The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery Page 7

  “Over here, on your left, you’ll see all our offices. That’s where we spend most of our time looking over case information and making phone calls. If you’ll all step over here, to the right, I’ll show you what we do when we need to lay out all of our evidence in a homicide case.” Santy leads the group to a conference room that has two murder boards fully populated on the walls. Santy explains to the group that this is how they diagram a case, showing the victim connected to witnesses and other data by string. There are a few oohs and ahhs as the group gets up close and examines each picture.

  “If anyone has any questions, feel free to speak up any time,” Santy says.

  One of the students answers, “I think we need a mop over here. Teo has lost his lunch on your floor.”

  The heat in the office and the fact that the students just finished lunch before coming on tour, have combined to create a few sick students in the conference room. Add to that the fact that Santy forgot to edit some of the murder boards. There are quite a few autopsy photos that appear to have pushed some of the students over the edge and they were now losing their lunches on the conference room floor. The adult chaperons are looking at Santy for help, who is looking for Marjorie for help. Just then the lieutenant passes the conference room and peeks in.

  “Well, so how is our little tour going? How is Homicide treating everyone?”

  Just as he is finishing his sentence, a girl in the front throws up on the lieutenant’s shoes, much to the horror of the chaperons. Several of the boys are giggling. Marjorie arrives just in time. She smiles and escorts the group out and to the lunch room area which has open windows and fresh air. A couple of police cadets are assigned the task of cleaning up the conference room.

  Just then, the air conditioning starts up with a shudder throughout the building. The cool air begins to circulate throughout the building, slowing lowering the temperature. Unfortunately, the air intake is just outside of the tainted conference room, so along with cold air, the building is getting a rich dose of fresh vomit smell. Audible groans erupt throughout the building and many detectives are passing around small containers of Vicks.

  Marjorie has successfully calmed down the students and chaperons. Santy has returned to the group, now assembled in the lunch room.

  “Well, wasn’t that fun? Shall we continue our tour?” Santy asks.

  One of the chaperons interrupts and says she’s taking students back to school. I think they’ve seen enough for one day.”

  Santy is jumping up and down inside but answers with great disappointment and decorum. “I’m so sorry for this. There’s so much more I’d like to show you. Perhaps you can come back another day and we could pick up where we left off?”

  Santy only gets a forced smile from the chaperon as they lead the last of the students into the elevator. One of the students says, “That was cool man. Cool.” Santy smiles back and waves to the group as the elevator door closes.

  The cadets have cleaned the room and Marjorie has returned the floor almost back to normal. The strong smell of vomit hangs in the air.

  “Wow, Marjorie, that was pretty much a disaster, wasn’t’ it?”

  “I don’t know sir, I thought it was sort of fun actually. You didn’t get to see the look on the lieutenant’s face when that student let go on his shoes. Those were some pretty nice Italian shoes. Or at least they were nice shoes.”

  A group of investigators and detectives have gathered and are all laughing at Marjorie’s joke. They pat Santy on the back saying they loved his performance and that he needs to teach them how to pull something like that off. He laughs and taking it all in stride, heads back to his office to get another shot of Vicks.

  Chapter 17

  Santy parks in front of his mother’s apartment on Santa Ana Boulevard in Santa Ana. Her apartment is across the street from St. Joseph’s Church. That was the principal reason she chose this location. Still an avid and regular church-goer, she attends Mass every day and constantly harangues her son about his lack of attendance. He never liked this location: it was always in the “hot” zone for the police. This was one of the areas in town that had some of the highest crime rates. Even though the police patrolled it often, night and day, arrests for burglary, drugs and assaults stayed high. Despite the crime rate, his mother would entertain no thought of moving.

  “I want to be near my church,” she’d say. “I am protected by the Lord. I am not leaving!”

  A group of teenage boys are gathered on the apartment steps. They eye Santy warily as he shuts his car door and walks toward them.

