It was a tense night in the drug-testing lab for Jerry Quirk. The security guard was caught where he shouldn’t be for the second time that evening and this time it was by his coworker, Warren. Posing as lab technicians, Woodman and Carlos stopped searching for the last specimen cup to change out, and looked to Jerry to see how he would respond to Warren’s call on his walkie-talkie.
So far, Jerry was stymied and flustered. He didn’t know how to respond. Convinced Warren could see him in the lab with the detectives, he looked to the ceiling for some hidden camera. Finally, he said, “I don’t see you. Where are you?”
“Where do you think I am?”
“In the front office?” Jerry answered, feeling unsure.
“So where are you? I don’t see you here.”
Now Jerry could relax. Warren couldn’t see him after all. “Oh just wondering around, checking things out, making sure everything cool, like you do sometimes.” He said.
“When I do it, you’re usually here in the office.” Warren’s tone was accusatory.
“Sorry,” Jerry said, “I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and said to the detectives. “I better go.” He left them with a few more refrigerators to check out.
“Hey,” Carlos said, “could you get him out of the office when we go back through there?”
“I could try,” Jerry said and left.
Twenty minutes later, Carlos found Woodman’s specimen cup and traded it for a clean sample. Then the two detectives discussed how to get out of the building. A back door triggered an alarm by opening it.
“If we go out the front way, the other guy will see us.” Woodman reasoned. “I bet he’s still there in the front office, man.”
“If we set off the alarm, it will arouse too much suspicion.” Carlos declared. “Jerry is supposed to get Warren out of the front office. There’s a little window in the door, so we can see what’s happening.”
They took off their lab coats and Carlos peeked through the little window in the door. That’s when he saw Warren headed straight for him.
The door opened and Carlos and Woodman stood behind it, as Warren went down the hallway, his back to them. They froze in place until he turned a corner and was out of hearing range. Feeling it was safe to proceed, Carlos looked through the little window and the coast was clear. He opened the door and they kept their faces adverted away from the camera as they went through the office.
By the following day, Jerry was leaving messages on their phone that they took advantage of him and made a lot of trouble for him at work, that his supervisor was asking a lot of questions about why he was in the lab during Warren’s break for the second time that evening. Jerry wanted more money and drugs or he was going to talk with someone on the PA police force about it, unless they got back to him “pronto.”
Woodman and Carlos arrived late for morning briefing and it soon became evident, that they came in on a very important meeting. The room was crowded, every detective on the force in attendance, the atmosphere in the room: focused, listening to what the division boss, Elaine had to say.
“Radcliffe sent a deputy to go by the place yesterday evening, at 1:30 PM and there were no signs of foul play, or Cecil. He last reported in at 23 hundred hours, from the location of the Jeff Mace residence. I spoke personally with the local sheriff. He assures me he is doing everything he can, searching the cafe and the area around it and so far: nothing. We’re sending our own people up there to help with the search.”
“Could this be related to one of the cases he was working on?” A detective from the robbery division asked.
“No doubt,” Elaine said, “it’s obvious: Cecil found a connection between the murder, or murders here in Palo Alto and a motorcycle gang in Half Moon Bay. His last interview was with Jeff Mace, a Junk Yard Dog and Sheriff Radcliffe said Cecil treated him like a suspect in a homicide case. He said, a man declaring himself to be Nigel Mann was seen in Half Moon Bay.”
“Any ransom demands?”
“Not as yet, but we’re monitoring all social media and the Internet.” She took in the faces of the men doing this job. “People, I want you to give your all on this one. We cannot afford to have one of our own abducted and God knows what. Lan, I want you to take the lead on this.”
For a brief moment, Lan felt the jubilation of being picked to lead the investigation, he brightened considerably, until he saw Stuart’s sour looks and it deflated him.
Moore came up to Elaine after the meeting. “You have to put me back on active duty.” He said.
His insistence gave her momentary pause.
“Let me go to Half Moon Bay. I was with Cecil when we went to that café the first time. I remember it and the Junk Yard Dogs. I’ll know what to look for, who to speak to.”
The police chief, a tall handsome white guy was standing next to her, taking a personal interest in Moore.
