Death’s
Valley
A Novel
Roy A. Teel Jr.
Death’s Valley
A Novel
Roy A. Teel Jr.
The Iron Eagle Series: Book Seven
An Imprint of Narroway Publishing LLC.
Copyright © 2015 by Roy A. Teel Jr.
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without prior written permission of the publisher. ®The Iron Eagle Logo is the copyright and registered trademark of Roy A. Teel Jr. and used by permission.
Narroway Publishing LLC.
Imprint: Narroway Press
P.O. Box 1431
Lake Arrowhead, California 92352
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition
ISBN: 978-0-9903637-9-8
Teel, Roy A., 1965-
Death’s Valley: A Novel, The Iron Eagle Series: Book Seven /
Roy A. Teel Jr. — 1st ed. — Lake Arrowhead, Calif. Narroway Press
c2015. p. ; cm. ISBN: 978-0-9903637-9-8 (eBook)
1. Hard-Boiled – Fiction. 2. Police, FBI – Fiction. 3. Murder – Fiction.
4. Serial Killers – Fiction. 5. Mystery – Fiction. 6. Suspense – Fiction.
7. Graphic Violence – Fiction. 8. Graphic Sex – Fiction.
I. Title.
Book Editing: Finesse Writing and Editing LLC.
Cover and Book Design: Adan M. Garcia, FSi studio
Author Photo: F. E. Arnest
For: Frank Serpico
For his courage and strength
Also by Roy A. Teel Jr.
Nonfiction:
The Way, The Truth, and The Lies: How the Gospels
Mislead Christians about Jesus’ True Message
Against the Grain: The American Mega-church
and its Culture of Control
Fiction:
The Light of Darkness: Dialogues in Death: Collected Short Stories
And God Laughed, A Novel
Fiction Novel Series:
Rise of the Iron Eagle: Book One
Evil and the Details: Book Two
Rome Is Burning: Book Three
Operation Red Alert: Book Four
A Model for Murder: Book Five
Devil’s Chair: Book Six
“Corruption is like a ball of snow, once it’s set a rolling it must increase.”
— Charles Caleb Colton
“An honest cop still can’t find a place to go and complain without fear of recrimination. The blue wall will always be there because the system supports it.”
— Frank Serpico
Seal of The Iron Eagle ®
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cleansing
About the Author
Chapter One
“You will be respectful. You understand
me, you slant-eyed piece of shit?”
It was just before sunset as John Swenson packed the last of his things to go home for the evening. He was excited because he and Sara were getting ready to take their first vacation since getting married nearly three years earlier. His secretary, Samantha Ross, walked into the office and said, “I can’t believe that you’re really going to leave your post for two whole weeks.” “Yea, well, I won’t believe it until I’m sitting on our private jet, and we are on our way.” “Well, I’m going to miss you.” John smiled and said, “Thanks, Sam. You’ll be fine. Besides, you have to deal with Agent Owens. He will be running things in my absence.” Sam frowned. “He’s so damned grouchy. It’s hard to work for him.” John half laughed and said, “Well, Owens has been here at the Bureau for a long time. He might be grouchy, but he’s a great investigator and manager.” She nodded weakly and walked over and gave him a hug. At four foot ten, she was tiny next to John’s huge frame. He put an arm around her and said, “I will see you in two weeks. I doubt the world is going to come to an end while I’m gone.” Sam started walking out of John’s office and said, “With all the shit I’ve seen in the last four years working here, I wouldn’t rule it out.” John laughed as she disappeared into the outer office.
Steve rolled up to John’s office in his wheelchair and asked, “So, you’re really doing it? You’re really going on vacation?” John nodded and said, “Um…so are you and Gail. Are you two packed and ready to go?” Steve looked on and said, “Yea. Gail has been packed for a week. I really feel bad that we are crashing your vacation.” “You’re not crashing anything. You and Gail need some time away together, and Sara is your doctor. She made it clear that she will only vacation if she has her number one patient with her.” Steve smiled and said, “You’re both such good people, John. This means the world to Gail and me.” John shrugged and said, “I don’t know how good a people we are, but we care for you and Gail…now let’s get the hell out of here before something comes up that pulls us away.” Steve nodded, John threw the bag over his shoulder, and the two men headed for the elevator.
John pressed the button, and when the doors opened, Jim O’Brian was standing in the elevator ready to exit. Steve looked at him and said, “No…no mother fuckin’ way…John and I are gone. You didn’t see us. Whatever the fuck it is, take it to Jared.” Jim laughed and said, “Jared? Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That guy couldn’t investigate his way out of a paper bag. I’m sorry, guys. I just need a few minutes of your time, and you can be off.” John slouched and took the bag off his shoulder and pushed Steve back to a conference room, and all three men entered, and Jim shut the door.
