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Ventura Police Headquarters
Wednesday afternoon
March 29, 2012
10:15 a.m.
The drive to work from Rondie’s place was a sleepy one. He had not gotten much sleep the night before and going to work wasn’t what he was hoping for. He’d rather be out on the beach, hitting a few waves then relaxing on the sand only to hit a few more waves before falling asleep. Work wasn’t where he wanted to be this day.
As Potenza pulled into the parking lot, he noticed all the spaces for the detectives were filled. This meant all the key guys were already in. Something must be brewing if the entire shift was there long before him.
“Late night detective?” The security guard at the gate asked.
“No, just an early morning after a late night,” came the smiling reply.
The gate guard smiled back. He knew the officer’s reputation well and he also knew him as a good guy.
“Looks like the gang’s all here, already,” pointed out the detective.
“Yes sir, you didn’t get the page? They’ve all been here for about an hour.”
Potenza looked down at his phone in disgust and surprise. He’d turned it off somewhere during the night and forgot to put it back on.
“Damn,”.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it Mr. Potenza. I think they said something about you being the key to something, so I guess they’ll wait.”
The disgusted-at-himself look got even more intense.
“Thanks man, really I mean thanks.”
Potenza parked his car, grabbed his weapon which he usually kept in a mini holster behind his back and under his shirt. He hustled up the steps past anyone who mattered and moved right into the conference room where they were all was assembled.
“Nice of you to join us detective,” said an angry Capt. Stone. “We’ve only wasted a fucking hour on you, waiting to get this going.”
Potenza hung his head slightly. He knew the tongue lashing was deserved because his antics, no matter the fact everyone wished to change places with him, had wasted everyone else’s time. Truly apologetic last night seemed a million years away.
“Sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”
“Damn right it won’t, now get yourself some coffee and give me a report. You look like shit so make it black and bring me one too.”
As Potenza walked across the hall to the coffee room to get a couple of cups of what was usually pretty awful coffee, Lt. Vincent walked with him.
“Gees John, you alright, he’s right you do look like shit.”
“I’m glad everyone is so concerned about my looks,” Potenza said grabbing a pair of Styrofoam cups as Vincent poured the black lightning. “Do I really look that bad?”
“Yeh, you look like you went five rounds with a blond and she won.”
“Actually, she’s a red head and I can’t wait to go back for more,” he said tapping his friend on the chest with the back of his hand.
“At any rate you better lay off until we get through this case or there might be hell to pay.”
Potenza toyed with the idea of telling Vincent who the girl was, but he thought better of it. She knew the dead man it seemed, and her father was a suspect. It wouldn’t go over well if the chief investigator on the case was banging the daughter of a suspect. He decided for the time being he’d keep this to himself. There might be trouble ahead but then again, the woman did offer information she didn’t need to offer up. As he walked back into the conference room, he decided for the moment quiet was the better part of being a cop.
“Are you two ready to proceed on this?” Stone asked the two cops.
“Sure sir, and one of the reasons I’m late is I was picking up some new information on the dead man, and I think I have a lead we can follow, at least to who he is,” Potenza began offering up a peace pipe to get the meeting started.
“Go on,” Stone instructed. “Pillow talk or just fan mail from some flounder?”
Potenza ignored the last question. Stone could get upset pretty easily but when push came to shove, he knew John Potenza was an excellent detective, and in the end he’d end up giving him more leeway than most of his underlings. Even if he had to put up with envying the Potenza lifestyle. Who wouldn’t because every man who knew John Potenza wanted to be John Potenza.
“Captain, I believe the stiff is actually a long time Oxnard biker by the name of Billy Rodriguez with a long string of aliases, and once we check the system, we’ll probably find he has a long string of run ins with the law as well. If we’re right on this, then he was working for the Stingrays as a tattoo guy under the name of Billy Rodman. Back in his younger years they called him “Hot Rod” Rodriguez.”
The captain looked pleased. He finally had a name to go with the body and soon might be able to get a few reporters off his back.
“What do you have for a motive, anything?” He asked the officer.
“Don’t know yet captain but we’re working on it.”
Potenza fidgeted with the bottom of his shoe as he crossed his leg at the ankle. The rubber on the bottom of shoes always fascinated the detective. There was always a little piece of rubber hanging over, sort of left over. Since a kid he’d always try to pull it off with his fingers. As a kid he always wondered if he did, would the shoe fall apart?
“What about the weapon?” Stone said switching gears. “I heard you found one.”
“No sir, we found out one was stolen,” Vincent chimed in. “We still haven’t located that, or even gotten a bead on one.”
The captain motioned to the two men to get on with it and do some more digging.
