Death's Valley

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  She was bright-eyed and smiling. Tracy got up and walked over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and said, “Thank you…you are a godsend today.” He smiled and sat back down and said, “Your honor, I’m here on the Cantrell case.” She sat back down in her chair and said, “Cut the formalities, John. I know why you’re here, and I’m going to grant the motion to have the suspect remanded into federal hands this morning.” “Thank you, Tracy. I will take him over to the federal building after the hearing, if that’s okay with you?” “Yea. No problem. So, how are you and Sara doing?”

  John smiled and said, “We are doing well. Sara is putting in a lot of hours, but she is doing really, really well.” “You haven’t been a slouch yourself. That was a hell of a case that you and Jim broke up out in Devil’s Chair.” He nodded. “I have to admit I’ve been puking my guts out now and again every time I think of the meats I ate and the cheeses I purchased that they produced. I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for that. I’m nearly at my goal weight!” They both laughed, and she said, “Now, get out of my chambers. I have to be on the bench in five minutes.” He stood up, and Tracy looked at him and said, “God, I miss you.” John got a sad look on his face and said, “If I had been ready to settle down back then, Tracy, I would have settled down with you. But I wasn’t, and by the time I was, you were in a relationship, and I found Sara again. I did love you and still do. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is call me.” She nodded as John walked out of her office.

  “All rise. This court will come to order. The Honorable Judge Tracy Olson presiding.” Tracy walked in in her black robe and sat down in the judge’s chair. “Clerk, please call the first case!” “The people versus Garrison Cantrell.” Tracy looked over to see Cantrell in jailhouse clothing sitting next to his counsel. The prosecutor, Mary Rogers, was standing at attention in a sharp suit. She shot John a dirty look as the court was ordered seated.

  Benson Santone was seated next to Garrison. Tracy spoke, “I have read the briefs supplied to me by both sides. While I know that Ms. Rogers would like to have Mr. Cantrell remain in the custody of the sheriff’s department, I have to side with Mr. Santone that Mr. Cantrell’s life could be in jeopardy given the volatile situation that this case brings, and, therefore, I am ordering him to be remanded over to the federal authorities for holding pending trial.”

  Much to John and Steve’s surprise, as well as many others in the courtroom, there was no objection. The judge was just about to slam the gavel when Santone rose to address the court. “Your honor, in light of recent events, I am making a motion for dismissal of all charges against my client.” The bailiff walked over and took a document from Santone’s hand and brought it to the judge. John looked over at Rogers, who sat silent. Santone handed a copy of the motion to Rogers, who sat and read it. Judge Olson read the motion and then asked, “Ms. Rogers, have you had an opportunity to see this motion?” “I have, your honor. The people acknowledge that the killing of Detective Sanchez and Officer Schultz were acknowledged in a note left for law enforcement after the cold-blooded murder of Detective Sanchez.”

  Santone spoke, “Your honor, there is not one piece of solid evidence against Mr. Cantrell. The State’s case has been based on circumstantial evidence, which, based on the tragic murder of Detective Sanchez, proves that my client had nothing to do with Ms. Schultz’s death. Mr. Cantrell has had his Fifth Amendment rights trampled by the court and the police in this matter. He has committed no crime. The State has a new suspect that must be sought out. The record is clear, your honor, and that record shows that Mr. Cantrell could not have committed Schultz’s murder or the murder of Detective Sanchez. We hereby move for dismissal of all charges against my client with prejudice.”

  Rogers sounded off with a volley of her own, and when the smoke cleared, John could see that Olson did have a bit of a pickle on her hands. “Mr. Santone, while I understand your argument, the State has filed serious charges against Mr. Cantrell.” “Charges that are trumped up and without basis or support in law, your honor. My client should not have to sit in prison awaiting trial for a crime he clearly did not commit.” Olson pulled a penal code book from behind her desk and opened it and pored over it, looking up the cases cited by Santone in his motion.

