Death's Valley

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  The deputy didn’t respond right away, and when he did he ignored the comment. “You look familiar to me. Can I see your ID?” The man handed the deputy his ID, and the deputy took the radio that was clipped to his bulletproof vest and made a call. “Dispatch, I need you to run an ID for me.” He gave the information on the ID badge to the dispatcher and waited for verification. The gas man waited impatiently and said, “If I had known you were going to harass me, I would have kept walking.” “And I would have shot you,” the deputy said while waiting for a response from dispatch. The radio on his vest chattered, and the dispatcher came on and said that the ID checked out as a gas company employee sent out to check for a gas leak. He handed the man back his ID, and as he was turning to leave the dispatcher came over and said, “Unit forty, the gas company advises that they have not heard back from the employee with regard to the leak, and that they have been trying to reach him on his phone and radio, over.”

  “Why haven’t you called in your findings to the company?” “I left my phone in my truck. I was going to call it in when I got back there, man. Shit. I thought I was on a wild goose chase.” “But you found and fixed the leak?” He nodded. The deputy looked at the ID and said to the dispatcher, “Mr. Hart has advised me that he left his phone in his truck but that he found and fixed a non-major leak.” The deputy pointed at Hart and said, “Is that right?” The killer nodded. “Roger that, unit 40. The dispatcher at the gas company asked Mr. Hart to call in when he gets to his truck, so they can close the service ticket.” “Roger. I will advise him.” He handed Hart back his ID and said, “You heard what your company wants, right?” “Yea…I got it. I will call when I get back to my truck. Can I fuckin’ go now?” “Get the fuck out of here, and next time don’t waste an officer’s time. Do your damn job and have your equipment on you.”

  The killer walked back to Hart’s truck. The deputy watched as he made a call on the radio and then drove off down Topanga headed into the valley.

  Estrada dumped the gas company truck behind a gas station at the corner of Victory Boulevard and Topanga. It was half past one p.m., and he walked into the station and got a key for the bathroom where he changed into street clothes and walked up Victory to an apartment complex where he had parked his car and headed back to West Valley station. He made one call and said, “Boyd’s house is ready for him. Do you want me to try and take him out at the station?” “No…let him go home. Make him feel comfortable. Let it look like an accident.” “There are sheriff’s deputies at his house. It looks like he has protection.” The voice on the other end of the line was direct and straight to the point. “Of course, he has protection. He’s next on the list. I will talk to Espinoza and have him make a quick kill on Lieutenant Chilton. That will have them running in circles with their mind off Boyd.” “Okay. I will go back to the station. If they are at Boyd’s home, then I’m sure they are at the station.” “They are. One of my moles told me so. Just go back and encourage Boyd to relax. Maybe have a cookout or something.” Estrada hung up the line and headed to his apartment to change again and head into the office.

  Jim got a call from the OPG garage that Washington’s motorcycle had been leased for a month from a bike shop in the valley. He got the address and made a run up to see the owners in the hopes that they might have noticed something before Washington was killed. Jim pulled up in front of the shop, and before he could say a word, Lance Coswalski called out to him from the showroom, “What the fuck does the LA County Sheriff want at my bike shop?”

  Jim saw Lance standing in the doorway and sighed and said, “Oh shit…every time I see you hell follows, and I end up getting hurt.” Patrick walked out from the back of the shop and Jim said, “Let me guess? You two own this place?” They nodded, and Jim grabbed the cell phone off his hip and called John.

  “Swenson.” “I’m standing in front of the mother fuckin’ place where Washington leased the bike.” “So?” “So…so? Guess which two assholes own the damn shop that he leased it from?” Lance cut Jim off mid-sentence and said, “Rented. We rent bikes. We don’t lease them. We sell or rent them.” “Oh, go fuck yourself,” Jim said. John heard Lance’s voice and said, “Jim…Jim.” “WHAT…WHAT THE FUCK NOW, JOHN? THE LAST TIME I SAW THESE FACES I GOT FUCKIN’ SHOT…WHAT, WHAT, WHAT?” John was calm. “Hand the phone to Lance.” Jim drew back and said, “NO FUCKIN’ WAY…I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT TO HANG AROUND WITH YOU ANY MORE, AND I SURE AS HELL DON’T WANT TO HANG AROUND WITH THESE TWO NUT JOBS!” “Hand Lance your phone, please.” Jim did as John asked, then walked over and sat down on one of the bikes, took a cigarette out of his top left pocket and said, “I’m FUCKED!”

