The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery Page 3

  “I remember too, Chris. It’s just that I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m busy with work and ballot initiatives and I barely have any time left to spend being a father! My parents won’t be around forever. Then what will we do? Answer me that!”

  Chris reaches for his arm. “Steve, let’s not fight, let’s live for now. For our memories. For just us. Please don’t be so angry with me.”

  Steve turns and looks directly at her, his face red with anger.

  “Chris, I’ll say it again: I need you to be a part of Clarissa’s life. You may not like it, but it’s a fact and you need to arrange it. I’m not saying you have to live with her or spend weeks with her but you need to spend at least a day a week with her. You need to be there and tell her you’re her mother! She needs to know who her mother is, for God’s sake! Now, you either do this or I could find a way to let it get out that she does have a mother, and that mother is married to the D.A. What will he think when he learns that his wife has a criminal past and has abandoned her own baby. You decide, it’s one way or another.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Steve. If you do what I think you’re saying, you’ll be very sorry. Why must you be so hateful? What has changed in you to turn you so angry at me?”

  “I’m not afraid of what you’ll do. What have I got to lose? I live with my parents, with a child who has a mystery mother. I’ve got control of this now, Chris. I’m in the driver’s seat.”

  Steve stand’s up and pulls some wadded bills out of his pockets. He slaps some cash down and turns to go.

  “This is it, Chris: you need to commit to this or your secret will come out. Don’t make me do it, because I will. Make your choice and call me next week.”

  Steve storms away as everyone in the bar looks on. The bartender approaches Chris and asks if she’s OK.

  “I’m OK. Can I get another one of these?” she asks, pointing to her drink.

  “Sure, coming right up,” the bartender answers as the recorded voice announces that the train is leaving on track nine.

  That was last week. She has a thousand fears bouncing around in her mind when her husband comes home and tells her that they’ve been asked to go to a benefit dinner for the South Coast Repertory Theatre that night.

  “But, I’m just making dinner right now.”

  “Just leave it. I’m taking my girl out for a night on the town.”

  Chapter 6

  After the benefit for the repertory theatre, Christine had a sleepless night. She can’t wait until her husband leaves for work and Jay, with his “big news,” comes over. She idly picks up the newspaper and thumbs through the different sections. She sees herself with her husband on the “society page”. It was taken last night at the reception for the repertory theatre. That didn’t take long, she thinks. The Register is sure getting a lot of new columns and writers in the paper these days. Lots of changes since I used to work there in customer service listening to people complain about not getting their newspapers delivered.

  The doorbell rings.

  Christine opens the door and Jay walks in silently, sitting down on the sofa.

  “What did you want to tell me last night?”

  “It isn’t good.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “What have you done?”

  “I haven’t done anything. I’ve been following Steve and I’ve noticed that he’s been going to ‘The Swinging Door’ a lot lately.”

  “He’s in A.A. What was he doing there?”

  “He was drinking a coke at the bar. I overheard him saying things to the guy next to him.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He was bragging and saying that he had something that would ‘blow the top off the county’.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s a whistleblower?”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t close enough to get all the details.”

  “Keep an eye on him and let me know if you hear anything else. He’s been calling me and giving me a hard time about my not seeing Clarissa. He’s been making threats that he is going to expose me in the press. I can only imagine what he is going to say about me. Probably a total character assassination.”

  “Do you feel like he’s going be violent with you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “When was the last time you talked to each other?”

  He called last week and wanted me to meet him in South Coast Plaza at the restaurant “20th Century Limited”.

  “How did that go?”

  “Not good. He’s just really on edge these days. He’s such a loose cannon. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. Could you talk to him and tell him to lay off? Don't rough him up; just make some idle threats.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “See that you do!”

  Chapter 7

  One Month Later

  Dick’s phone rings. Bert jumps off the couch and heads for the back door. Dick answers the phone:

  “Hello?”

  “Dick, Sergeant Smith here.”

  “Hey Smith. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got one for you. We’ve got a body over in Irvine that the lieutenant wants you to check out.”

  “Where? Irvine?”

  “Yeah, somewhere by the Marine Corps Air base out there. Seems they found someone in the compost piles and it looks like he’s been gone over pretty good. Do you know where Green Gardens is?”

  “I think so. Out on the southwest side of the base, on the back side of the tower, right?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s it. I’ve got the address if you need it.”

  “Nah, I think I know where it is. Are you coming out?”

  “Yeah. Do you need a ride?”

  “No. I’ll drive myself.”

  “Ok, we’ll see you there. Dr. Stevenson is already out there getting a look at things.”

  “Fine, see you there.”

  Detective Santy pulls his car into the alley behind Green Gardens. The alley is already crowded and full of police vehicles. He squeezes his car in behind a police van. There’s barely room to open the squad car door. He squeezes himself out and is directed by a patrol officer to the rows of compost bins.

