"Plus the house and the truck," Stan added.
"We don't necessarily need to prove someone had a motive to commit any crime," Jerrod said, "but if we can prove someone did have a motive -- it tends, at least circumstantially -- to show that person committed the crime."
"Juries love that shit," Stan said. "Keep looking."
They found family photos and documents from Walter's time in the Navy.
On the shelf of the bedroom closet, Jerrod found the empty box to a Ruger handgun. The sticker said it was for a .38 Special revolver. Speed-Six Model. Blued steel. 2-3/4 inch barrel. The serial number was printed on the box.
"We'll assume this is the missing handgun," Jerrod said. "I'll get this entered into the system as being stolen."
"This is interesting," Stan said.
"What?"
"This note. It's a handwritten will of some sort. "'To whom it may concern... sound mind and body... upon my death... all assets to my son... Donald Jelinski.' Signed by Walter."
"Is there a date on that?" Jerrod asked.
"'April 16, 1990.'"
"Six months ago."
"I have no idea how legal a handwritten will is," Stan said. "But all assets -- and fingers -- are pointed in Donny's direction."
CHAPTER 44
Warren Chapman, MD, could have played the role of any doctor on any TV show or movie ever made. White lab coat. Stethoscope. Black-framed glasses. Sixty years old. Heavy-set. Stark white hair. Pink complexion. And the delicate fingers of an experienced and skilled healer.
They met in the conference room of Doctor Chapman's orthopedic surgery office in a medical group near the hospital.
"Doctor," Jerrod said. "Thanks for meeting us on such short notice."
"You're welcome. I only have about ten minutes. Please get to the point."
"Sure. Doctor. You performed surgery on a man named Donald Jelinski last Friday," Stan said. "He had a fractured hip from a bicycle accident."
"I did." He flipped open a file and scanned the enclosed chart. "Radiograph showed a closed pelvic ring fracture on the left side." He looked up from the chart. "I stabilized the fractures with surgical screws and an external fixator."
"We noticed that device, sir," Jerrod said. "Here's the purpose of our visit -- Mr. Jelinski's father was killed at the family home and we believe that occurred on Monday."
"Okay," the doctor said.
"Some physical force was used," Stan added, "to commit the crime."
"Okay."
"Is there any way," Jerrod continued, "that Donald Jelinski would have been able to leave the hospital, travel to the house, struggle with his father, and then return to the hospital in his condition."
The doctor thought for few moments. "Between the three of us, I've formed an opinion during my follow-up visits with Mr. Jelinski that he is, quite simply, an obnoxious and demanding ass. He has no health insurance, so I'll probably never get paid for my time invested in his treatment. However, his injury is very serious, very painful, and it has a very slow healing period."
"Could he have killed his father, sir?" Stan asked.
The doctor didn't pause to think. "There's no way he could have done it."
CHAPTER 45
"Hey, look," Stan said as Jerrod drove through the medical group parking lot leaving Doctor Chapman's office.
"What?"
"'Dr. Javed Raja. Ear-Nose-and-Throat,'" Stan said. "If you need to stop and talk to anyone in there about your son... I'll can just wait in the car."
Jerrod pressed the brake pedal as hard as he could and the car stopped instantly. He watched Stan's unrestrained upper body continue traveling forward and his nose come within an inch of striking the dash.
"Stray cat," Jerrod said. "Just saved his little life with my lightning-quick reaction time."
"There was no cat."
"You were warned, asshole."
* * *
"I used to come to this restaurant with Craig Wallace," Jerrod said as they were seated at a table in the dining area of The Ginza Japanese Restaurant on the east side of Valle Verde. "The last time was right before... you know."
"I know," Stan said. "What's good to eat here?"
"Everything."
"That narrows it down."
"Get one of the bento boxes. They're super good."
"Okay."
"There's a couple things that bother me at his point," Stan said as he sipped hot green tea from a small ceramic cup.
"What's that?
"We know Donny didn't kill Walter himself."