  “Good morning, guys. How’s everyone doing today? Shouldn’t you be in school today?” Santy asks, eyeing them back. He stops at the foot of the steps and makes sure they can see his badge affixed to his belt.

  “We’re off for the rest of the day and we’ve done all our homework too,” they say with a tinge of sarcasm.

  Santy smiles and says, “Why aren’t you out having fun on a day like this? The sun’s out and you’re sitting here?”

  “We are having fun. We’re enjoying each other’s company. Is that a crime?” one of the boys says sarcastically.

  “So far it’s not; but watch yourselves. There’s a lot of crime in this area and we don’t want any of you to get hurt out there, do we?”

  “Not us, we’re good boys. We don’t do any of that. Come on, let’s go to my house,” one of them says as they all scamper off the stairs towards one of the downstairs apartments.

  Santy walks up the stairs and knocks on his mother’s apartment door.

  “Mother? It’s me. Are you there? Please answer the door.”

  “Who? Who is it?” a voice from inside says.

  “It’s me, Dick. Let me in mother.”

  The door opens slowly and Santy comes in. His mother is still in her dressing gown and looks tired and upset.

  “Mother, are you alright? You look like you might be sick,” Santy asks.

  “I’m not all right! It’s those boys! Didn’t you see them when you came up? I’ve been up almost all night watching for them. I’m sure they are going to do something bad. I’m sure they are!”

  “Mother, calm down. Please sit. Can I get you something? Some tea?”

  “No, no. I’m just sick about all this. All this crime. Can’t you do something about it? Can’t you arrest them?”

  “Mother, they’re not breaking any laws. They’re just kids with nothing to do but hang out together. I’m sure they are not going to do anything bad. I know you’re safe here, the Santa Ana police are very good, Mother; they are always nearby. I told you to call them if you think someone is trying to break in. Do you still have that number I gave you?”

  “Yes I do. It’s over by the phone. I think they are tired of me calling.”

  “How many times have you called them?”

  “Three times.”

  “That’s not that many, Mother. I’m sure they’re not upset.”

  “Three times this morning.”

  “Mother. Why didn’t you call me? I had no idea. What happened this morning?”

  “I heard noises, Dickie. It sounded like someone was trying to get in my bedroom window.”

  “Mother, your bedroom is on the second floor. I don’t think anyone is trying to get into your bedroom.”

  “I thought they we’re going to break in and kill me.”

  “Who was?”

  “Those boys. I know they are out to get me! I just know it!”

  “Did you go to Mass today?”

  “No. I missed today. I’ve been too upset.”

  “Have you had any lunch yet?”

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Let me take you to lunch. You know you like that chicken pot pie at Norm’s. Let me take you out. I haven’t eaten yet either. I can take you to church after we eat.”

  “Oh, would you, Dickie? That would be wonderful!”

  He can tell that her demeanor has changed for the better. She rustles around in the bathroom
and hums an old favorite song. He looks around at her apartment and sees the totality of someone’s life reduced to fit into a studio apartment. The shelves are lined with faded pictures of her children, their high-school faces beaming out of their frames, so full of hope and promise. Pictures of her husband, with closely cropped hair, looking so handsome in his uniform. Christmas pictures of old, everyone gathered in front of tinsel- bedecked trees. Her recliner, with crocheted armrests, is situated in front of a small television. A TV tray sits nearby with an “I love Mom” coffee cup along with her various medications. A crucifix watches over the room, affixed with care above the doorway to her bedroom still holding a palm leaf from an old Palm Sunday.

  She appears out of her bedroom with a large purse under her arm, wearing a warm sweater and a smile on her face.

  “I’m so glad you came by, Dickie. I’m so glad to see you,” she says, as she kisses his cheek.

  “Mother, it’s almost eighty degrees out there. Are you sure you are going to need that sweater?”