Garrison Cantrell was sitting in a holding cell at men’s central jail in downtown LA waiting for his attorney to try to get him released. He had been arrested and charged with the murder of Mary Schultz. He was in holding awaiting his arraignment and was being held without bond. His attorney arrived and after being given a hard time by other officers for defending a cop killer, he made his way to the holding room. Garrison sat silent when Ben Santone walked in. “We have the hearing, Garrison. You’re pleading not guilty.” Garrison nodded, and Ben said, “You know there is no way that I’m going to be able to get a bail amount set for you, right?” He nodded and said, “I’m aware. I also know that I will never make it anywhere near trial. These guys are going to kill me.” Ben looked down at the table in the small room and said, “I’m going to make a motion to have you remanded to federal custody while awaiting trial. Based on
what you have been telling me, I agree that you are most likely going to have an ‘accident’ and die or be another ‘jail suicide.’” “What do you think the odds are that you can get the judge to approve it?” “Good, very, very good. The judge doesn’t want your blood on her hands. I have spoken to her in chambers, and she has agreed, off the record, that you would be better off out of LAPD’s jail.” Ben stood up and said, “Well, time to go.” Garrison stood up and looked at Ben and said, “You and I both know that I’m going down for this, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.” Ben said, “There is no evidence that you did anything wrong. The case is a poorly built house of cards based on circumstantial evidence. I believe that we will prevail, and you will be acquitted.” Garrison smiled weakly and said, “You are ever the optimist, Ben.” He looked at Garrison and said, “No…I have never asked you about your guilt or innocence here. I know you. You’re a good man, and you were a good cop. I know you had nothing to do with Schultz’s death, and I’m going to show you that the system works.” Garrison laughed and said, “If it does, it will be the first time.” Two sheriff’s deputies walked in and cuffed and shackled Garrison, and the two men headed for the Los Angeles County Superior Court where Garrison would be held for his hearing the next morning.
Los Angeles Police Detective Mario Sanchez had pulled up and parked outside a small market in Koreatown at the corner of West Third and Vermont Avenue. The area was bustling with strip malls and other buildings on all four corners. Sanchez walked across the parking lot, getting bumped and shoved by shoppers and tourists that had come down to the area to sightsee and shop for their daily goods. As Sanchez was nearing the entrance to the Koreatown Market, a large Hispanic man ran into him, excused himself, and then handed him a flyer. Sanchez went to throw it down on the ground but caught the disapproving eye of the man who handed it to him, so he put it inside the flap of his suit coat and pushed on into the store and straight through to the back.
He had shown up announced, and three men sat in chairs in the small, smoke-filled room with a cash counting machine that was running hundred dollar bills through it, then bundling and wrapping them in bank note paper in stacks of ten thousand dollars each.
Kim Sung, the owner of the store, saw Sanchez enter but didn’t move. Sanchez pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “So, you guys had a very good take. I see your girls have been working hard, and the illegal fight betting has been good as well as your other endeavors.” There was a small, brown, brick-shaped object next him on the corner of the table, and Sanchez took out a penknife and stuck it into the side of the brick. The blade came out with a fine white powder on it. He took some on his finger and ran it across his gums. “Oh…now that’s what I’m talking about. What the fuck do you cut this shit with? It’s some of the best coke I have ever used,” Sanchez asked, picking up a pack of bills and fanning through them.
Sung said nothing but stood up, walked over to a nearby table, pulled a bag off of it, and handed it to Sanchez. Sanchez opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. It was an accounting sheet showing the gross take from the activities that went on in the small Los Angeles enclave. “Well, I must say, you had a very, very good weekend,” Sanchez said, looking into the bag and counting the cash bundled within. “Listen, gentlemen,” Sanchez said, “in order to keep your police protection, we are increasing our ‘fees.’” There was silence as the counting went on with no one speaking. Sanchez continued, “I mean, you guys, of all people, understand that overhead is expensive, and we have taken on two other officers, who have agreed to provide you protection from their street cruisers. That costs us money, and I don’t want to lose my cut of this deal or give up my profit. So, we are raising our fee to twenty percent. Any arguments?” There was no change in the room as the money was counted.
Sung grabbed the accounting document from Sanchez’s hand and pulled an additional ten percent from the pile of cash. He handed the money to Sanchez and said, “You go now!” Sanchez sat back and said, “Hey…I’m on a break. I will watch for a few minutes. You got a problem with that?” Sung looked on, and Sanchez took the back of his hand and smacked Sung on the side of the face, knocking him out of his chair. Sanchez got up and began kicking Sung in the stomach and groin all the while saying, “You…will…not…disrespect my authority. If I had my way, you slant-eyed assholes would be in jail or deported. Actually, I would love to fuckin’ blow your heads off...that’s just me talking, but then there are LAWS! You are a great profit center for me and other officers, so we let you operate.”