"Agreed."
"And we know Nick Usher was at Walter's after seeing Donny at the hospital on Monday."
"Yes," Jerrod said. "And he lied to Nate about that."
"But why would Donnie lie about Nick being at the hospital?"
Jerrod sipped his tea. "I don't follow."
"Donny lied about Nick's visit," Stan said. "But then he just handed Nick over on a platter when Nate asked him about the station-wagon."
"So?"
"Why didn't we have to drag Nick's name out of Donny?" Stan asked.
"Because Donny's a dumb-ass."
"No. Donny wasn't involved at all," Stan said. "Nick's our man. It was a simple crime of opportunity. He knew the old man would be alone and he took advantage of the situation."
"Let's go see Nicholas Usher again."
* * *
At one-fifteen, Jerrod and Stan found the reddish Chevrolet Vega station wagon parked at the curb in front of Ernie Heikki's Roanoke Court home.
As the two investigators walked toward the front porch from the sidewalk, the front door was yanked open and the silhouette of a tall, thin human appeared in the darkened doorway.
Jerrod instinctively jumped left off the walkway on to the lawn as he reached for the Glock 9mm on his belt. Stan peeled to the right and had his hand on the grip of his holstered Colt .45 ACP.
"Police officers," Jerrod yelled. "Show your hands."
"My hands?" a female voice said as she stepped through the doorway and onto the light of the porch. "Why do you want to see my hands?"
"Never mind," Stan said as he secured the snap on his holster and covered the Colt with his suit jacket.
"You must be Dolores?" Jerrod asked as he felt his heartbeat returning to normal.
"I'm Dolores," the six-foot tall blonde said.
"We're looking for Nick Usher," Jerrod said. "We need to talk to him about a... situation."
"Are you the same ones who were here last night?"
"Yes, ma'am," Stan said.
"You upset my father. He's not well."
"We didn't mean to upset him," Jerrod said. "Your father isn't involved in this matter."
"Is Nick here now?" Stan asked. "We have some follow-up questions for him."
"I want you to leave Nick alone," she said. "He didn't do anything wrong."
"That could very well be true," Jerrod said. "But--"
Nick Usher walked out through the doorway and stood next to Dolores. The tan jacket was in his right hand. He whispered something to her.
"Police department?" Nick asked.
"Yes," Stan said.
Nick walked past the two investigators and to the sidewalk near Jerrod's Buick. Without being asked, he spread his arms out from his sides and Stan searched him.
"Good-to-go?" Jerrod asked Stan as he opened the passenger-side back door.
"He's clean," Stan said.
Nick folded himself into the backseat without saying anything.
Stan moved next to Nick in the backseat and Jerrod got behind the steering wheel.
"We really have to stop meeting like this," Nick said as Jerrod turned the car at the end of the cul de sac. "The neighbors are starting to talk."
Jerrod drove to the PD and parked in the front lot. The door to the PD was unlocked during business hours and they were "buzzed" through the internal door by a records clerk.
Jerrod said to Stan, "Go get set-up in a room. I'll tell the detecti
ves what we're doing here."
"Okay," Stan said as Nick opened the door to the same interview room they used the night before.
Jerrod opened the door with the "Detective Bureau" sign on it and walked in.
"No shit," Detective Sergeant Guillermo "Willie" Sanchez said from a cubicle near the door.
"Hello, Willie," Jerrod said as he extended his right hand, but was instead taken in a bear-hug by his former partner.
"Been awhile," Willie said. "You owe me a Coke."
"I owe a lot of people a lot of things, Willie. But why a Coke?"
"I saw you on the news last night. Handling murders again. Acting all official. The rule is: Anytime you're on the news, you have to buy everyone who mentions it a Coke."
"I owe you a Coke, then," Jerrod said. "Mind if we use your interview room to talk to a guy about that murder? Stan Walsh is in there with him now."
"What if I say 'no?'"
"Have you ever said 'no' to me?"