  “This way, sir.”

  “Thanks. Thanks very much.” Santy answers, pulling his coat on and straightening out his tie. He walks towards an area surrounded by crime scene tape where Sergeant Smith is already standing.

  “So, what have we got here?” Santy asks Smith.

  “A white male in his late twenties we think. He was found buried in the compost inside this truck, sir. He was discovered by the truck’s owner after getting a truckload of compost.”

  “Who owns the truck?”

  “A Phil Pritchett. He lives in Santa Ana and came by to pick up a load of compost for his yard.”

  “Wow, didn’t know these places existed. More than I’d be doing.”

  “So, how long has he been here do you think?”

  “He’s been dead for about thirty six hours, I’d say,” Doctor Stevenson chimes in pulling off her plastic gloves.

  “Looks like he took some pretty nasty blows to the head from what I can see. Of course I can’t really say for sure until we get him back to the office. It also looks like there are some gunshot wounds too, in his chest over there,” Doctor Stevenson says pointing to the chest of the victim.

  “Thirty six hours you say?” Santy asks.

  “My best guess, Detective. He’s stiffened up pretty good.”

  “Why the heck would anyone want to kill someone and then put him in a compost pile? What’s the deal with that? Doesn’t seem too creative if you ask me.”

  “It also looks like he may not have been killed here, sir.” Smith says. “Looking at the compost in the truck bed as well as in the original pile, there’s no blood residue. I think he was dead before he was dumped here.”

  “Is there any id wi
th him? Did he have a wallet with him?”

  “No, but we’re checking all the other bins to see if there’s anything we missed.”

  “Have you talked to the people that run this place?”

  “No sir, but we’ve got them standing by over in the office there.”

  “Let’s go take a look,” Santy says.

  Santy and Smith walk over towards the office, past the police tape that is holding back a crowd of landscapers and workers from the cement plant next door. They enter the office of Green Gardens and ask to see the manager. An older man greets them as Santy and Smith both show their badges.

  “I’m Detective Santy and this is Sergeant Smith. We wonder if we could ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course. I’m Jose Gonzales, I run this place. Please come into my office.”

  They enter his office and he offers them a seat in front of a large desk piled high with paperwork and small bags of soil.

  “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

  “No, but thanks anyway. We’d like to ask you some questions about the dead man you found in the compost. Do you recall when you first heard about the body being found?” Santy asks.

  “Yes, it was about 10:30 this morning. I remember because my mother-in-law called and I was staring at the clock, hoping I wouldn’t have to spend all morning on the phone with her. I love her, of course; however, I have a business to run, you see?”

  Santy smiles and says, “Yes, I understand.”

  “I remember all my workers came running in and were screaming about a dead body. They kept saying ‘cadaver! cadaver! cadaver! So I hung up the phone and ran outside to see what was going on. That’s when I saw the poor man in the back of the truck.”

  “What time did you open this morning?”

  “About 6:30 or so. Same time we do every day.”

  “And you don’t remember anything out of the ordinary today or yesterday?”

  “No, nothing at all. Other than this dead body!”

  “How often are those bins of compost refilled?”

  “Just about every day. We get a truck from our Santiago Canyon office in the afternoon usually between four and five that fills the bins. They’re usually almost empty every day, especially in the spring. Everybody wants compost.”

  “So did you get a truck yesterday?”

  “Let me get my ledger and check.”

  Jose walks into the next room to get the ledger book. Santy says to Smith, “The body had to be brought in last night for this to make sense. Unless it was brought here after hours.”

  “It would be pretty tough to get in here after hours with all the gates and security.” Smith answers. “It’s possible, but I’m guessing the body came in with the compost on the truck.”

  Jose comes back into the office with an old ledger book and opens it on his desk.

  “Yes,” he says, “the truck dropped some compost off yesterday at about 5:15. Just after we closed.”

  “How late do you and your workers stay? Do they wait for the truck and open the gate?”

  “Yes, the truck driver calls ahead letting us know if he’s coming or not, and then we know to stay until he arrives.”

  “So someone was here to open the gate when he arrived. Right?”

  “Yes, let me see if I can get Jorge in here. I think he was working last night.”

  Jose walks out into the yard to find Jorge. Santy gets up and peers into the ledger book. The book is a very old CPA’s ledger that was adapted to record the comings and goings of everyone at Green Gardens, including customers. Santy turned the page to today and found Phil Pritchett’s name and truck. Jose even entered the license plate and model.

  Jose and Jorge entered the room. “Gentlemen, this is Jorge,” Jose said. “Santy and Smith showed Jorge their badges and said they wanted to ask him some questions about the body in the truck. Jorge appears puzzled and looks back at Jose. “Jorge doesn’t speak very good English. I can translate if you like.”

  Smith asks Jorge a question in fluent Spanish. Santy looks at Smith in astonishment.

