by Неизвестный
Thursday, September 20
Boulevard, CA, 3:40 p.m.
Jim Duncan and Billy Rivera arrived at Dante’s Tavern. By now, a small crowd had gathered. Jim and Billy moved to the victim’s side to confirm that there was no more that could be done. They were told that a crime scene investigation team from the Sherriff’s Department was on the scene and that they must wait to remove the body.
Thursday, September 20
San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office, 4 p.m.
As the crime scene team was pretty much wrapped up, Jim Duncan could now remove the body and deliver it to the county morgue. Could the victim have survived with a paramedic at the scene right away? No one will ever know, but the course of action was now set as to this victim. In light of the circumstances, significant medical treatment would be bypassed with no stops at the hospital, but rather a direct transfer of the body to the county morgue. A call went out to the morgue headquarters, and Dr. Rebecca Louden was informed that she should be prepared for incoming.
“So much for a quiet Thursday night and her previously planned evening fishing off the Mission Bay jetty. That elusive halibut at the entrance to the bay, will have to wait.”
Thursday, September 20
Boulevard, CA, 4:15 p.m.
Kyra O’Neill arrived at the scene as the doors were being closed on the ambulance. She identified herself to Jim Duncan.
“What have we got here?”
Duncan pulled back the zipper of the body bag and Kyra turned momentarily away in revulsion as she saw
the battered upper body and face of the victim. Duncan re-zipped the body bag and proceeded to head toward the morgue. No need for sirens on this one. No hurry in getting this customer where he needed to go.
Billy sat quietly in the passenger seat as they returned to San Diego, disappointed that their trip did not generate any hardcore paramedic work. Kyra joined Sherriff’s deputies for a briefing on what occurred. Before heading over to Anderson’s Country Store to follow up on the only thin lead they had, they spoke to two other patrons who were in the tavern at the time the victim was there.
“Did you gentlemen observe anything that happened?”
“Nope,” was the terse and only response they got to that question and a few follow-ups. Clearly, no help was going to come from the crowd, so they walked across the parking lot to Anderson’s.
Thursday, September 20
Anderson’s Country Store, Boulevard, CA, 4:20 p.m.
Behind the counter was none other than Burt Anderson himself, the namesake proprietor of Anderson’s Country Store in the generously named “commercial hub” of Boulevard, California. Anderson identified himself to Deputies Dixon and Berkeley and Kyra O’Neill as they approached the counter.
“Hey there, I’m Burt Anderson. What’s all the ruckus about over at Dante’s? I heard the sirens and saw all the fuss but I couldn’t really leave the store alone. I’m by myself on this shift.” (in actuality as he was alone in every shift in his little store)
The questioning began and it was quickly confirmed to Kyra and the deputies that some of the town’s local high school boys were known to regularly hang out after school and on Saturdays at Anderson’s.
“Sure, the kids come in for a soda and a snack and spend a few minutes out on the porch before they head home. I run a clean place and never sell beer or wine to the kids. Hell, I always check for IDs, even for cigarettes.
Burt was quick to add, “Never did take to smoking. A real bad habit. I’m always looking out for the kids’ best interests.”
Burt Anderson talked further about some of the regulars at the store. His comments included a mix of his personal philosophy, generally on the youth of today, as well as the challenges that a young man in Boulevard, California has these days in moving up in life.
“Look, its real tough for the kids of today. Here in our town there’s nothing much to do, almost no part time work and not much in the way of sports at the school. As least they’re not gettin in no mischief here.”
The irony of that statement was not lost on Kyra and the deputies in light of what they just saw. Deputy Dixon chuckled to himself. He was thinking, “For Christ’s sake, we’re not talking about growing up with institutionalized poverty in the inner city of Detroit.”
No amount of boredom could justifiably explain what was done to this victim.
Deputy Dixon had determined that the victim’s name apparently was Javier Molina. Whether Molina was documented or not was still to be determined. However, he did possess a California driver’s license, showing an address in Brawley, California. Showing the driver’s license Dixon asked Burt Anderson, “Ever seen or heard of this guy?”
“Nope, total stranger to me. We got a lot of Mexicans around here, lots just come back and forth across the border as they please. Most I think are law abiding but don’t get me started.”
Kyra O’Neill took over the questioning, “Tell me, Mr. Anderson, who of your young “citizens” had been hanging out this afternoon in the last hour or so?”
“I don’t want to get nobody in trouble but I’m pretty sure a young man by the name of Eddie McDermott was here. I think there may have been one or two other boys. I can’t really recall who they were.”
Deputy Dixon asked Burt where he would be later that afternoon and evening and secured all his contact information. Burt was reminded several times that should anything come to his attention regarding the events of the afternoon, he should immediately contact Deputy Dixon or Ms. O’Neill.
