"Bullshit."
"Mr. Harlan had to dismiss the charges to keep it out of court. I called you to that meeting... just you, me, and him... as a courtesy. Your whole little scheme would have come out if we took those guys to trial. We had no choice and they all got plenty of federal time anyway on the dope charges. I protected you... and all the other people involved from the VVPD... whether you believe it or not."
"I choose not to believe it," Jerrod said. "You could have just kept your mouth shut."
"Suit yourself," Stan said, "but that's what happened. I know you liked the kid that got killed and your house got shot up and your girlfriend got hurt and--."
"Ex-girlfriend."
"Whatever. I was able to piece all those little antics you dreamed up together. And if the defense attorneys actually talked to each other and compared notes, they would have figured it out too."
Nate, Romero, and Ted crossed under the crime scene tape and joined Jerrod and Stan in the carport.
Jerrod asked, "Everyone know everyone? Good."
Stan nodded his head toward Romero. "Why's the FBI involved?"
Jerrod said, "He's just helping us out. Jesus Christ. How many times do I need to explain that today?"
"Just helping out," Romero repeated. "The new FBI, you know."
"Yeah, right," Stan said.
"You guys come up with anything?" Jerrod asked no one in particular.
"The people I talked to confirmed the old man was named Walter Jelinski," Romero said. "He lives here with his son... hang on... his son's name is 'Donny Jelinski'. He's about forty-five."
"The old guy had a pretty simple routine," Nate said. "Picks up his paper from the driveway as soon as it gets delivered. Leaves in the Dodge truck mid-morning. Comes back mid-afternoon. And they don't see him again until the next day. Seven days a week."
"The son," Ted said, "drinks a lot. He's crashed every car he's ever owned and doesn't help out much around the house. They said they could hear the Jelinskis arguing all the time and Donny has been kicked out of the house a few times."
"Anyone see anything unusual here in the last couple days?" Jerrod asked.
"A neighbor saw something weird," Nate said.
"What's that?" Jerrod asked.
"She saw a car she didn't recognize in the driveway," Nate said. " An orange station wagon. A small one. A few years old. Like a Datsun, Toyota, or--,"
"Chevy and Ford made small wagons," Stan interrupted.
"Something like that," Nate said. "She didn't see a person... just the car behind the Dodge truck in the driveway as she drove by."
"The son, Donny Jelinski, is a patient at the hospital," Jerrod said. "He needs to be notified about his father's death in person."
Jerrod looked at Nate. "Go to the hospital and interview Donny before you make the actual notification. We need to know his condition, how long he's been in the hospital, and whether he has left the hospital since, say, Sunday."
"And whether he knows anyone with an orange station wagon," Stan added.
"I'd love to stick around," Romero said. "But I need to get back to handling issues involving national security... and shit like that." He looked at Jerrod. "I'll send my report to your attention, okay."
"Sure," Jerrod said as he reached to shake his hand. "Thanks for the help."
"Anytime," Romero said as he headed to his car.
"New FBI. My ass," Stan said as Romero got out of earshot.
I'm off to the hospital," Nate said to Jerrod. "I'll call you when I'm done talking to the son."
"Okay. Thanks," Jerrod said.
Ted Lindsey said to Stan, "You here to help, or you'd just stop by to chit-chat?"
"I'm here to work." He looked at Jerrod. "Just waiting for an assignment."
"Fuck it," Jerrod said as he watched Nate drive away. He looked at Stan. "Just lost one of my detectives. Come inside and I'll show you around."
Jerrod and Ted took Stan inside the living room and walked him through the case from the first radio call.
"The victim's in the back bedroom, "Jerrod said to Stan. "Blue bathrobe sash is wrapped around his throat. Been down a couple days. Do you need to go in?"
"Nope."
Jerrod's cell phone rang at about one o'clock.
"It's Zippy, Sarge."
"Any problems with the warrant?"