  “Jorge, do you remember letting the truck in from the Santiago store yesterday?” Smith asks.

  “Yes, I do sir.” Jorge responds.

  “Do you remember what time it was?”

  “Yes, it was about 5:30. We had to stay later than usual last night. I remember customers begging us to open the gates so they could pick up loads for the next morning, but we couldn’t do that. The boss wants the gates closed at 5:00. We felt very bad for those customers.”

  “Did the truck drop off the usual load, I mean the same compost they usually do?”

  “Yes, they did. We helped them back up the truck into the yard and got them over to the bin where they unloaded the compost.”

  “How many people usually unload the compost?”

  “Only two. The driver and a helper. The truck bed raises up to allow the compost to slide down into the bin. It all happens so fast. They are very good at getting the compost in and cleaning up afterwards.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about the driver or helper last night?”

  “No, I believe I’ve seen them before. They’ve worked for us for quite a while.”

  “Thank you, Jorge, you’ve been very helpful.”

  Jorge still looks worried and concerned. He approaches Smith and asks, “Are we going to be in trouble for this poor man dying?”

  Jose breaks in, “Jorge, please.”

  “No, you’re not in trouble,” Smith says. “We just want to find out as much as we can so that we will be able to catch the killer. Thank you very much. You have been a great help.”

  “Gracias! Gracias!” Jorge answers.

  “Did that help you, Sergeant Smith?” Jose asks.

  “Yes, we’ve got a better feel for what happened last night,” Smith answers, returning to English.

  “Can I be part of this now?” Santy asks. “Care to fill me in on your conversation, Smith?”

  “Yes, sir. I asked Jorge about the truck and what time they came and who was working on the truck. It seems that other than arriving a bit later than usual, it was all as normal as usual.”

  “Mr. Gonzales, do you have a record of the truck that dropped the load last night? Maybe the license number?”

  “Yes, yes I do.” Jose opens the ledger and scans a few pages back and finds the information. Outside, the coroner’s van pulls out and turns towards Santa Ana.

  “Here it is. It was truck number 10. It was marked with Green Gardens and the license number was XL244572.” He writes the information on a piece of paper and hands it to Santy.

  “Thanks very much. That will be all for now. Will you be available in case we need to talk some more?” Santy asks.

  “Of course. You can call me here in the office or at home. Here, let me put my number on the paper there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gonzales. We’ll let you know if we have any further questions.”

  Santy and Smith leave the office, passing a sleeping Chihuahua gingerly on the stairs.

  “When the hell did you learn to speak Spanish, Smith?”

  “When I was in El Salvador. I spent 5 years there working with the local law enforcement on a police-exchange training program. Really nice folks. I did lose some weight however getting used to the food.”

  “Do you believe what Jorge told you?”

  “Yes sir, I do. I didn’t get the feeling he had anything to do with the murder.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Santy says.

  “I need to get downtown and talk to the forensics folks and see if we can id this guy.”

  Chapter 8

  Back in his office, Santy reaches into his desk drawer. He gets out a stack of index cards and begins laying out the murder on the wall next to his desk. In the center, he puts a card marked “Victim”. Off to the right, he puts a card with the words “Green Gardens” on it. Lighting up a cigarette, he leans back in his chair and imagines the scenario that would p
ut a body in a pile of compost. He asks himself, Why did the killer leave the body in one piece? Why not bury it? Why make it recognizable? Why was someone killed with several gunshots and blows to the head. There must have been a huge struggle. But there were no signs of injury on the victim’s hands, nothing visible under his fingernails. He’s lost in thoughts when Marjorie comes in and hands him a message.

  “Dr. Stevenson called earlier and wants you to call. She’s got an id on your murder case.”

  “Thanks, Marjorie. By the way, did my mother call today?”

  “No, not today. I’d let you know if she did. Also, you forgot to take the message from Doctor Teeter. Remember you were going to call him back?”

  “Thanks. What would I do without you Marjorie?”

  Santy picks up the phone and calls Dr. Stevenson.

  “Hello?”

  “Doctor Stevenson, this is Detective Santy. I had a message you called.”

  “Yes; hello, Detective. We’ve got an identification on your murder victim. The one in the compost today. We’ve still got more to do with him, but we have a name for you.”

  “Thanks, Doctor. Can I come over? I’m right next door.”

  “Sure. I’ll be here for another hour or so.”

  Santy reaches into his top drawer and pulls out a small tube of Vicks. He slips it into his pocket. Besides his aversion to blood, he has a real problem with the smells of the Coroner’s office. He learned a long time ago that Vicks could be your best friend.

  Santy tells Marjorie goodbye and walks over to the Coroner’s office.

  *******

  Santy meets Doctor Stevenson outside the pathology room and says, “Hello, Doctor. So you have an id on our guy?”