Lack of Evidence--Pt 2

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Chapter 2 - 2954

Julie and I left the office just after Sam. I put the badge back into the envelope and took it with us. Sam got into a white Chevy convertible and drove off toward Blake and Shelby. What a scheme, I thought. Judging by that car, rabbis must bleed the congregation dry. Julie and I drove in silence in my tan-colored Ford Taurus toward the scene, stopping at a small convenience store for gas. She had said something about the Larsen case was bothering her, but what else was new. She wasn’t offering the information and I wasn’t going to ask.

I put a few coins in the pay phone just to the right of the store entrance and dialed Caleb Miller's cell phone. Caleb would probably already be at the scene. "Miller here," he said.

"Caleb, I received a call from Michael Koontz’ residence about forty-five minutes ago. I’m heading there now."

"Michael Koontz is dead, John. Who called, and at what time exactly?"

"The dead guy’s father. I clocked it at 8:20”

“Rabbi Koontz?”

“Yeah." I had not known Mr. Koontz was a rabbi until I saw him. I wondered if Caleb’s knowledge of the rabbi was personal or if Caleb just had good sources of information.

"Did he tell you where he was headed? He didn't stick around to talk to us. A call came in twenty minutes prior to that from a neighbor who heard gunshots. A unit was sent out here and when the body was discovered they called me. John, what did Sam Koontz have to talk to you about for nearly an hour?"

"We talked on the phone for twenty minutes and then Koontz came to my private office." I had an office at the department, the same as any other detective, but my private office offered a better view than the station office and after checking in at the station I usually did all my detective work there. Outside the station office window, across the street, was Ray Brother’s Pawn and, next to it, a gay gentleman’s bar. Besides, at my private office I didn’t have to worry about people checking in every hour, suspecting that I was just padding my hours playing solitaire. I was, but damn them for suspecting.

"And so he’s headed back here, right?"

"Not exactly."

"John…"

"We'll talk about it when I get there."

I hung up the phone and walked into the store. I grabbed a twenty-ounce bottle of Pepsi, skipped the chips -- crumbs contaminate crime scenes -- and went to the counter. A man in his early twenties stood in line ahead of me. “That’ll be 84 cents,” the clerk said to the man. He handed the clerk a twenty-dollar bill, neatly folded into an ornate origami triangle. Behind the counter were trays of small candy items: jolly ranchers, tootsie rolls, suckers, and red Swedish Fish penny-candy. I watched in silent amazement. The man kept his left hand on the counter, and with his right I saw him pocket about a dozen purple jolly ranchers. He picked the purples out of the box with small movements of his fingers and rotation of his wrist, dropping each one separately into his pocket. He moved to the suckers, passing over the box of tootsie rolls, and pulled out a handful of them, all at once, and shoved them into his pocket—making no sound and at the same time talking to the clerk who had just finished unfolding the origami.

The clerk counted out the change and the man walked casually out the door. There was no fear in his eyes. He glanced back at me and smiled as he stepped outside. He’d known I was watching and shoplifted brazenly anyway. I hesitated, my moral compass twisting in circles. I could still catch him. But honestly, it was sort of amusing to watch the guy take such a risk for so little, nothing worth my time. I was in a hurry. I paid for my own items and Julie and I headed to the crime scene.

The police had put up the familiar blazing banner across the doors. Two visible entrances had been tagged. There was probably another entrance in the back. Uniformed officers were standing guard at the two main doors. More effort had been applied to keeping intruders away from the front entrance, the stairs leading to it, and the lawn in front of it. The door was open but had been yellow-taped widely and a pair of officers flanked the door, keeping nosy people away. Even for a homicide, there were too many officers on the scene. A joke came to my mind about Mel‘s Donut shop that probably wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances, but I chuckled anyway. All the detectives I knew ate salads in their spare time anyway. I exited the car, keeping my eyes out for an officer missing a badge.

I grabbed a jacket from the trunk and an evidence kit just in case I needed it here. It was a hard, compact case containing three empty test tubes, two pair of gloves, two titration solutions, 20 and 100 ml graduated cylinders and a graduated syringe.

Julie and I walked to the front door and showed ID to the two flanking officers. I had seen them guarding other scenes. Hans, a pushy carrot top whose breath either smelled like smoke or alcohol twenty-four hours a day and whose only function on the force was providing physical power, stood on the left. The guy on the right was Eric. Eric was a brown-nosing, skinny errand boy whose skills were limited to people pleasing. Sometimes Eric spat out a highly intelligent sentence, but these times were few and far between.