With a glance in his direction, Elaine went, “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go out in the field just now.” She put up her hand to silence him. “I’ve made my decision.”
Flabbergasted, Moore couldn’t believe he was being tied to a desk. “Are you telling me I have to sit here, while my partner and best friend is missing, possibly abducted, or worse, because you have some personal grudge against me, during an emergency, when it’s every man available?”
“It’s not personal. And you are available and you shall remain available at your desk,” she said with finality, motioning Carlos and Woodman to join them.
As they approached, Moore restrained himself and smiled, “Elaine, we’re like old friends, don’t do this to me.” In the chief’s eye, he saw the expression on his face that said, muster up, and Elaine harbored intolerance toward him. He slammed his hand into the back of a chair. “How will I find my partner sitting at a desk?” He was indignant.
“Look Moore,” the police chief said, laying a calming hand on his shoulder. “We need you. You’re a valuable witness. You saw this motorcycle gang. Go through the mug books. See if you can pick anyone out.”
Moore scowled at Elaine and left, knowing full well this was her decision.
Woodman and Carlos approached and Elaine said, “I’m glad you two could attend. Lan will brief you on the Junk Yard Dogs and the cafe, where we think Cecil was abducted.”
Only two days ago, Moore was at the center of this investigation. Now he was on the sidelines, like some spectator, wasting his time going through mug books. He thought, these guys were mostly x-military. If he could go through their personnel records, he might be able to ID someone. He knew a guy in the military who owed him a favor. He gave him a call and got through. After some pleasantries, they got down to business.
“I’d like to help out,” the military guy said, “but you have to go through proper channels to obtain such records, fill out a request form…”
“Couldn’t you help me cut through the red tape here? I hate to call in a favor, but we did kind of look the other way when one of yours went AWOL in our district. Remember that?”
“Okay,” he said, “but I don’t want to hear about it again.”
Within an hour, he had the military personnel records on his computer, a list of names and faces to match.
As Lan drove, Stuart sat in the passenger seat over the hill, on 92. He turned to her and said, “I hope this isn’t going to make things difficult between us.”
“What?” She asked, totally bewildered.
“Me, leading this investigation,” Lan explained.
“No, why should it?” She said, as a matter of fact and looked out the window.
He kept glancing at her, keeping his eye on the road, not really believing his temporary promotion didn’t affect her. He was cognizant of her ambitions, but as long as she was okay with it on the surface, he wouldn’t challenge her.
When they arrived at the cafe in Half Moon Bay, the sheriff was waiting for them. They met in the parking lot. Cecil’s car was wrapped in “police line do not cross” tape.
“This was where Cecil was last seen.” Radcliffe said.
Lan and Stuart looked through the car: nothing unusual. The Asian cop tried the door to the cafe and it opened.
Sheriff Radcliffe said, “We went over the place with a fine tooth comb, and as you can see for yourselves, there isn’t anything to see. Strange timing, this renovation going on, just when Cecil turns up missing.” Lan was about to go in, when Carlos and Woodman drove onto the premises, got out of their parked car and approached the other detectives, saying, “Hi.”
“Right now we’re looking over the grounds ourselves,” Lan told them.
“Haven’t these grounds been gone over enough already? What are the chances you’ll find anything new? We need to be interviewing witnesses, re-interviewing them if necessary,” Carlos tone was insistent his way was right.
“After we look over the area,” Lan demanded, “and search for any sign of foul play.”
Woodman was looking around. “We don’t even know where to begin. Where’s the crime scene?”
“Check the perimeter, while Stuart and I go inside.”
The place was completely stripped down, not a piece of furniture or wall hangings remained. The back office was barren. The whole place was completely vacated. Partial wall and flooring were torn out. The back porch light was out. Lan noticed the smell of bleach in the kitchen. The shiny surfaces were spotless. However, Lan decided to have a closer look. That’s what Cecil would have done. He made a close examination of all the counter tops and other surfaces he found gleaming clean. He was about to give up, when he realized he hadn’t checked the floor and while he hated the idea of getting down on all fours, he did it anyway, and he found something: a spot of blood.
Raising his eyes, he thought, “Crime scene!”