Though he did not have a specific street address for Eddie, Burt provided directions to the McDermott house enabling the deputies to locate Eddie’s home quickly.
Thursday, September 20
Eddie McDermott’s House, Boulevard, CA, 4:40 p.m.
Kyra, Dixon and Berkeley approached the house of Eddie McDermott with caution. They knocked on the door several times and a woman in her late 40s finally appeared. She wore a non-descript house dress, had a cigarette between her fingers and her look that suggested she was not completely surprised by her visitors’ identity.
“Are you Mrs. McDermott? I’m Sheriff’s Deputy Dixon and this is Deputy Berkeley and Deputy District Attorney Kyra O’Neill. Mrs. McDermott, do you have a son named Eddie?”
“Sure do, what’s the problem?”
Dixon simply replied, “Is he at home now, maam?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” she stalled and then, “Oh, what the hell,” as she stepped back and motioned them in.
They might have taken an immediate formal approach, making her sit there while they began a search of the house as they believed they already had probable cause. Instead, the three of them stood in the entry as she turned and proceeded down the hallway. They had a sense that she was going to produce her son and, within a few seconds, before them stood a young man, Eddie McDermott. It was obvious from his appearance that he had been involved in some sort of skirmish, but in turn had been making some attempt to clean up.
His jeans were dirty but his t-shirt was too clean to match. He had no shoes on and his hair looked like he had just wetted it or taken a shower. Although no words were even spoken yet, within a matter of minutes, big tough Eddie was in near tears, almost babbling about the “other guys” and rambling.
“It was all Tommy’s plan to kick the butts of the Mesicans and clean up the country by getting their beaner asses out of here. Tommy kept sayin that we don’t need’em and don’t want’em. I don’t got nothing against’em. I just went along for the ride. I didn’t mean no harm to the guy. It is was Tommy’s plan to “kick some Mesican butt” and clean up the country by ridding it of the ‘unwanted.’ The others messed the guy up way too much. Tommy’s a nut case and I was just throwing some soft punches to have some fun.”
Watching the unsolicited confession without saying a word, Kyra and the deputies were somewhat dumbfounded.
After letting Eddie ramble, Deputy Dixon delivered the news, “This guy you’re
talking about is dead! You and your buddies are now involved in something much more serious than just throwing some soft punches.”
Eddie turned ashen white, breaking down into full sobs.
By now Eddie’s mother was exhibiting no motherly love. As she listened to Deputy Dixon and Kyra, without another word she finally looked at Eddie and in one exasperating statement, “Well, how the fuck we gonna afford a lawyer for you? You really got your ass deep into it this time, boy.”
From Kyra’s perspective, the whole scene was surreal. Eddie had not been Mirandized. He was babbling incoherently at that point. The thought immediately flashed in her mind that a confession, prior to being advised of his rights and placed under arrest, could present legal impediments for her case. On the other hand, it appeared fairly clear to her that there was not going to be a problem for lack of evidence to establish the crime and its perpetrators.
Thursday, September 20
Eddie McDermott’s House, Boulevard, CA, 5 p.m.
Deputy Dixon read Eddie McDermott his rights, placed him in handcuffs, and escorted him to his squad car. Although procedurally unnecessary, Deputy Dixon asked Eddie’s mother for permission to look in his room. The usual task of evidence gathering to mount a case required virtually no effort. In Eddie’s room, piled on his floor, was a dirty and bloodied T-shirt–and Dixon was certain the dirt would match that of the area outside Dante’s Tavern–and a pair of dirty and blood-splattered tennis shoes that would certainly match the shoe prints at the crime scene. Kyra O’Neill believed she actually was seeing her first open and shut, slam dunk case in her young career.
Eddie provided the exact addresses and directions to Jack’s and Tommy’s houses. As Deputies Dixon, Berkeley and Kyra headed off to pick up Jack and Tommy, there seemed to be no sense of urgency or necessity to request backup. The rush to make simultaneous arrests was not in anyone’s mind. They had the whole story, or enough as they needed, from Eddie. The co-perpetrators of the crime, if not sitting at home, were not likely to be far away.
Thursday, September 20
Eddie McDermott’s House, Boulevard, CA, 5:40 p.m.
Eddie’s mother, exhibiting the shock one would expect, particularly from a mother of a boy who had just been arrested for murder, put out her most recent cigarette and picked up the phone to call her husband, Eddie’s stepfather.
“Paging George McDermott,” rang out over the loudspeaker at the nearby Indian Casino where Eddie’s father worked as a pit boss.