  Rogers started to interrupt her, and Olson shot her down. “Mr. Santone cites proper points and authorities that do make it difficult, if not illegal, to hold Mr. Cantrell in jail. While I will not dismiss the case against Mr. Cantrell, I do believe that significant modification of his custody is in order. I am ordering Mr. Cantrell released on his own recognizance with the agreement that he will wear a digital ankle tracker. Mr. Cantrell will be free to move about at his whim. He has already surrendered his passport, and as Mr. Santone points out in his motion, Mr. Cantrell does not pose a flight risk. I also feel that recent events give this court pause in this matter, and that keeping Mr. Cantrell in custody would be a violation of his constitutional rights. Therefore, it is the order of this court that the terms of Mr. Cantrell’s bail be amended as stated. He shall be remanded to pretrial release and be fitted with a GPS tracking ankle bracelet and monitored by the California Department of Probation.”

  Rogers argued momentarily, but she knew it was getting her nowhere. Judge Olson said, “Mr. Cantrell, please rise.” He did as instructed. “Do you understand the modified terms of your release?” “Yes, your honor.” “Do you understand that if you do not immediately upon release present yourself to the department of probation you will have violated the terms of your pretrial release, and you will be reincarcerated?” “Yes, your honor.” “You may be seated.” Olson rattled off the modifications for the record, slammed her gavel down, and told the court it would be in recess for ten minutes. She stood up and walked off the bench and back to her chambers.

  Steve looked at John and asked, “What the fuck did you say to her?” John shrugged. “Nothing. She had a migraine headache, and I gave her a little something to get rid of the headache.” Steve looked at John and said, “You drugged her?” “Well…not exactly. The medicine would not have affected her judgment. I did forget that about an hour after taking that medication most people end up throwing up.” “You mean she’s puking in the toilet?” John stood up and waited for Cantrell and said to Steve, “It’s unlikely that she made it to the bathroom. I would say that someone is calling for cleanup on hallway three.” Steve started laughing as John pulled his ID and asked to speak to Mr. Santone and Mr. Cantrell.

  Chapter Four

  “Then the question isn’t who wanted to

  kill him…it’s more like who didn’t.”

  It was ten after nine, and Detective Gilbert Chavez walked out of Union Station in downtown LA. He liked to take the train. It was convenient and within walking distance of his office near the federal courthouse on Spring Street. He had been assigned to an annex office after the fires in the San Fernando Valley destroyed his office. He was really enjoying the new office. It was close to Olvera Street off Spring Street where he stopped every morning for a Mexican breakfast.

  The Tortilla Shack had been on Olvera Street for generations, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner right near the end of the tourist section of the street. Gil walked up to the window to order, and a man in a chef’s uniform with a white hat and sunglasses greeted him. “Where’s Mario?” Gil asked inquisitively. “He’s ill today, and he asked me to fill in for him.” “How can I get my usual when Mario is not here to make it?” The chef had a piece of paper in front of him on the counter and said, “He left me this list of his regulars with instructions on their meals. What’s your name, sir?” “Chavez.” “Detective Gilbert Chavez?” He nodded. “It will be but a moment, sir. One special Mexican burrito coming right up.”

  Chavez walked over to one of the benches and sat down. The sun was rising, and it always shined right into the window of the shop. Gil said to himself, “Mario is probably home with a migraine from years in t
he sun.” He grabbed a discarded morning paper and was reading over the headlines when he read that Mario Sanchez had been killed. He read the article, holding the paper with both hands and shaking. He put the paper down and said, “Shit...first Schultz, now Mario. Who’s next?” He had just finished verbalizing the thought when he heard his name called. He walked up to the pickup window and took the bag from the chef. He started to walk off when the man called out and asked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gilbert looked back and said, “Oh, shit. I totally forgot. You’re right. Where’s my large black coffee?” “No, detective,” the man said while pouring the large coffee and placing a lid on it, “you forgot to pay.” Chavez started laughing and said, “Mario never charges me. I’m a police officer. I protect this little slice of heaven for him and the others.” “Protect?” The chef’s face was expressionless. “Yea,” Chavez said while unwrapping the burrito and taking a bite. The chef leaned down and put his thin arms on the counter and asked, “Protection from what?”