  “I don’t want to catch a chill now. That Mrs. Levin, downstairs, she caught a chill last month and she was gone in one week!” she says, pausing to cross herself in front of the crucifix. “You cannot be too careful!”

  Santy opens the door and they both walk out onto the stairway landing. Rock music wafts up from the apartment below.

  His mother shuts the door. “Listen, isn’t that awful? They do this day and night!”

  “I’ll have a talk with Mr. Johnson later today and see if he can do something about that. Take my arm, Mother. You look so beautiful today. Your carriage awaits below.” He waves his arm towards his car and they descend the steps, her arm firmly affixed to his. She has a smile on her face and the birds are singing.

  “Madame, may I?” Santy opens the door for her as she smiles at him again with a hint of blush in her cheeks. They’ve repeated this routine for years now and she never gets tired of it. She loves the chivalry of it all, the attention and love it gives her. Her husband used to treat her like a princess before the war and she loved it. Santy knows this and loves to see her response each time they go out.

  “Where to now, ma’am?” Santy says in his best Brooklyn cabbie imitation.

  “Oh, Dickie,” she says, lovingly touching his arm as they drive away. They both smile, lost in their memories together.

  Chapter 18

  Santy always dreads seeing his doctor. He doesn’t suffer from any major ailment yet, but it was the “yet” he is worried about. He isn’t a compulsive worrier -- he just doesn’t like going to the doctor. He would imagine all the possible things they could find wrong with him. Some people went for years without seeing a doctor and lived a long, satisfying life. Then, there were those other healthy looking people who dropped dead for no apparent reason. He had a friend in the Marine Corps who was the picture of health. Didn’t smoke or drink, could run twenty miles before nine in the morning, without breathing heavy. One day he dropped dead from a heart attack. His doctor told him that sometimes these things just happen. Wonderful, he thought, maybe I should just smoke and drink as much as I’d like to if these things can just happen.

  Santy has a 2:30 appointment with his primary physician to go over some routine test results. He sits in the waiting room with a host of sick and groaning patients. If I’m not sick now, I will be when I leave, he thinks to himself.

  “Mr. Santy?” the nurse calls out. “You can come back now. The doctor will see you.”

  Santy rises, without saying a word and follows the nurse as if she is leading him to his own execution.

  “And how are we feeling today?” the nurse asks.

  “I feel good, no complaints,” Santy replies as he tries to suppress his smoker’s cough.

  “Now that doesn’t sound so good,” the nurse says. “Be sure to mention that to the doctor! He should be right with you. Can I get you anything? Water, a magazine?”

  “How about a scotch?”

  “Oh Mr. Santy. You’re so funny,” the nurse says as she closes the door.

  There is a multi-colored diagram of a man’s reproductive system on the back of the door that practically jumps out at him when she shuts the door.

  “Ugh,” he thinks.

  There is a knock at the door and then voice announces, “This is Doctor Brownlee. Are you decent?”

  “Yes; well I hope so,” Santy answers.

  Doctor Brownlee enters the room, shutting the door behind him. Wearing a white doctor’s coat, he carries a patient file that has Santy’s name on it. He is an older man with graying hair, at least the hair that is left on his head. Doctor Brownlee has been his doctor since he was a teenager. He has treated his entire family for one ailment or another over the past twenty or so years.

  “So how are you feeling today, Dick? Any problems you’d like to tell me before we dig into the results of your physical?”

  “You know, I’m feeling pretty good; nothing major to complain about. I hope I can keep it that way too.”

  “How’s that knee treating you?”

  Santy had hurt his knee while in the service, playing basketball. He tore some ligaments and had surgery to repair the tears. Despite the surgery, his knee was never the same.

  Doctor Brownlee pulls and tugs on his knee in an attempt to get an indication of its present condition. Santy grimaces a bit, all trying to minimize the doctor’s reason for further treatment. Through clenched teeth Santy says, “Its fine. No problem at all.”