"No problems. It took, what, ten minutes for you to give me the information for the warrant, thirty minutes to type it up using those templates, ten minutes to find Ms. Delgado, and another twenty to find the 'duty' judge to have it signed. It's good-to-go."
"Awesome. Thank you."
"Are you going to need me down there?"
"No, not just yet," Jerrod said. "Stan Walsh just showed up and I'm going to put him to work. Stay at the office. I've got some names for you and Linda to run everything on... DMV, criminal history, previous crimes involving them... whatever you can think of."
"Go ahead."
"The victim is Walter Jelinski. Seventy-two years old. His son is Donny... probably Donald... Jelinski. Early forties. They both live here at the Sunland Avenue address."
"Okay. We'll start checking."
"Thanks."
Shroom, Ted, and Stan were having a quiet conversation in the carport.
"The warrant's approved," Jerrod said.
"That was pretty quick," Ted said. "Test run the new 'system?'"
"Real run. It seemed to work. Jerrod turned to Shroom. "Here are the things I want collected." Jerrod said as he tore a page from a green steno pad and handed him the slip of paper."
Shroom read the list. "Bathrobe... duh. Photos and fingerprints on night stand...okay. Cigarette butts... really?"
"Not all the butts," Jerrod said. "Just the one on the lip of the ashtray... the one burned to the filter."
"The beer can," Shroom said. "Latent prints from it... okay. Keys and the open newspaper on dining room table... okay. Newspapers in driveway... okay. Latent prints and photos of front door, lockset, and deadbolt showing no damage... what?"
"That's exactly the point," Jerrod said "I want to show there was no damage to the door."
"I don't get it," Shroom said.
"The killer didn't force entry into the house and locked the door when he... we'll call the killer a 'he' for now... left," Jerrod said. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Jelinski knew the person who killed him and actually invited him into the house."
CHAPTER 36
At one-twenty, Detective Nate Boxley drove to the Valle Verde Community Hospital and checked with the "Pink Lady" volunteer at the front lobby for the room number of a patient by the name of Donald "Donny" Jelinski.
Nate took the elevator to the third floor and found the door to Room 323 standing open. The bed nearest the door of the double-room was empty. The television for the bed nearest the window was on. A white curtain had been drawn to provide privacy.
"Sheriff's Office," Nate said as he stopped at the edge of the curtain. "I'm looking for Donny Jelinski."
"I'm Donny," the male voice from the other side of the curtain said. "Come on in."
Nate pulled back the curtain and was surprised by what he saw: Donny -- a mop of curvy brown hair, and unshaven for about a week -- lay on his back in the hospital bed with his upper body elevated. The TV remote was in his left hand.
A chain of dark brown scabs and deep abrasions -- "road rash" -- covered his bare right shoulder, elbow, hand, right hip, and knee.
Donny wore a light blue hospital gown which barely covered his genitals. Two pencil-thick stainless steel rods penetrated his skin on either side of his hips and were held together by a stainless-steel device with clamps to a thicker rod which lay across his thighs.
"What the hell happened to you?" Nate asked.
"Fell off a bike," Donny said.
"A motorcycle?"
"No a bike-bike. Pedals," Donny said with a roll of his eyes. "Front wheel came off going down a hill. I fractured my pelvis on the left side. This... contraption is h
olding everything in place."
"When did that happen?" Nate asked.
"Last Friday... afternoon."
"Have you been here ever since?"
"Different rooms, yeah, but I've been here at the hospital. I can't get out of bed."
"I'm Nate Boxley. I'm a detective and would like to talk to you about your dad... Walter."
"I called you guys to check on him."
"I'm aware of that," Nate said.
"Have you talked to my dad?"
"I'll get to that," Nate said. "When was the last time you talked to your dad?"
"He was here during the day... today's what... Wednesday?"
"Today is Wednesday."
"So it was... he was last here two days ago... Monday."
"Do you remember what time he was here?"