"Hey, Hans," Eric said. "P.I. Walker wants to get in, should we let him?"

"No, I don't think we should," Hans said. Today he smelled like smoke.

"One of you idiots, go inside and tell Caleb that I am here. Now!" Hearing his senior officer’s name, Eric quickly entered and received permission for me to do the same.

I walked through the door with my hand covering my nose. The place strongly smelled of blood. I had worked several fresh scenes, including the famous front-page case where a man was chopped into bits by an airplane flying too close to the ground, so I should have been used to the smell of blood-- even in vast amounts--but I was not and never would be.

On the ground there was some black stuff that appeared to be tar; it had the same consistency, except tar had a stronger smell. There had been a lot of it, but most if it had been removed. The forensic guys had been quite thorough. It had been scraped from the carpet.

I spotted the same black gooey crap near the yellow tape. This spot had been overlooked completely. I motioned for Julie to get a sample. Julie quickly knelt down, opened the evidence kit, and pulled out a small test tube. She scraped a bit of the substance into the test tube and then sealed it.

This action had not remained unnoticed. A police officer was making his way over to us. "Hey, you! Stop! What are you doing?" The officer said.

Julie straightened up. I showed my detective badge to the officer. “I'm working for Caleb!”

This lacked the desired result. Working out of my private office had its disadvantages. I only interacted with other officers on an as-needed basis, so they didn’t all know me. The officer stared at me suspiciously and began to examine my ID card. He was a young man in his early twenties, with a single stripe on his shoulders. The name on his badge was Turner. This poor sod was so low on the ladder of importance that almost everyone else here could probably order him around. I decided to be nice to the guy, to a point.

I said, "Whoa, let us all keep calm. I am detective Walker. You yourself saw my badge. I didn’t buy it at Toys ‘R Us. I don’t really want to take this shit from you right now, so back off. Your senior officer, Caleb, knows that I am here. I am merely collecting evidence that was missed by shoddy rookies like you."

"Give it to me."

Julie handed him the tube.

I said, "Be careful - it is probably capable of substantial neurological damage to your forebrain. It is a poisonous substance.” It wasn’t, but he didn’t know that. He withdrew a 9mm Beretta from a holster at his hip, leveling it at my head with one hand while holding the vial at arm’s length as if it was a bottle of Nitroglycerine.

Julie stepped in, hands raised disarmingly. “Calm down, rookie,” she said. “You need a psych-eval. I know John’s jokes aren’t that funny, but damn.”

Caleb, noticing the commotion, walked toward us and nodded to me. He whispered something in Turner’s ear. Turner lowered his gun. Julie said, "Okay. Does forensics want the sample or not?" I pulled the vial back from the cowering officer and produced it to Caleb.

Caleb called over a man identified as Natts and had him call the forensic department. Natts handed the vial back to Julie after a quick conversation with forensics. They apparently had more than enough.

“What can you tell me about this case, John?” Caleb said. “You have details I do not have, you have had contact with our primary suspect, you did not advise him to come in. These things bother me.”

“I’ll fill you in. Sam Koontz, the father of Michael Koontz, called me at approximately 8:20 and told me about the murder of his son. He was in a shack in the backyard. Praying for five to ten minutes, he said. He heard gunshots. He came in and, in his own words, ‘lay over the body as the Messiah did’. Unfortunately, Sam is not Jesus Christ and Michael was not healed."

“That’s for damn sure. Michael had three bullet holes in him. John, this is strictly over the railing.” Over the railing meant the same thing as off-the-record, the term implying that if word leaked, you were thrown off the railing of a freeway overpass.

“Splat.” Julie and I answered with the affirmative response.

“The shot that killed Michael Koontz was sniper-style; right between the eyes, as they say,” Caleb whispered. “The assailant was near the front of the house when he fired at Michael. The first shot killed him, blowing his nasal cavity into his brain. Then the assailant fired twice more. We haven’t found any evidence he took any shots that missed the target.”

“Sam’s not the shooter.”

“Not if his story checks out. We know the sniper-shot was the first because the impact of the other two bullets damaged a wider area, indicating that the head was already in motion when the other shots were fired, and they were fired from the front of the house. I can’t even do what this guy did, and I’ve practiced at the police range at least once a week since I started on the force.”

“Unfortunately, most of the really good evidence in the case is lost. After he lay over the body, Sam then called me. Either just before or just after that, I believe he showered in his dead son’s bathroom--he was soaking wet when he stepped into my office twenty minutes later.”