  Chavez had a mouth full of food and egg was spilling out as he spoke, “That’s for me and Mario and the others to know, and for you to mind your own damn business.” There were a few moments of silence, and Gilbert bit into something hard in his burrito. “Ouch…” He pulled the object from the stuffing and showed it to the chef. “Sorry. A bit of underdone green bell pepper. Do you want me to make you another?” Chavez waved him off and said, “I don’t have time, asshole. Learn to cook. I will speak to Mario about it tomorrow when I see him.” He walked off sipping his coffee and swallowing the bites that were too tough for his teeth. He walked across the street to his office and was about to enter the building when he got a sudden stomach cramp. He leaned against the wall for a few seconds, and it passed. He got his composure and went inside.

  Steve and John took Garrison to one of the conference rooms off the courtroom and asked him to sit. Santone followed, and neither John nor Steve said a word. They sat down, and before John could speak, Garrison said, “I never got the opportunity to thank you and Sheriff O’Brian for defending me in the internal affairs investigation and eventual railroading of my career.” “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Cantrell. I wish there was more that I could have done.” Cantrell laughed. “There was nothing that anyone could do. That decision was made months in advance of that meeting.”

  Steve spoke up and said, “That’s what we want to talk to you about.” Garrison smiled and folded his hands on the table and said, “So…talk.” “Ms. Schultz is not the only person on that panel who is dead. Now we have the body of Detective Sanchez.” Garrison looked and said, “I heard about it. His head was blown clean off.” John nodded and asked, “Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to kill him?” Garrison started laughing in hysterics. It took several minutes to get his composure back, and he said, “You’re kidding, right? Is this some kind of joke? Were you two on his crime scene?” They nodded. “Then the question isn’t who wanted to kill him…it’s more like who didn’t. I have known Sanchez a long time. He was a brutal and sadistic man. Cruel doesn’t begin to describe him.” John asked, “Do you have any theories on who might have killed him?” Garrison smirked and said, “Well, we know it wasn’t me.”

  The smile left his face as he continued, “Sanchez is dead because of his own bravado. He ran a dangerous game with some dangerous people. A person in a position of authority can’t run the kind of schemes he was running – they are running – and expect that there won’t be consequences. Detective Sanchez is dead because he had no honor. He had no compassion, and he had no concern for human dignity. Do I have any idea who killed him? No. The list of people who would want him dead is wide and varied.”

  Steve asked, “And Schultz?” Santone sat up in his chair, but he didn’t say anything. Garrison looked at the two men and said, “It’s the same thing. She was watching her pockets and not her back, but God was watching, and she got what was coming to her.” “Enough,” Santone said. Garrison looked on and said, “What, Ben? I didn’t kill the woman. I have an alibi. They might as well know the truth.” Santone admonished Garrison again, but he just shook his head. “Look, gentlemen, I know that you came here today to take me into federal custody to protect me. I’m blown away that the judge has allowed me to be released, but it won’t change what’s happening.”

  John leaned forward and said, “What’s happening?” Garrison said, “The sins of the many have been or are being discovered. If you ask me who is doing the killing…it’s the Iron Eagle.” John sat back in his chair and looked Garrison in the eye and said, “I know the Iron Eagle very, very well…at least his profile, and I can tell you this is not the work of the Eagle.”

  Garrison shrugged and said, “You asked who I thought was doing the killing, and I told you. None of it matters because I’m next. I might be out of jail, but they are going to kill me because they think that will keep their secrets safe.” “What secret?” John asked. “Secrets. Plural, Agent Swenson. It won’t work. Someone else knows of their sins, and a lot more are going to die, and there’s nothing you, the FBI, or the sheriff’s department can do to stop it.”

  Steve rolled away from the table and said, “It’s our job to seek out and capture these types of killers. We will find him and capture him and bring him to justice.” Garrison just smiled and said, “I hope so, but I highly doubt it. I assume by now he has left you a list.”