  Lance said, “Hey, John. What’s up, brother? Jim is surlier than usual. Did you get him hurt again?” John laughed and said, “No…we are in the middle of a serious situation, and he’s stressed out.” Lance looked over at Jim who was lighting a second cigarette while sitting on one of the hogs and said, “Yea, he looks stressed. He’s on his second smoke. So who did we rent a bike to that’s dead?” “A cop.”

  Lance and Patrick were standing next to each other, and Lance had the phone on speaker and had walked into the empty showroom. Patrick said, “Let me take a guess. Howard Washington?” “Yea…did you two know him?” Lance told him no and explained the situation with Washington and how he came to have their bike. John asked, “When he was at your shop did you see anything out of the ordinary?” Patrick said, “He was a big black fuck with an attitude and was in uniform. He told me that he had a police issue bike of the same model, and that he was looking to buy but wanted to ride the street issue first to make sure he liked it. So, we did a one month rental, and he took off with the bike yesterday afternoon. What happened to him?” “A sniper took his head off in Reseda, and it was obviously after he got the bike from you guys. Did you see anything, anyone, while he was at your place or when he came in or after he left?”

  The two men told John no as their only employee, Gibson Williams, came out of the shop, wiping his hands with a red shop rag. Patrick called him over and asked, “Hey, Gib, you remember that big black cop that was in yesterday and rented the Harley?” “Yup…I sure as fuck do. What an asshole. What about him?” “I have an FBI friend of mine on the line, and he wants to know if you saw anything when the guy was here or after he left.” Gib was looking out the showroom window and saw the sheriff’s car and Jim sitting in uniform on one of the Harleys. “What’s up with the deputy sitting on the bike?”

  Lance said, “That’s not a deputy. That’s the Sheriff of LA County.” Gib looked horrified and was backing away when Patrick said, “Gib…don’t bolt. He’s not here for you. Did you see anything with that cop?” Gib stopped moving backward and said, “Um…not really…I saw him leave the shop with the bike. I remember he was sitting at the light at Ventura. I can’t remember if it was on the test drive or after he left the shop with the bike for good, but I saw a cop run across the street and talk to him on the bike.”

  John asked them to get Jim. Gib stepped back when Jim walked over, and he saw it. “What’s his fuckin’ problem?” Jim asked, looking straight at Gib. Lance answered, “He’s got an outstanding warrant for child support.” Jim laughed and said, “Relax, kid. I don’t give a shit about that. Why am I here?” John asked Gib to tell Jim about Washington, and Jim asked, “Did you get a look at the cop that ran across the street?” “Um…yea. He was Mexican. He was in uniform and had parked his black and white near the corner.” “Did you see any markings on the car? A number or anything?” Gib thought for a second and said, “Yea. He was parked in front of the Belmont Building, the one with the mirror windows. I was able to see the number on the top of the car. It was number fifty five.”

  Jim took out his midi recorder and had the kid repeat everything then said, “This is really fuckin’ important. Are you sure about the number on the top of the car?” Gib laughed. “Listen, dude, there are two things that I never get wrong, the ig
nition timing when I’m rebuilding an engine and cops. I’m always looking over my shoulder because if they nab me I’m going to jail for six months even though I have been paying the bitch my current support.”

  Jim laughed, “How far behind are you?” “Six months.” “Yea, it sucks to live in California, doesn’t it? The DA can’t prosecute and win at criminal trial, but they can beat the shit out of deadbeat dads. How much do you owe?” “With penalties, about a grand.” Jim shook his head and looked at Lance and Patrick, “How long has this kid been working for you two fucks?” Patrick told him about a year. Jim said, “Jesus Christ, guys. Loan the kid the grand, and let him get this fuckin’ monkey off his back. Then you won’t have to worry that he’s going to bolt every time a cop comes in. I mean, fuck, is he good at what he does?” Both men nodded. “Then it’s a fuckin’ no brainer. Give him the money.”