Meanwhile, Moore was searching through the military personnel records, and spotted Cooper Watts, an officer for the last 20 years: US Active, living in the bay area… He was one of the Junk Yard Dogs he met in Half Moon Bay. He called Elaine, then the police chief: both numbers went to voice mail. Leave no message, he went by the EOC. The Emergency Operation Center on A-level, where the rank and file changed into uniform and loaded armed rifles into their patrol cars in the adjacent underground parking garage. The EOC was active in an emergency and this was no exception. Lieutenant Van Warren was on duty, a real bully, whom Moore disliked.
He told him the situation and Van Warren didn’t sense the urgency, the need to move on this information right away.
“I’ll get to it,” he said, “e-mail me the info.”
“This is a hot lead. We need to act on it this minute.” Moore's tone of voice was urgent.
They made serious eye contact, but Van Warren wasn’t going to back down. After all, he was the one who decided what constituted “a hot lead.”
“I said I’ll get to it,” and that’s all he said.
As Moore was e-mailing him the info, he stewed over how he was being treated and subjugated to the sidelines, when he could be a real asset to this investigation. Maybe it was time to do something about it.
After finding a spot of blood on the kitchen floor, Lan told the sheriff, “We need to speak to anyone associated with the cafe.”
Living on a luxurious estate, in a cottage separate from the main house, Mr. Robson was sixty, nearly bald, wearing a suit, when he welcomed the detectives, “Please come in. Always willing to help the police.”
Stuart was impatient and her take charge tone of voice was hostile, “Good, then tell us why you cleared out the café on the night Buddy Cecil went missing.”
Perplexed by her stringent air, he nonetheless, answered her question, “Believe me detective, we have been planning this for some time. The land belonged to the Lesser estate. Their money is all tied up in a trust. They’re quite old now and haven’t been attending to their own affairs for years and their children are all independently wealthy and live abroad, in Italy. They left me to attend to their affairs in the states. They wanted me to liquidate some of their assets and the property with the cafe was slated to go.”
“In the middle of the night? The sheriff saw the lights on past midnight.”
“We had to be out of the building by 8 AM and the renter insisted on staying open for business until the last minute.”
“Is it common to take out the dry wall and some of the flooring, when you close shop?” Stuart snapped and Lan looked at her.
“You’ll have to talk with the new owner about that. I think there was an issue with termites, but I’m not sure.”
“And who is the new owner?”
“Danson Enterprises.”
“Today we found a spot of blood on the floor of your establishment. Any idea how it got there?” Lan asked.
“Hey, it’s not my establishment anymore,” he said, poking up both hands in self-defense.
Stuart asked harshly, “Who was renting this property from you?”
Robson found her attitude unnecessarily strident, however, in the spirit of cooperation, he told them, “Mike Aaron.”
Lan thanked the property manager for his time. “And if you think of anything else, please give me a call.” It seemed strange, the old property manager said he knew nothing about the Junk Yard Dogs.
What Moore meant by taking matters into his own hands was launching his own investigation, defying a direct order, absconding with a city vehicle and basically going AWOL. He was a loose cannon, now that he threw caution to the wind.
He found an address for Cooper Watts in East Palo Alto and paid him a visit. He had an apartment on the West side of 101, on the second floor. A man with medium length hair, tattoos on his upper arms, a lazy eye and a cigarette in one hand, and a beer in the other answered the door.
“Cooper Watts?”
“Yeah, who are you?”
“Just answer the question please?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You’re wanted for questioning. Now, I could make this easy on you and you could tell me what I want to know here and now, or I could drag your ass into the station on suspicion of abduction of a policeman. So what’s it going to be,” he said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Shall we talk out here, or you want to go inside?”
“Just ask your questions.” Cooper was already tired of this.
“Are you a member of the Junk Yard Dog’s?”
Cooper recognized him, “Hey, you’re the cop, who was at the cafe in Half Moon Bay, I remember now.”
“You haven’t answered the question. Answer the question.”
“That was a one time thing, man. I don’t ride with those dogs anymore.”
“Is that right? You want to take a ride with me? I could book you on suspicion of murder.” Grabbing Cooper around the collar and pinning his back against the hand rail, Moore said, “Talk or I’ll throw you over the side.” A one story drop onto the pavement below, and Moore was ready to do it.
Copyright 2016 William Leslie
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