As luck would have it, her husband was on a break and she was able to reach him right away. Her speech was trembling as she began telling George of the deep shit Eddie had himself in this time. As Eddie’s mother rambled, one watching George would almost sense by his demeanor that he was oddly relieved and felt maybe they wouldn’t have to worry anymore about Eddie in their lives. This was not going to be a scene from Father Knows Best where the family gathers to deal with one of the siblings’ crisis. Eddie and his stepfather were not close by any measure and Eddie had been a tough kid for George to deal with ever since he married Eddie’s mother 10 years earlier.
However, George McDermott knew the reality was they were going to have to get a lawyer for Eddie and do something with the mess he had left in their laps.
“Who we gonna call?” Edna McDermott, Eddie’s mom, asked. “I don’t know nobody.”
There was certainly no glut of lawyers or law offices in Boulevard, California where she spent virtually all of her time, except for an occasional trip into Lakeside to the local Wal-Mart to do her “fancy” shopping.
“Calm down Edna! I’ve heard of this lawyer from the boys around the casino.”
He became aware of Buck Johnson’s name as a result of scrapes which certain employees around the casino had gotten themselves into.
“Everyone says this guy by the name of Buck Johnson is real good. He does criminal law and also got a damn fine settlement in a personal injury case for Joey Sutter (one of Eddie’s stepfather’s fellow pit bosses) last year. I’ll give this guy Johnson a call to see what to do. Try to take it easy. I’m heading home right now.”
Thursday, September 20
FBI Office, San Diego, CA, 6:00 p.m.
When 6:30 p.m. came and there was no Molina, FBI Field Agents Sally Ferguson and Jack Thomas were having a casual conversation about life in the big city and what was new and exciting, which proved to be a fairly mundane conversation waiting for Molina to show up.
At 7:00 p.m. they initially wrote off Molina’s failure to show up as mere
delays in getting from Calexico to San Diego. Who knew how he was traveling.
By 7:30 p.m. they were clearly concerned. A television was on in the conference room where they were sitting. As they sat there they heard a reference by the anchor to a potential hate crime homicide in San Diego’s East County. Hearing the description of the victim–together with Molina’s absence, Jack put up his hands to interrupt what Sally was saying.
“Oh shit,” he blurted out.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just have a bad feeling this may be our guy.”
Jack grabbed the nearby phone and called the Sheriff’s office, identified himself, and what he was calling about and asked to speak to the officers who had been on the scene of the “hate crime” that was being reported on television. Despite the built-in resistance local law enforcement agencies typically have to the Feds sticking their nose in local crime, San Diego had a long-standing history of cooperation between Federal, State, and local law enforcement. The various agency leaders worked hard to avoid turf wars.
“This is Sheriff’s Deputy Dixon, can I help you?”
From Deputy Dixon, Jack learned the location of the event and the description of what took place. Sadly and quickly concluding that the victim was, in fact, their guy. Jack asked some general questions about the event and for a description of the victim. Although he was told the victim had been badly beaten, Deputy Dixon told Jack that the victim’s driver’s license identified him as one Javier Molina. Because of the highly complicated nature of the matter and the potential informant, Agent Thomas said nothing further to Deputy Dixon as to why he was inquiring.
Jack got off the phone with Deputy Dixon and turned to Sally, “There goes that break down the drain. Our informant gets beaten to death by some school kids. So much for ‘No Child Left Behind.’ Maybe it should be, ‘No Child Left Alone On A Hot Day At A Back County Bar’.”
Thomas and Ferguson had no actual way to identify Molina except that the name he had given them had matched the name on the murder victim’s driver’s license and they had no reason to believe otherwise. There was no hurry for them to go to the morgue to examine the body and they were comfortable that Molina’s body wasn’t going anywhere for a few days. Any other useful clues could be secured from the autopsy report. Actually, it no longer mattered much as they had no contacts other than Molina himself to attempt to secure the information they were looking for.
They got lucky once with Molina coming forward, maybe they would get lucky again.
Thursday, September 20
County Sheriff’s El Cajon Substation, 6 p.m.
When Deputy Dixon told the supervising homicide detective, Oliver Ruiz, about the call from Agent Thomas, Ruiz was quite interested to say the least. What was the Feds’ interest in this? Might it be a lead to who this really was? The detective was aware from the newspaper of the big time drug cartel jefe being held in the downtown federal facility. Was the guy who was beaten to death out in Boulevard related to any of this?
The coincidence bothered him but then he thought to himself, “What the hell, shit happens.”
Experience had taught Ruiz to be suspicious of coincidences especially ones with significant consequences. He had a distinct feeling he had not heard the end of this.
The detective went back to his desk but couldn’t get Thomas’s inquiry out of his mind. Were these punks actually underground members of a cartel? That seemed unl
ikely. Maybe someone paid them money to beat this guy to death and they really didn’t know the who or why but the sum was large enough to get them excited and cause their youthful “we’ll never get caught” bravado and take the job.
