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Ventura Police Headquarters
Tuesday morning
March 28, 2012
9:30 a.m.
Detective Potenza could see Lt. Vincent and Captain Stone chatting in the captain’s office so he knew they must have gotten something back from ballistics on the gun used to kill John Doe by the waterside, or William Rodman or whoever this guy was. He made a bee line to the place where the two men were talking and moved faster when he noticed Stone noticed him and motioned him forward.
“Something back on the gun perhaps?” Asked the detective knowing the answer was going to be positive.
“Yeh and you’re going to love this one,” Vincent replied. “There can’t be too many of these little babies around. It’s a rare antique.”
“Really?” The detective said with some surprise.
“No, he’s lying to ya!” The quip back from Capt. Stone never missing a beat to get a fun dig in on Potenza, even during a serious matter. It was their way. Life throws you some crazy turns in police work and both of them had the philosophy of trying to make others laugh at whatever moment – be it appropriate and not out of line. This wasn’t out of line.
Potenza just smirked while looking over at his colleague across the desk.
“Okay, what have you got?”
“Well, it’s an antique alright, a Remington Derringer probably made right about the time of the Civil War, shoots small .22 caliber ammo and while it can be used with certain current .22’s this one was a specially made bullet. Someone ordered them from an outside source. There are only three guys in the country who can and do that, all out of state.”
He went on to describe the small pistol which was originally patented in 1854 but most of the 1000 or so ever made, of course, did not survive. He learned it was a collector gun mainly which got lost in the palm of your hand.
“Only about 40 of these are known to exist,” Vincent went on. “They were called, and get this, ‘the Zig Zag Derringer.’”
“That would fit in with our Stingrays motif wouldn’t it?” Potenza thought out loud.
Who else but a biker gang which sells and lives on Zigzag smokes paper would be crazy enough to own a handgun called the Zig Zag?
“It’s a cool little gun and it has six shots,” Capt. Stone added.
“Now tell me we have one locally,” instructed Potenza. “I mean this is an antiquie town there has to be one here.”
“Correctamundo, seniore!” Smiling as he said it, the Lt. went on to point out who and where. “Gentleman name of Frank Malone. Lives up on Gettysburg Drive near the college.”
“Seems appropriate I guess, Civil War handgun, Gettysburg Drive, bullet in the back of the head like Lincoln,” Potenza said showing off his knowledge of history. “Could this get any better, could the owner be named Booth?”
All three men looked at each other inquisitively. Who was Frank Malone? No one recognized the name from the Stingrays or any other biker group, or even any known group of guys they’d investigated before. However, they all knew one thing.
“If this is our man we better have some back-up,” the Captain assured the team. “If he owns this gun then chances are he’s killed once and will kill again.”
Stone then halted for a moment pondering to think. A light bulb might have appeared above his head had he been in a cartoon. The name Frank Malone was now striking a chord.
“Frank Malone? Commissioner Frank Malone?” He wondered aloud.
“The retired judge?” Potenza offered back; his own memory being jogged. “Nah couldn’t be, could it?”
The Frank Malone the two men were thinking of was a long time retired Municipal Court Judge in the county. Retired judges are often brought back to handle minor cases due to the back log in the courts. They could preside over anything from petty theft to property disputes but never anything major. Could this retired judge be a killer? The cops had to put that out of their mind because if the evidence pointed in one direction it usually was the right direction.
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HOME OF FRANK MALONE
Hills above Ventura
Tuesday afternoon
March 28, 2012
1:15 p.m.
The three men all knew their places. The Lt. would ride with Potenza and the Captain would follow in one of three squad cars. They wouldn’t bother with a warrant, at least not at this point. The back-up was merely a precaution, not unusual in any way. After all this was a suspect but more like a friendly visit to see if the guy was going to cooperate. Chances are cooperation was going to be there, but the back up was just in case he didn’t. The officers felt a warrant wasn’t needed on this one. If the guy balked, then they could return.
The plan was for Potenza to knock on the door, Lt. Vincent about 15 feet behind him at the corner of the house and the three squad cars at the street but off to the sides of the house in front of the neighbors. The trees and brush would make good cover so as not to alert the suspect they were there, but not to start an incident if this didn’t pan out.
Potenza kept his eyes moving as he approached the home. It was a very nice two-story colonial style home, large green lawn well kept in front. Trellises on the porch and lots of shrubbery. The walkway was actually up the driveway to a front porch as the main access to the front door. The door faced the street. This was good so everyone had a good angle when the suspect came to the door. The only bad thing was Potenza had to cross in front of a large picture window which was the living room to get to the door.