  The doctor laughs and says, “Now don’t be afraid to tell me you have any pain there. You know, I’ve got some good surgeon friends who are doing some amazing things with knees. There are new surgical techniques out there now that can fix almost everything. Just let me know if you have any problems.”

  “I will doctor.”

  “Ok, so let’s see how you’re doing.”

  Doctor Brownlee opens all the test results and spreads them out over the examination table. He runs his finger down the columns on the reports until he finds any results that are out of the normal range and then circles these in red pen. He continues this for a few, silent minutes.

  “Ok, well, all in all, you’re not doing too badly for a man your age. Most of your test results are within the normal range but there are a few that we need to watch. Your cholesterol is too high, as is your blood pressure. Remember what happened to your father: these two factors could lead to the same result. Are you getting some exercise?”

  “Well, some. Does walking count?”

  “How far do you walk?”

  “I walk about a half a mile in the morning with my dog.”

  “That’s good, but you need to do more. I don’t mean you have to run a marathon, but you need to get as much aerobic exercise as you can and also watch what you eat. Your weight is a bit high and that’s another strike against you. I would suggest you find a way to lose 10-15 pounds as well as eat less meat and eggs. Also cut back on the salt, too. Your blood pressure will thank you for it.”

  Santy thinks about how much of a life change it would be to cut back on all the things he loves. He loves his steaks, eggs, and butter. He salts everything in sight. More exercise? When?

  “Doctor, I see what you mean. I guess I need to make some changes.”

  “I see you’re still smoking. How much?”

  “Yes, about a pack a day.”

  “That’s not good. You know how bad those are for you. I’m going to give you the name of a doctor friend of mine who will help you stop smoking. He can hypnotize you to get you to stop smoking. He’s helped many of my patients and I really think you need to stop. Your whole body will thank you.”

  The doctor hands him the card of his specialist-friend. Santy thinks, No way am I going to a hypnotist! I need a smoke!

  “Listen, take it slow and don’t try and change everything overnight. Start small and take time to get used to the changes. You’ll find that it’s not that hard once you get used to it. How about stress? Is your job stressful?
Oh, I just remembered you’re a policeman. How is your work? Is it stressful?”

  “Well, most of the time it’s OK unless they start shooting at you. Then I tend to get stressed. Otherwise, I’m OK.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Mr. Santy. I don’t mean to sound insensitive. You’ve got some health issues and you’re still too young to end up like your father! If you lose some weight, get some exercise and stop smoking, you’ll be well on your way to a good long life! I would like to schedule you for a treadmill test for our next visit in six months. Here’s a slip you can take to the lab across the street. That’s it. I’ll see you in about six months.”

  They both stand up and shake hands. Smiling, the doctor leaves and shuts the door behind him. Santy slinks back down in his chair, wondering why he came in after all. If I wanted bad news I could have gone to the office. He’s relieved to be done with the appointment and yet he’s opened a new chapter of getting older. More restrictions and more things to not do. He opens the door and walks back into the waiting room which is almost empty. He hands his insurance card to the receptionist who shuffles some paperwork and then hands his card back. She thanks him and wishes him a good night. He walks out of the office and gets in his car. He looks at his watch and realizes he’s been in there for over two hours. It’s almost five o’clock and he needs to get over to the Swinging Door at five. A drink sounds good.

  Chapter 19

  The Swinging Door is a beer bar in the center of old Tustin. It has been there since the early 50s. He needs to speak to them about what happened the night of the murder. As he is driving over to First Street from his doctor’s office on Tustin Avenue, he once again sees the giant dinosaur at the Goony Golf Course as he drives towards El Camino Real. He remembers when El Camino used to be called “D Street”, but the name was changed in order to honor the California Mission Trail which connected the California missions. Shortly after the name change, the city installed a series of poles which had mission bells on top. El Camino Real used to be the main thoroughfare between Los Angeles and San Diego.