Willie put his hand to his chin. "Can't think of a single time."
"It's been a long time since... you know... that 'thing,'" Willie said.
"I know, Willie. I know." Jerrod smiled as he heard Willie shake his wristwatch.
"How's the hand?"
Jerrod pulled up his right hand and flexed his fingers. "It's fine now... except for the scar."
"I suspect that's not the only scar," Willie said.
Jerrod thought for a moment. "Not the only one, brother."
Jerrod pulled a chair from the adjacent interview room and placed it at the end of the table -- effectively blocking the door. Nick sat in the same chair from the previous night and Stan sat directly across from him.
"You're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday, Nick," Stan said.
"Yeah. So," Nick said.
"Where did you sleep last night?" Jerrod asked.
"In my car... out in an apple orchard." Nick said as he searched the table top for a piece of lint.
"Can't stay with Ernie and Dolores?" Stan asked.
"Ernie's real 'old school,'" Nick said. "Unless we get married, me and Dolores can't even sleep in separate rooms in his house."
"How's the handyman business going?" Jerrod asked. "Finding work?"
"Here and there," Nick said. "I just applied for a regular electrician job. We'll see."
"We talked to Donny this morning," Stan said.
"How's he doing?" Nick asked.
"Not too good," Jerrod said. "He'll be in the hospital for a while."
"Okay. That's too bad."
"Nick," Stan asked. "Besides you, do you know anyone else who has been to the hospital to see Donny?"
"I don't know," Nick said. "Maybe some of his friends from the bar."
"The CrowBar?" Stan asked.
"Yeah. Been there?"
"Can't say I've ever been there," Stan said.
"Not missing much," Jerrod said. "Can you name some of Donny's 'friends' from the bar?"
Nick listed two men's first and last names. Jerrod jotted the names down.
"You can find them at the bar most every afternoon," Nick said.
"Nick," Stan asked as he pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned forward. "Was Walter Jelinski still alive when you left his house on Monday?"
He didn't answer right away and the "11" faintly appeared between his eyebrows. "Yes."
"Did you take anything from the house that didn't belong to you?" Jerrod asked.
Another pause. "No."
"Nick," Stan said. "Sergeant Gold, here, and I don't agree on this issue, but my gut instinct tells me you killed Walter and took some money from him on Monday."
Nick glared at Stan, but said nothing.
"And I think your visit on Monday was just a coincidence," Jerrod said. "I think Walter was just fine when you left Monday and someone else killed him afterward."
"And you'd be right, not him," Nick said to Jerrod as he nodded toward Stan.
"Unless you really enjoy us showing up to your girlfriend's house," Stan said, "and coming down here to the PD. We need to clear this situation up."
"What can I do?" Nick asked. "Tell me how I can prove I didn't do something?"
"Do you know what a polygraph is, Nick?" Jerrod asked.
"Sure. A 'lie-detector,'" Nick said.
"That's right, Nick," Stan said. "It detects lies... from liars."
Jerrod leaned forward. "Nick, I'd like to prove to my colleague here that you had nothing to do with Walter's death. A polygraph might just clear that up. Once that's settled, we can leave you alone and he'll have to buy me lunch."
"We can set it up for tomorrow morning," Stan added. "At the Sheriff's Office in Mesa."
"I don't know," Nick said -- as he rubbed his face and flashed the "11."
"See, I told you he wouldn't take one," Stan said to Jerrod. "He fucking did it."
"He didn't say he wouldn't take one," Jerrod said. "Calm down."
"He didn't say he would," Stan shot back.
"You guys bicker like an old married couple," Nick said. "Set up the stupid test and I'll take it. I just want you two to leave me alone."
CHAPTER 46
Friday Morning -- Mesa Sheriff's Investigations Division
"Sergeant Gold," the SO front receptionist said on the phone. "There's a man here to see you. He's carrying a big briefcase."
"Thank you, I'll be right down."