He knew if he crouched down and was spotted alarm bells would go off and if the guy inside was their man, he might take a shot at the cop. To walk in front of the window might do the same but make Potenza an easier target. He decided to take his chances. After all, at the moment all they had was an antique gun and nothing else. He hoped it wasn’t a wild goose chase.
Everyone was in position. Potenza made his move. Crossing in front of the big window he got a glimpse inside and saw nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. In fact, he saw no one. Standing on the left side of the door, knowing Vincent was behind him to catch his back, he knocked. It wasn’t but a few seconds before the door opened and there appeared an elderly man, at least 75 years old and while not a frail old man, not a hardened criminal either.
“Ventura Police, come on out!” Potenza said in a loud clear voice, the old man visibly shaken.
As the senior citizen opened the screen door his hands in the air, he took one look at Potenza and tried to speak although the words weren’t coming. Then he mustered all his fake anger.
“Look if this is about that Parking Ticket I paid it yesterday, don’t shoot!”
Potenza could only smile as did Vincent as they put their guns away. Potenza waived to the Captain to back off, this obviously is a mistake. Vincent came over to Potenza to see what was going on.
“Mr. Malone?” Asked the detective.
“Yes,” stated the old man.
“Commissioner Frank Malone?”
“Yes, that’s me young man, but what is this all about?” His hands still raised.
“Sir, you can put your hands down, this was obviously a mistake, but can we come in and ask you a few questions?” Potenza queried.
“You could have asked that 10 minutes ago officer,” the old man replied. “C’mon in. Shall I put a coffee pot on? Or will you put the cuffs on me for that?”
Vincent only laughed and started walking back down the driveway to give the skinny to the Captain and the other officers. Within minutes they were gone, but as they reasoned better safe than sorry. It made for an exciting afternoon.
Inside the officers sat down and pulled out their notebooks. The squire of the home brought them each a cup of nice hot coffee.
“I supposed you men take it black right?”
Potenza smelled the coffee before drinking it and declared it perfect the way it was. Vincent put in two sugars and a bit of cream.
Potenza loved coffee but never drank it the same way twice. He always chose to smell it first. If it was stale, it might need some milk and sugar to kill the old bitterness. If it was fresh and had that perfect coffee smell, then black was beautiful.
“You still haven’t told me what this is all about,” Malone said as he stirred his own coffee wondering why on earth the two officers arrived at his home with more cops who livened up the dull neighborhood for about 15 minutes outside.
“Well sir, it’s like this, do you own a handgun, specifically an antique derringer?” Asked Vincent.
“Used to,” answered Frank Malone matter of factly while sipping on his coffee.
“What do you mean you used to,” Potenza now sitting on the edge of his seat and anticipating the old man telling him he sold it, or it was stolen.
“It was stolen about six months ago from that cabinet over there,” Malone said pointing to a locked storage display cabinet which showcased several items of Civil War origin. “I collected American Civil War memorabilia for years and a few months ago we had a break in. When we came home the gun, my Zig Zag, was gone.”
The two officers looked at each other as if they’d both been punched in the stomach. So close but now again so far.
“Why didn’t you report it stolen?” Potenza asked. “As an officer of the court and a former judge, if you don’t mind me saying so your honor, you know the law regarding the theft of guns.”
“It was the only thing they stole outside of a little cash I kept in a drawer and well, it was not insured so I figured it’s lost, it’s lost,” Malone answered. “I’ve got lots of other good stuff in there, so it was just going to be a lot of trouble for me, a man who wants no trouble. In hindsight I supposed I should have.”
The officers again looked at each other and Potenza thought out loud for a moment.
“Did the gun work?”
“Oh yes, took regular .22 caliber long rifle bullets but I would order some specially made for this gun. It’s an antique and it should be using something designed during the time it was made instead of something new. There is a gunsmith in Georgia who made them specifically for me. I only had a few rounds left and they were taken with the gun. I had them in a little box next to the gun on display.”
Potenza didn’t want to make the judge feel uncomfortable but felt he had to drive home the issue of reporting a weapon stolen, especially this one. He again asked about the reasons for not reporting the gun missing. Again, the judge tried to reassure him.
“Look detective, .22 caliber antique pieces such as this one are pretty harmless and don’t get used in crimes,” he said more sternly. “You would have to be pretty close to the target to make anything happen. Are you telling me my gun was used in a crime detective?”