“Alright see what you can find, oh and by the way stop by the coroner’s office on the way out, I think he has something for you.”
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CORONER’S OFFICE
Wednesday afternoon
March 29, 2012
12:15 p.m.
Dr. John Hartford was waiting for the detectives as they arrived at the coroner’s office.
“Hey doc what’s up?”
“It’s ‘What’s up doc,’” the doctor returned the rapid-fire wit.
“Oh yeh,” answered Potenza. “Forgot my Bugs Bunny manners.”
“What the hell are you two talking about,” the much younger Vincent asked with a very inquisitive look on his face.
“How old are you?” Asked the annoyed doctor. “Never mind don’t answer that. You probably think Saturday mornings are for Japanese anime and infomercials.”
Vincent just looked at them both still not understanding the reference to Bugs Bunny and choosing not to care, or at least pretending not to care.
“Here, this is for you detective,” the doctor handed a sheet of paper to Potenza.
“Headquarters just faxed it over. Good news I hope.”
Potenza quickly scanned the one-page document as a smile came over his face.
“Very good news indeed doc,” was the reply. “It seems I was right. The dead man is William Rodriguez, and he has a long rap sheet. He’s 48 years old and spent some time in the military, just enough to get him into trouble. Left after three years on a dishonorable discharge. Doesn’t say what for though but that shouldn’t be too hard to follow up on. Cool. This works.”
The three men glanced at each other with assurance. Things were finally happening in this case. There is nothing more frustrating for a cop than to keep working and nothing happen. So many leads fall apart but these seem to be falling together. There was still a very long way to go but things were moving along.
“I have some more good news for you John,” Dr. Hartford said. “Take a look at this. We nearly missed it, it’s so small.”
The three men looked closely at a slide prepared by the coroner’s team under a microscope. It was a small, very tiny sliver of something black.
“What is it doc?” Asked Lt. Vincent.
“Leather, sure as shootin’ high quality leather and it came from under Rodriguez’s fingernails. He was evidently clawing at something before his death. Perhaps he was on a leather couch, a leather chair, maybe they used a leather belt....”
“Or a leather vest.” The detective interrupted the doctor abruptly.
“Yes, very easily a leather vest or jacket,” said Dr. Hartford.
He went on to explain how leather is a very durable and great looking fabric, but it scratches very easily. Someone grabbing for his life and either in a leather chair or fighting off someone wearing a leather jacket might easily scratch hard enough to end up with leather under his nails.
“Another thing too which I find of particular interest detective is this guy was a tattoo artist I’m told, correct?” Asked Dr. Hartford.
The two cops nodded affirmatively.
“Well this is black leather,” the doctor started in. “One of the most widely used chemicals in tattoo pigments is Iron Oxide. It’s commonly made from India Ink but it is used in tattoos. The rub is it’s also used in many leather repair kits. You know those products you see on late night TV where they scratch stuff up and repair it instantly by brushing on some liquid from a tiny bottle? Same basic stuff.”
“So what are you saying Doc, that this guy might have scratched his killer’s leather jacket while he was getting his thumbs ripped off?” Lt. Vincent sought.
“Precisely and if the leather jacket had been repaired recently there would likely be a trace of Iron Oxide left over from the repair chemical,” Hartford explained.
“And if we get a match, it would at least put the man with the leather jacket, or vest, at the scene,” Potenza quickly picked up on the scenario. “It may not mean he killed him, but he was there.”
Again, the three men agreed they had hit on something positive and while all the members of the Stingrays wore leather jackets, leather vests and even leather boots, there was enough information to put them in the room at the time of the murder. George Grister wore a leather vest the last time he and Potenza met at the tattoo shop.
“Oh, and one more thing which I think you’ll find interesting detective although I’m not sure what it means for your case if anything,” Dr. Hartford pointed out as if he’d almost forgotten. “The deceased was HIV positive.”
“AIDS?” The detective asked with a startled look on his face.
“No, not necessarily, John, but he did have the virus which causes AIDS,” Hartford explained.
The three pondered what this meant to the case and stared at each other. In the old days only gay men were suspected of being HIV positive but today anyone could fall into the category. Bikers such as Rodriguez and Grister had many partners and most of it unprotected, and prison; that is another story altogether. It was something Potenza would tuck in the back of his mind for now.
“Any idea how bad, Doc?” He queried.
“Not until we get more test results,” he said. “It’ll take a couple of weeks, but we’ll have it for you.”
Potenza hadn’t figured on this but for the moment it wasn’t anything spectacular. For now, he had other things to consider. Potenza was beaming from ear to ear, knowing a trip to the avenue and his best pal was next. Louie Sanchez knew everything that went on in town and if he didn’t, he’d know someone who did.