Kenneth "Ken" Strahle, Senior Polygraph Examiner with the California Department of Justice in Sacramento, walked into Investigations with Jerrod.
"You know Stan Walsh, I'm sure," Jerrod said.
"Hello, Stan," Ken said as they shook hands.
"How was the drive?" Stan asked.
"I love coming down here. The drive was fine."
"We've got a room set up for you. Follow me." Jerrod said.
"This will be perfect," Ken said as he admired one of the Investigations interview rooms. "Small room, one table, and two chairs... just the way I like it."
"Get yourself comfortable," Jerrod said. "He's scheduled to be here at ten."
"Perfect," Ken said. "I'll set up. Then we can go over the case and get our 'design questions' figured out."
"Okay," Jerrod said.
"We can watch the process here in the L-T's office," Jerrod said. "I sure hope this works."
"We'll see," Stan said.
"I've never seen a polygraph done before -- except on TV," Detective Bryce "Zippy" Zippich said. "How does it work?"
"Professor?" Jerrod said as he looked at Stan. "You do 'know everything about everything' as I recall. Take it away."
Stan glared at Jerrod. "Okay... well... Ken in there has been doing this for over twenty years. He was trained as an interrogator in the Army. He started using the polygraph in the military and got a job with DOJ when he got out of the service. He's probably the best polygraph examiner in the state right now."
Zippy nodded.
"What we'll do is set up three or four 'design questions' specifically about the circumstances of Walter Jelinski's death. Ken's going to tell Nick Usher what those questions are once they get introduced and Ken does a little pre-test interview."
"So far, so good," Zippy said.
"After the pre-test, Ken will explain the polygraph machine -- which will be set up the whole time with its lights, knobs, needles, paper ribbon -- and how the human body reacts involuntarily when it feels stress. He'll explain how the heart beat, blood pressure, and skin moisture will naturally and involuntarily increase when a person lies. He'll also explain how the polygraph will measure those reactions and can tell if a person is lying or not."
"Sounds scary," Zippy said.
"Then Ken will ask nine or ten 'yes or no" questions. Most of the questions will be innocent -- such as: 'is your name Nicholas Usher?' Those 'design questions' – like: 'Did you strangle Walter Jelinski with a bathrobe sash?' -- will get asked among the other questions and our boy's reaction will be recorded."
"What if
he flunks the test?" Zippy asked.
"The results from a polygraph aren't admissible as evidence in California courts," Stan continued. "He could flunk the test and stick to his story and there's not a lot we can do about that."
"So why even do it?" Zippy asked.
"It's just an investigative tool. If he passes the test," Stan said as he looked at Jerrod, "and he won't, we can focus our attention somewhere else. If he fails, Ken will explain those results and start interrogating him more about the crime. A confession, if we see one, will come out from the interrogation – not from the polygraph."
"What if the results are somewhere in the middle?"
"If the results are inconclusive, we're no better off than we are right now."
"Okay. I get it," Zippy said. He turned to Jerrod. "Sarge, mind if I watch with you guys."
"Sure."
"Everything ready?" Stan asked Ken.
"Ready," Ken said.
"I'm sorry. He agreed to be here at ten," Jerrod said.
Ken looked at his watch. "It's only twenty after. I've got all day."
"Sergeant," Linda said as she peaked in the lieutenant's office."
"Yes."
"Reception says there's a man here to see you. Nick Usher."
"Thank you," he said as he headed out of the office to Reception.
"Ten thirty," Stan said as he turned to Zippy. "He passed the first part of the test by just showing up."
Jerrod walked through the secured door into the public lobby and the college-age receptionist nodded her head toward a row of seats near the front door.
"Nick," Jerrod said. "Glad you could make it. I was starting to worry."
Nick Usher stood up and walked toward the secure door. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was terrible on the highway." He was wearing the same tan jacket, blue t-shirt, and jeans we had worn the previous two days.
"No problem. Do you have any guns or knives or bazookas on you?"
The receptionist giggled. "'Bazookas,'" she repeated.
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