“Our boys found blood washed down the drain in the bathroom. We already collected that evidence and are processing it at the lab. The story, as unbelievable as it sounds, checks out for now. I believe the perp was waiting inside the house and saw his opportunity when Sam went outside. After Michael was dead, he exited through the front door. It is the only door without a print, so I am checking with the neighbors to see if they saw anybody wipe it. Where the hell is Sam now?”

“He ran away. Listen.” I leaned into Caleb and lowered my voice. “One of your good boys was at this crime scene early and is missing his badge. I got it. Sam found it and it is now in my car. That a cop shot Michael would better explain why it was sniper style. Because Sam’s story checks out, I am going to assume he isn’t lying about where he got the badge. He’s spooked. That‘s why he called me and not you.”

“I am going to follow you to your car and you are going to give me the badge, understand?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When I didn’t immediately respond, he stepped in closer. “Move.”

Julie said, “Caleb, what about Sam?”

“He needs to be brought in. Despite the badge, he is still our primary suspect. His prints are all over the place. He fled the scene. We have enough evidence to warrant an arrest and hold him on the charge of murder.”

“I am not giving you Sam,” I said.

“Like hell you‘re not. The evidence we have now is convincing enough for a jury to convict him. Until he is cleared, he needs to come in. Walk me to your car.”

I led him to my car while Julie stayed inside and snooped around the scene. The back door was in the living room and I paused there, noticing several things out of place. Most noticeably, there was a void in the entertainment center where a VCR should have been. Cords ran from the television to the gap. A rug was also missing – the carpet was cleaner in its spot. I ducked under the crime scene tape across the back door with Caleb right on my heels. I retrieved the envelope from the glove compartment and tossed it into his hands. “The badge number is A454. Recognize it?”

“I’ll get one of my men to run the number through registry,” Caleb said.

My phone began to ring.

“It isn’t ours, though.” he said. “Our badges don’t have letters. Bigger departments use letters.”

Caleb walked off and I answered my phone.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

“What do you expect me to do with this client, John?” Tyler said, calmly. Sam must have played his cards exactly as I had said to. Good.

“Draw up some papers. Once you are officially his lawyer, tell him to go to the corner of fifth and Carlson Avenue and stay there.” I was hoping that my memory served me well that this was the address of my brother’s synagogue. He would be happy to see me.

“I can’t tell him to make himself disappear,” Tyler said.

“So, don’t. Just tell him to stay at the corner of fifth and Carlson Avenue. I’m almost finished here at the scene and I’ll meet you at the synagogue as soon as I can.”

“The synagogue at fifth and Carlson. Fine. I have a meeting in a few minutes with someone I can’t ignore. I will meet you at noon.”

“I think you will find Sam is going to pay you very well for your trouble.”

“Great. Now I can buy a kazoo,” he said. He hung up.

I walked to where Caleb was talking to the first officer that had arrived on the scene. I pulled him aside. “I need more time with Sam.”

“I have my doubts about Sam, but I won’t issue a warrant until everything comes back from the lab. A DNA sample is being processed from hair found in the soap he used when he took a shower. When it comes back and ID’s your guy, make sure he comes in. This is a murder we’re talking about.”

“I know.” I said. I motioned for Julie to join the conversation. She was looking over the pictures on the walls.

“I need someone to assist my Lieutenant, Carlos Matt, in doing an interview at a place about eight miles from here,” Caleb said. “The computer fingerprint analysis shows one certain woman’s prints, Miss Raisa Marlowe’s, found in several areas. She works at Common Grounds, an easy walking distance from the scene. It’s a coffee shop/church. I put a rush on these prints because one of them places her here a very short time after the murder occurred. She might have seen the killer vanish from the scene, or she’s the killer and made a big mistake.”

I said. “Why? What was the print pulled off from?”

“The body. Blood becomes like wet cement after it has been left for a while. A finger was lifted off the chest that didn’t match the multiples that are Sam’s. Do you want to ask her what she was doing at the scene and if she saw anything? We don’t have a warrant to search yet, but it’s coming. Carlos should deliver it by the end of the hour. As soon as we locate Judge Griffin and get his John Hancock, I’ll phone you.”

“Good, I appreciate you letting me handle it,” I said.

“You’ve never let me down so far,” Caleb said.

“I am going to visit Sam. I will advise him to come in, but he’s really spooked. Afterwards, I’ll do a preliminary interview with Raisa Marlowe”

“Play it by the book on this one. Don’t overstep your bounds without a warrant, because if you spook her and she flees, I’ll have your neck. Also, like I said before, the badge isn’t ours, so Sam has nothing to fear from our department.”

“I will advise him to come in.”