  They said okay, and Jim said, “No. Give him the money now.” Patrick walked off and came back with the cash and handed it to Gib, who smiled, and Jim said, “Come with me.” Gib froze. “Relax. I’m the fuckin’ sheriff. I have to run the car number to see who was in it, and I will do it down the street at the Van Nuys Sheriff’s Station. I assume the warrant is out of that courthouse?” Gib nodded. “I’m gonna make your day. Now follow me.” Gib started to walk out with Jim with Lance and Patrick behind them.

  John called out on the phone, “Hey, Jim. You want to take your phone with you, or do you want one of these guys to hold it for you?” Jim grabbed the phone from Lance as John told them to come by the house to talk. Jim said, “Oh no…not again, come the fuck on, John. Wherever these two go, my injuries follow.” John laughed and told Jim to relax. Jim hung up the line and looked at Lance and Patrick and said, “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Patrick laughed and said, “I have no idea, dude. Every time we hang out with you, we have a great time. Right, Cosmo?” “Oh hell yea, C4. I guess we will see you later at John’s.” Jim walked off, shaking his head, with Gib behind him.

  Marco made it into West Valley just before his shift was to start. He walked into the briefing room where Boyd was taking roll call and giving out assignments as well as giving a weak talk about Patricia Salazar’s death. Marco saw two sheriff’s deputies in uniform at the entrance to the meeting room. He leaned into Riggs who was sitting next to him and asked, “What’s up with the sheriff’s department?” Riggs laughed and said, “Boyd is next on the kill list. Since Salazar was killed this morning, the sheriff sent protection for him.”

  Marco shook his head slightly and said, “What a pussy!” Riggs nodded, and Boyd said, “Okay, and finally, as you can see I have a sheriff’s detail to protect me, but I don’t just want them. I want my two best officers with me as well. Riggs and Marco, you two are assigned to me until the sheriff releases my security detail. I want you two to go to my home and make sure that my family is okay. The deputies will accompany me home later this afternoon.” Riggs shook his head, and Marco spoke up and said, “Sir, with all due respect, don’t you think that you have plenty of protection? Taking me and Riggs off the street…doesn’t that take away from the public’s safety?” “My getting killed takes away from the public’s safety. Now you two get out of here and get to my house. I don’t want you outside. I want you both posted in my home with my family. Am I clear?”

  Riggs nodded, and Marco had a look of fear on his face. Riggs saw it and said, “Marco, are you okay, man?” Marco nodded. “Good. I thought you were buying into this whole next in line shit. Come on. Have you ever been to the captain’s home or met his family?” He shook his head as they walked out to Riggs’ cruiser. “You are going to be very happy you got this detail. His daughter just turned eighteen, and she loves to get laid by cops. His wife is a well-known slut; I mean, rumor has it she’s had a thing going with her stepson for a few years. She also likes to fuck cops. She just doesn’t let Boyd touch her. His wife and daughter are HOT! Trust me, man. You are going to really, really enjoy this assignment, and I guarantee a stud like you, man, you are going to get so laid.” Riggs started the cruiser, and he and Marco headed back to the house that Marco just set up as a death trap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Eagle smiled and said,

  “Mercy? No, no mercy.”

  Jim pulled into police parking at the Van Nuys Sheriff’s Station. He got out of his car with Gib, and the two men walked in. All of the deputies and higher-ups saluted as Jim walked in. “Oh, fuck you all. Knock it off. You know I hate that shit!” There was a round of laughter as the men went back to their duties.

  Jim handed Gib off to one of his captains and explained the situation. It was just a little after two p.m., and Jim said, “Take him over to the courthouse and clear the warrant. He has the cash. If the clerk or the judge gives you any shit, you tell them I’m handling this personally. And if they still bust your balls, call me, and I will come over. I’m going over to LAPD to run a unit number and see who runs that car.”

  Jim looked at Gib’s nervous face and asked, “The child support warrant is all that’s out on you, right son?” Gib nodded. Jim looked at him hard and said, “If there’s something else, you better tell me now. If you make me look like a fool, I will throw your ass in jail and throw away the key.” Gib said in a shaky voice, “No, sir, that’s it. I just don’t have good memories of being here. The judge was really, really mean.” Jim grabbed a computer terminal and put Gib’s driver’s license information into the system. The warrant popped right up, and it was as the kid had said. Jim looked to see who the issuing judge was and shook his head when he saw the name. “Judge Robertson.” Gib nodded. “Well, I can see why you’re afraid. He’s a real hard ass.” Jim told the deputy to go back to what he was doing. He would handle this personally.