Potenza leaned back on the sofa for a moment then leaned forward again.
“You know your honor I can’t answer that, but I think you are savvy enough to understand why we are here and are so interested in your weapon, but this is all I’m going to say at the moment.”
The officers asked for the name and address and other information on the gunsmith and any paperwork Malone had on the gun. He went to the back of the house where he kept his files to get it for the policeman. The two just stared and waited when all of a sudden, the silence was broken by a sexy figure with the thickest most gorgeous red hair you can imagine.
“Why Johnny Potenza, or should I say officer Potenza?” She said sauntering her way toward the startled cop.
She looked good, he thought as she approached in her short flowery cut-offs and halter top. Her semi-high heels only accentuated her long legs and fabulous figure.
“Ronda? Ronda Malone, of course I should have known!” Said the officer realizing he’d known the girl when they were much younger. “My gosh you’ve grown up and...”
“Out,” she finished his sentence, “You can say it, I’m a 38 B and that’s no bull.”
The pride in her voice and her statement left nothing to the imagination and the attraction was obvious from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Her breasts were large but not too large and they were high upon her frame. They were the kind of breasts guys would joke “needed a bra to hold them down.” They were luscious and she wasn’t holding back showing off what she owned.
“So how have you been Rondie?” He asked
“You remembered, how sweet, no one has called me Rondie since high school, but I remember you always had your eye on me when you were a senior and I was just a kid in Junior High. I did grow up rather nice, didn’t I?”
“You sure did mam,” said Vincent with a gulp.
Where were the detective’s manners? He was so impressed by the eye candy in front of him he forgot to introduce his partner for the day. It was an inaction quickly remedied.
“Rondie Malone, this is Lt. Jim Vincent, Ventura PD, and my partner today,” the detective stood up to formally introduce the two. The pair exchanged greetings and slight handshakes as well.
“So did you come to give my daddy a hassle over that parking ticket or what?” The red head said in her slinkiness. “Seems like a lot of firepower for parking the wrong way on a one-way street.”
Just then the old man appeared from the back bedroom with the paperwork and other information the officers requested. As he handed it all over to Potenza, he looked at his daughter realizing she was out flirting again. It was something she did often and of which he did not approve.
“I see you’ve met my daughter officer, now is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, sir and no sir. Yes, I’ve met your daughter, actually we’re old school friends, and no sir we’ve got all we need.”
“Then I’ll take my leave of you, I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Ronda motioned the men out with her hand and kissed her dad on his cheek.
“Go ahead and take a nap daddy, c’mon John, I’ll walk you out.”
As they left the doorway Potenza flipped the keys to Vincent and asked him to get the car. He did. Not because he wanted to but because he realized his partner wanted a few moments alone with the hot red head at his side.
“So, are you attached Rondie?” asked the officer. “What I mean to say is...”
“Am I married?” Again, finishing his sentence.
“Yes, I do, well not in the formal sense but yes, are you married?”
The woman thought for a moment before answering to keep the cop going.
“No I’m not married, no boyfriend and no current lover, so why don’t you pick me up at 8 o’clock for dinner.... unless you want to skip dinner and go straight back to my beach house. We can eat there. You might say dinner would be on me.”
Her big smile didn’t leave much to the imagination just like her attire and her directness. He was drawn to her though and after all maybe he owed it to her for giving her father a hassle. He couldn’t say that out loud though. This was a proud woman who enjoyed being in control and this time especially; Detective John CB Potenza was thoroughly going to enjoy being controlled.
“Eight o’clock is fine, and I’ll bring the wine,” he said. “Give me your address.”
“The wine is fine detective, but you only need to bring one thing with you,” she gave him a smile while glancing down at his crotch. “End of Bath Lane off Piedmont. Last house on the right. Can’t miss it.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” affirming his desire. “Rondie, you always move this fast? I mean it’s been years and well...”
“Well let me ask you something detective,” she said while putting her head down to look at her feet, her red hair draping her face. A flip of the head came next, and the hair rolled back with it. “How long did you think about my father before you came to the door guns unholstered and half the Ventura police department sitting outside my door waiting to take him down if he made a false move? A 75-year-old man?”
He put his head down this time looking at his shoes as his foot moved nervously in the green grass. He realized he had overstepped his bounds and hoped he hadn’t blown a good thing.
“Sorry Rondie,” he eked out an apology.
“See you at eight officer?”
“Again, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said raising his eyes to hers.
She only smiled.