed the photo and looked at it closely. He shook his head. “No.”

  “Have you ever driven one like that?” Bazz asked.

  “I could have. I’ve driven motorcycles before.”

  “Hmm,” Bazz groaned. “Have you stolen one like this?”

  The tension in the room grew. “Hey, I’ve done some lousy things in my life, but I’m not a thief.”

  It was time for Lester J to ask another question. “Have you ever hurt anyone?”