  Jim told Gib to follow him, and they walked next door to the LAPD building. Jim walked up to the front desk duty officer and asked, “I need a trace on this unit and the names of the officers assigned to it.” The duty officer took the slip of paper and walked back and handed it to his watch commander.

  Jim heard some yelling, and Sergeant Charles Wilson came walking out from the back of the station. “Who the fuck dares walk into my station asking for private police unit personnel?” Charles looked at the front desk and saw Jim standing there with a kid behind him. “Well, ask a stupid fuckin’ question. What the fuck are you doing in my police station?”

  Gib froze, all one hundred thirty-five pounds of the pimple-faced, six foot, twenty-year-old, bald headed kid. Charlie, as he was known, was a black, bald, nasty cop with a bad attitude and was a well-known racist. “I should have known. If it’s not the ginger-faced whitey sheriff of LA County come to harass my police officers.” Jim looked at him and said, “Well if it’s not a bald headed racist nigger with a bad attitude.” “You’re one to talk.” Charlie pushed the swinging door open to let Jim into the station. Jim told Gib to sit and wait for him. Jim and Charlie walked back to his office, and Charlie pointed to a seat and said, “Sit your white ass down. What the fuck do you want with unit fifty five?” “Don’t know yet. It depends on who’s driving it.” Charlie typed the unit number into his computer and printed off the information.

  “So, how the fuck are you, Jimmy?” “Tired, Charlie. Really mother fuckin’ tired. You?” “I’d be better if you would find this damn cop killer and get to the bottom of this shit once and for all.” Jim laughed and said, “That’s why I’m sitting in your chair, asshole. You think I like coming down to the slums of the San Fernando Valley?”

  Charlie smiled as he turned and pulled the document off the printer. He looked at it and handed it to Jim. Jim looked at it and smiled. Charlie saw the evil look on Jim’s face and asked, “You find who you’re lookin’ for?” “Do you know Officer Marco Estrada?” Charlie got a thoughtful look on his face and said, “Um…yes and no. I know him from some street work that I did as a watch commander. The guy runs nights if my memory serves me right. I don’t kno
w much else about him except he’s a spic. They all look the same to me.” Jim laughed and said, “We all look the same to you. Jesus! How do they keep a dinosaur like you on the force? Racism is over…at least I thought it was.” Jim couldn’t keep a straight face as he said it, and Charlie busted out laughing.

  “Yea, it’s over. We have a spic for a president, so all is right with the world. Fuck, Jimmy, I can’t tell the good niggers from the bad anymore. The spics, the chinks, the skinheads, and all the rest of them are just a blend of bad seeds. On that note, who’s the kid? He a perp? I need to beat a confession out of someone.” Jim laughed again and said, “No…he’s a good kid. At least I think he’s a good kid. He works for some friends of mine, some ex-military brothers. The kid has a bench warrant on a child support issue. I brought him down to clean it up.” “Oh yea? Who issued the warrant?” “Larry Robinson.” Charlie let out a howl and a laugh.

  “Jesus Christ, and you’re going to walk that skinheaded whitey into his courtroom to clear the warrant?” “Yea. He has the money.” Charlie got a serious tone and said, “You know that racist mother fucker don’t care about the cash. He wants to put everyone in the slammer.” “Yea, well, that’s what happens when you’re the last white judge in Van Nuys. He doesn’t care what the race is; he wants to put all of these guys in jail.”

  Charlie nodded, and both men stood up. “Thanks for this, Charlie. It will help a lot.” Charlie said, “All kidding aside, Jimmy, you got to get whoever is killing cops, man. That shit ain’t funny. I can’t be a racist because I hate everyone. But I do love my brothers in uniform, and I take it personally when one of them falls in the line of duty.” Jim looked at Charlie, his face hardened by the war in Vietnam and the war on the streets of Los Angeles, and saw the pain in his eyes. “We will catch him, Charlie.” “If you get him, you take care of him, Jimmy. Don’t let the media circus start. If you get a beat on him, you take him out. If you can’t, then you get the Eagle to do it. I know you know the Eagle, and I’m not going to say anything more about it. I want you to promise me that if you catch the guy that you will deal with him or have the Eagle do it.” Jim nodded and walked out of the office. Jim knew what Charlie wanted…the same thing that he did.