Sanchez was dripping with sweat as Sung cowered on the ground, wheezing and trying to breathe as blood was running down his face and mouth. Sanchez took a towel off the table, dried his face, and said, “Damn, Sung. It sounds like you have some broken ribs there.” Sanchez kicked him hard in the chest again and asked, “Now, how do you show your gratitude for my kindness?”
Sung was in the fetal position on the ground. Sanchez grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head into the concrete floor. Sanchez unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis, and pissed all over Sung’s face and upper body. Sanchez was out of breath but said as he was zipping up, “You will be respectful. You understand me, you slant-eyed piece of shit? We have gone to great lengths to get cops off the streets that would have ratted you out.” He finished fixing his pants, grabbed the bag and the extra cash that had been set aside, then grabbed another hundred thousand and said, “This,” he showed the cash to the men, “is a penalty for your rudeness.” With that last statement, he stormed out of the store.
Sanchez appeared outside approximately twenty minutes after first entering the store. With the bag in his hands, he leaned on his car and lit a cigarette. The crosshairs of the sniper rifle had a perfect lock on Sanchez’s head. The shooter laid flat on the smooth rooftop of the building across the street, a phone lifted to his ear, and pressed speed dial on his cell phone. “911. What is your emergency?” The voice that responded was understandable but electronic. It was a computer-generated voice used by disabled people who are unable to speak. The caller said, “There is an officer down at the corner of West Third and Vermont Avenue in the parking lot of the Koreatown Market. There are also many injured inside.” The caller kept the line open as Sanchez’s head bobbed slightly in the crosshairs of the rifle sight. The shooter gently squeezed the trigger, and Sanchez’s head exploded like a watermelon from the force of the shot, sending brain and skull fragments in all directions. No one else was injured, and no one heard a thing.
Chapter Two
“His head exploded. We don’t need a
body bag...we need a sponge.”
When Jim’s cell phone rang he was in the middle of reading a report with John and Steve, and he jumped. John laughed, as did Steve. Jim grabbed his phone and said, “WHAT THE FUCK?” He listened, looking at John and Steve, and replied, “I’m en route. Nobody does anything until I’m on scene.” He hung up the phone and said, “Your vacation will have to wait a few more hours. We have a situation in Koreatown.” Steve shrugged and asked, “We? Do you have a fuckin’ mouse in your pocket? John and I are on vacation!” Jim stood up and started for the door, “Not anymore. Follow me. The ante has just been upped in the Death’s Valley murder.” John and Jim looked at each other and then followed Jim out of the building. John and Steve jumped into John’s truck, and Jim took off in his cruiser, and off they went down Wilshire Boulevard headed for the crime scene.
Jade Morgan was yelling instructions to police, her staff, and onlookers. “Hey, you, Mr. Policeman, do your fuckin’ job! Keep those people back. Hey!” She was pointing to three members of her CSI team, “are you on the fuckin’ job, or are you three here for lunch? Lock off the scene. Get this thing taped off.” She was still yelling at people when John, Jim, and Steve pulled up. She saw John helping Steve out of the truck and into his wheelchair and Jim walking toward her. She cried out, “Thank God! Some real fuckin’ cops. Jim, can you get some of
your deputies on scene? LAPD here is ignoring me, and I’m getting pissed off. John, call your CSI team. Oh, and you’re going to want to put on booties and gloves before you go anywhere near the body.” John pulled his cell as did Jim, and in minutes the scene was crawling with FBI and sheriff’s investigators. John walked over to Jade who was standing outside the crime scene tape and asked, “What you got?” “LAPD detective with a head shot.” “Okay, so the guy was shot in the head. Let’s go look at the wound.” Jade looked at Jim who was standing off to the side smoking a cigarette. She walked over to him and grabbed the pack from Jim’s left top pocket and took a cigarette from the pack. Jim handed her his Zippo, and she lit the cigarette with a shaky hand. John and Steve simultaneously said, “I didn’t know you smoked!” She took a hit of the smoke and said coughing as she breathed out, “I gave it up ten years ago. I sneak one every now and then, and this is one of those situations.” Jim asked Jade while putting the cigarettes back in his pocket, “What’s the big deal? You got a head shot on a cop. Let’s take a look. He’s under the tarp over there, right?” Jim was pointing off in the distance.
Jade took a hit off the smoke and said, “Yep…his body is.” They all three looked at each other with a puzzled look on their faces. “You said he had a head shot,” John said. Jade nodded. “Then his head is under the tarp, too?” Jade shook her head. Jim said, “What the fuck? Is the guy head shot or not?” “His head exploded. We don’t need a body bag to clean it up. We need a sponge.” John laughed in spite of himself, walked under the crime scene tape, and lifted the tarp. Steve and Jim watched from a distance as John and Jade spoke. After about five minutes, two members of John and Steve’s team came over and said, “Sirs, you and Agent Swenson need to come into the store. You’re not going to believe what we found.”
Death's Valley Page 1