Donny thought for a few moments. "I'm pretty sure it was... before or after... after lunch. One or one-thirty... maybe two."
"Have you talked to him on the phone since then?"
"No. He doesn't call anyone and he doesn't answer the phone if it rings."
"What's your dad's daily routine?"
"Is he alright?" Donny asked. "He's come to see me everyday since they brought me here... except yesterday. That's why I called you guys this morning. Is he okay?"
"We'll get to that," Nate said. "Tell me about his routine."
"It's pretty simple: He gets up, makes a pot of coffee, gets the newspaper outside, and has some toast or eggs or whatever while he reads the paper. He gets dressed, goes to the V.F.W. or American Legion Hall where he has a few beers with his friends there."
"Everyday?" Nate asked.
"Seven days a week for the last fifteen or so years."
"How does he finish his day?"
"He might go to the bank or to the grocery store or to get gas or whatever, but then he comes home in the afternoon. He might heat up a TV dinner or whatever or he might not eat at all. He'll have a beer or two and smoke in his recliner while he watches TV until he goes to bed. Next day -- same thing."
"What kind of cigarettes does he smoke?"
"Marlboro Soft-Pack... for as long as I can remember."
"What does he do with his shoes at the house?"
"He takes 'em off when he gets in his chair."
"Does he lock the door?"
"Yeah. The knob and deadbolt. They have different keys, so it's a pain-in-the-ass when I get home because he won't get up to unlock it for me."
"Where does he keep his cash... in his wallet?"
"He has a big wallet... probably an inch-and-a-half thick, but he keeps his cash in the front pocket of his coat or shirt... it's kind of both." Donny winced as he moved his right arm and reached his right hand across his chest. "He keeps his cash in his chest pocket here... left side. He always hangs it on one of the dining room chairs."
"How much cash does he carry... usually?"
"Depends," Donny said. "He usually cashes a check at the bank on Mondays... he'll get four or five hundred dollars. He only pays in cash... no credit cards for him... he's doesn't have any."
"Does he hide any valuables in the house? Jewelry or guns?
"No jewelry. He keeps a little pistol in his bedroom... in the nightstand near his bed."
"What kind of pistol?"
"Black. Revolver. .38, I think. Wood handles. He's had it as long as I can remember. He scratched his initials in the side of it. 'WJ.'"
"Does he have many visitors?"
"No. No one really comes by. His friends are all veterans too and they just meet at the hall."
"Which branch did he serve in?"
"Navy. Twenty-two... or three years," Donny said. "He gets a little pension check with his Social Security every month."
"What did he do after the Navy?"
"Moved dirt," Donny said.
"Excuse me?" Nate said.
"He moved dirt. He was a heavy equipment operator. Union guy. He mostly drove a 'blade' -- you know a grader."
"I'll take your word for it," Nate said. "Where's your mother?"
"She died about twenty years ago. Cancer."
"Do you know anyone who drives an orange station wagon?" Nate asked. "A small one, not a full-size 'family truckster.'"
Donny stared at the television for a few seconds. "No. Not that I can think of... why?"
"Just curious."
"Hang on... I know a guy who drives a small station wagon... it's more red than orange."
"What's your friend's name?"
"Nick. Nick Usher."
"'Usher,' like an usher at a theater in the old days?
"Yeah."
"Okay. How old is he?"
"My age. Forty... ish."
"Describe him."
"Tall. Thin. Ruddy face. Dark hair. Fu Manchu mustache."
"Know where he lives?"
"No."
"Works?"
"No. He does odd jobs. I think he used to be an electrician... or a plumber... or whatever. He's kind of a handyman now. Just does odd jobs for cash."
"Has he worked at your house?"
"Yeah. He fixed a toilet or a sink or whatever a few months ago."
"Has Nick come to see you here at the hospital?"
"No. I haven't talked to him in a few weeks."
"Where was that?"
"At a bar."
"What bar?"
"The CrowBar. On the east end of town. You been there?"