  John asked, “A list?” “Yes, a list. A list of his intended victims. He will kill them in order, so if you want to stop the carnage before it really gets going, you might want to put surveillance on the living targets. Who knows? You might just get lucky.” Garrison stood up and said, “If you will excuse me, I need to get to the probation department, so I comply with the terms of my pretrial release.” Garrison walked out with Santone behind him.

  John and Steve sat alone in the outer room, and Steve said, “Something isn’t right with that guy.” John nodded, saying, “You picked up on that, too!” John stood up and got behind Steve and pushed his wheelchair out of the room and to a waiting elevator. “He’s right, John. We need to get surveillance on the living people on the list.” “It’s not our jurisdiction.” The elevator was empty and quiet as the two rode down to the ground floor and headed out to John’s truck. After John got Steve situated, he started driving back to Westwood and the federal building. Steve said, “When has jurisdiction ever stopped the Iron fuckin’ Eagle? This is his jurisdiction.” John nodded as they drove back to the office.

  Jade Morgan was dictating the last of her autopsy notes on the Sanchez murder when Andre Espinoza called back to her office from the front lobby of the new Los Angeles County Coroner’s office. She got up and walked out to see Andre leaning on the counter. “Andre, what are you doing here? I thought you were under deep cover?” she said with a little bit of attitude. “Hey, can’t an old friend just stop in and see how another old friend is doing?” She leaned on the counter across from him and said, “Yea…come on back. I don’t have time to fool around though.”

  He followed her into her office where she took off her lab coat and sat down in her chair. She was wearing a very seductive purple top, showing ample cleavage, and he sat staring. “My eyes are up here, Andre. What do you want?” He shook his head and laughed. “Sorry, but you put those babies on parade, and you expect a guy to look at your face? I mean you are stunningly beautiful, but, Jade, my God…I look at your chest and all I can think of is whack-a-doodle!” She started laughing and said, “Do you want me to put my lab coat back on?” “No…no…good God NO!” “WHAT…DO…YOU…WANT?” Jade asked again. “You got Sanchez’s body yesterday, right?” She nodded. “Did you find anything?” Jade sat back in her chair and looked at Andre with a baffled look on her face. “Andre…you’re a fuckin’ detective and an undercover one at that. You’re a hot looking hunk of a Latin man and a hell of a lover, but this is not even in your ballpark.”

  He smiled, his white teeth like a light ag
ainst his skin and deep brown eyes. “Hey…I knew him. He was a friend, and, besides, I saw him just before he got whacked yesterday.” Jade sat up. “When did you see him?” “I was over in Koreatown rousting some of the kids from the East side. They were planning a drive by, and I found out about it. I parked my car out of sight and was walking across the street from the market and saw him pull in and go inside.” “Fuck! Have you told anyone about this?” “Hey, I said I knew the guy. I didn’t say I liked him. He was a dirty cop. If you ask me, he got what was coming to him, and it was a long time coming.”

  Jade stood, and she was pissed. “I didn’t ask you that. I asked if you told anyone that you saw Detective Sanchez go into the market.” The smile left his face, and he sat up straight. His powerful shoulders bulged in his uniform. “No…I didn’t tell anyone. Are you happy?” “Were you there when he was shot?” There was a hesitation, and then he said, “No…no…I found the kids and got them off the street and back to the East side.” “Where were you when Sanchez was shot?” Jade asked. “Jesus Christ! Are you a fuckin’ cop now, Jade? Just because you live with an FBI agent doesn’t make you a fuckin’ cop…or does it?”

  Jade looked angry and indignant and said, “I don’t live with an FBI agent. I live in one of the guesthouses. He and his wife happen to be close friends of mine. I’m not a cop, but when a man I sleep with as a casual friend tells me he was on a murder scene before the murder, I want to know why he hasn’t told anyone.”

  Andre stood and straightened his uniform. “You want to know why I didn’t tell anyone? Because no one gives a shit. He was dirty. Everyone in West Valley knew it. I’m not going to rat out that I saw him and then get pegged for his killing like Garrison Cantrell did. Fuck that shit.” He walked over to the side of her desk and leaned down next to her and whispered, “You better not tell anyone what I told you either. There’s a lot of shit going down right now, and you could become a casualty of this situation.”