"No. Can't say I have," Nate said.
"Probably not your kind of place."
"What do you mean by that?"
"No offense. Not 'cause your Black... I mean... you might like it there... I don't know... whatever."
Nate glared at Donny for a few seconds. "Why were you riding a bicycle last week?"
"Driver's license got suspended. I have a couple '502s.'"
"502" was the old California Vehicle Code section for drunk driving. The cop-slang term "deuce" for a DUI was taken from the "2" in "502."
"Enough with the stupid questions," Donny said. "What's going on with my dad?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," Nate said as he sat down next to the bed.
CHAPTER 37
"How'd he take it," Jerrod asked Nate on his cell phone from the Sunland Avenue crime scene.
"Not too good," Nate said from the hospital's third floor Nurse's Station telephone. "Donny cried like a baby at first. Couldn't even talk for a few minutes. Then he calmed down and started getting angry. He said he would 'take care of' whoever killed his dad.'"
"Do you believe him?" Jerrod asked.
"Sort of."
"Do you think he's involved in the old guy's death?"
"Not physically, at least," Nate said.
"What do you mean?"
"You should see the contraption he's in. His waist... hips... pelvis is held together with... you remember 'Erector Sets' when you were a kid? The charge nurse let me peek at his chart. He broke part of his hip where the left leg attaches. The chart confirmed he was brought in Friday and hasn't left the hospital since."
"Anything on the orange station wagon?"
"He said a friend of his -- a handyman named 'Nick Usher' -- drives a small station wagon, but he called it more of a red color."
"Call Zippy and have him run that name to see if we can ID 'Nick Usher' today."
"Okay," Nate said. "Did you find Mr. Jelinski's wallet or cash?"
"The wallet was under the bed... ID, pictures and papers were in it. No cash."
"Check the breast pockets of his jacket. The one on the dining room chair."
Jerrod checked the pockets. "There's no cash in the pockets."
Nate asked, "Was there a black revolver in the nightstand next to the old guy?"
"There was no gun in there."
"Donny said Walter kept a pistol in that drawer."
Jerrod paused. "Holy shit."
CHAPTER 38
"Got some info for you, Sarge," Zippy said on the phone.
"Stan Walsh is wi
th me," Jerrod said. "I'm going to put you on 'speaker' so Stan can hear." He pushed a button on his cell phone. "Go ahead."
"Walter Jelinski: Valid driver's license... no tickets or crashes. No criminal record."
"Okay."
"Donald Jelinski: Suspended DL. He has a number of tickets and DUI arrests... last was about two years ago. Other than the traffic stuff, no real criminal history."
"How about that name Nate came up with... 'Nick Usher'?"
"This is interesting," Zippy said. "If this is the right guy, he's got a very bad temper."
"What did he do?"
"'Nicholas Joseph Usher'. Valid DL. It looks like he took a plea deal earlier this year on a felony battery. He beat the shit out of some guy in Valle Verde with his bare hands. Sent him to the hospital with a shattered nose and some missing teeth. The victim was his ex-wife's new boyfriend."
"Did he do any jail time?" Jerrod asked.
"Looks like... hang on... he pled guilty and got five years prison, but that time was suspended. Got six months in County Jail and served four. He has some restitution to make to the victim and he's on formal probation for four years."
"Do you have an address for him?" Jerrod asked.
"One on the north side of Valle Verde... could still be good."
"Any other criminal stuff?"
"No," Zippy said.
"Find out who his probation officer is and see if that address is good on him and if he has a search-clause as part of his probation."
"Okay. I'll call you when I find out more."
"Thanks."
Jerrod snapped the phone shut and looked at Stan.
"That guy's going to be worth a visit," Stan said. "And I mean today."
"Indeed."
Just as Jerrod and Ted Lindsey were about to lift the body of Walter Jelinski from the floor of the bedroom and into a black body bag -- the blue bathrobe sash still around his neck -- Ted's cell phone rang.
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