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Highway 101, Ventura
Wednesday morning
April 12, 2012
10:00 a.m.
For several days now the police were baffled by what to do next. They knowingly had a potential gang war on their hands and felt the only way to avert it was to find the killer of Hot Rod Rodriguez and bring him to justice. Potenza knew somehow both Grister and Slash were involved but putting the evidence before the district attorney was going to prove much more difficult than he first thought.
Evidence, hard evidence isn’t always easy to come by. Sure, you could put circumstantial evidence together with a few facts and figures and they would add up to the killer. Finding a DA willing to go along with less than conclusive evidence was more difficult. The DA knew if there wasn’t enough overwhelming evidence to convict, a jury might let the killer walk and all that work would be for nothing. On top of that if the case was clean the same evidence gathered in the first place could not likely be used again. Square One was what the cops and the DA feared most. Returning to Square One was never a good thing.
“Unit 16, possible 187 off north bound 101 at PCH, roll to investigate,” announced the voice over the car radio. “CHP on scene. Coroner on the way. Confirm.”
Potenza could think of only one thing at this point, the girl. He was hoped he was wrong.
“Unit 16 rolling, ETA four minutes.”
Ventura was small and the 101 Freeway, commonly called the Ventura Freeway was just a stretch which took you all of about four minutes from end to end to pass through town. Just north of town on the way to Santa Barbara and points north was a turn off to the old Pacific Coast Highway, commonly called PCH. PCH started well below Malibu and ran all the way up past Big Sur with lots of breaks in between. The years of big storms combined with the progress of the new superhighway 101 had diminished the need for PCH south of Hearst Castle, or San Simeon. This was several hours north of Ventura.
As the officer rolled off the freeway ramp, he could see the black and white California Highway Patrol cars parked not far away. Red Lights were on as a couple of the Chippie’s were also just rolling in. He could see the coroner’s van as he approached.
Potenza parked his vehicle and approached the scene where the lead CHP officers singled him out.
“What have we got officer?” Potenza asked the uniformed cop.
“Fairly young female dropped along side the freeway maybe 24-48 hours ago, coroners got the particulars.”
“Thanks,” Potenza replied his fears growing larger every moment. Grister had worked fast if this were the girl from the Half Moon Tattoo Shop.
He walked directly to the coroner’s van where a gurney with a fully covered body lay motionless. He pulled back the white sheet to reveal the dead body of the girl he barely got to know just a few days prior. The look on his face drew the immediate attention of the coroner.
“You know her, Johnny?” He asked.
“Yeh, only too well, but not well enough,” was the detectives reply.
“No visible signs of violence, no rape or anything like that and we won’t know until we get the autopsy, but it looks like death was actually due to a speedball,” the medical man pointed out. “With the small exception of a very small caliber bullet deep inside the hairline. The bullet is still in there, I mean it didn’t come out anywhere.”
The detective just looked at the coroner with a huge question mark on his face as if to say why didn’t it come out?
The coroner realizing Potenza’s question without asking a question just kept on going.
“Seems the bullet was fired from some distance and from pretty far away. I don’t believe it killed her as she was likely already dead at that point from the overdose. It was probably more for effect. We won’t know for sure until the autopsy is complete.”
Potenza realized what this meant right away. This was a message.
“And her thumbs?” He asked.
Now it was the coroner who was looking but not asking.
“Her thumbs, were they broken?” The officer asked sternly.
“No, not to my knowledge,” he answered pulling back the sheet near her hands. “They appear to be fine.”
The officer knew the message was personal this time. It wasn’t about a line from the bikers to the cops. This was about a line from Grister to Potenza.
Grister must have had her killed for her involvement in getting the records, which by the way were still being analyzed and may or may not prove anything. Since she had given the records to the officer even though she had to by law, Grister wanted to let Potenza know, no one was safe.
Her death was ordered via the drugs. A speedball. Heroin, morphine and cocaine mixed together in the same needle. A hot cocktail of drugs designed for the ultimate high or the ultimate end, death. Grister chose death in this case. It was the same stunning effect comedian John Belushi was reported to have taken to his grave. The case was never solved whether it was self injected or if he had help. If one has help with a speedball then there is an accessory to murder charge. The fact Grister used a gun only added to the message and in fact if the girl was already dead when the bullet was fired means he couldn’t be tried for murder.
Potenza reasoned there wasn’t any torture or sexual violence for one key reason: DNA. Rape and torture have a tendency to leave something behind of the killer and Grister understood the modern way of doing things. If this were 1969 the girl would have been gang raped and beaten. Not today.
Grister was good, a jailhouse lawyer as well as the front man for the Stingrays, he was very good. He had killed before but never been convicted of the hard-core murder. There were always circumstances. He’d worked it right this time as well.
“She went by the name of Black Moon,” Potenza told the coroner. “She worked at the tattoo shop on Main Street run by George Grister. Let me know when you conclusively get the time of death and if she was still alive when the bullet was fired. My guess is you will find it’s a specially made .22 caliber shell fired from a stolen antique derringer.”
The coroner looked at Potenza with a curiosity beyond belief.
“You know all that already?”
“It’s my job.”
Potenza realized there was nothing more for him here and went back to his car. He didn’t go right back to police headquarters. Instead, he headed north along the beach. A drive to Carpentaria was a short one and he needed to clear the wind beneath his wings so to speak. There was a quaint Mexican restaurant there serving very good cold Ceviche’ which was a dish he had a craving for. He had a cousin there as well and thought he might like to join him for lunch.
“Carlos, what are you doing dude?” Potenza said into his cell phone as he approached the small town of Carpentaria.
“Not much man, how about you?”
“Same, say you want to meet at that little Mexican place downtown for lunch, it’s on me.”
“If you’re buying, I’m flying, man,” quipped his cousin. “Be there in ten.”
The conversation was brief, but the two men didn’t need much more. Carlos was John’s second cousin and lived in Carp as they called the city. He was a security guard by night and a student lawyer by day. All this with a couple of kids and a wife and he was struggling but Carlos had a good head on his shoulders and often provided some insights.
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CARPINTERIA, CA
Wednesday afternoon
April 12, 2012
11:59 a.m.
The two men hugged as Potenza walked in the door of the tiny café. Carlos was already waiting for him. The place was family run and well liked by the locals. Most people from out of town would stop but walk two doors down to the Palms Restaurant with its music and large atmosphere. They always missed the great home cooking of this tiny place.
“Senorita, porfavor, Corona and Ceviche,” Potenza spoke proudly in Spanish to the young waitress.
“Dose?” She asked holding up two fingers.
“Dose Ceviche, una Corona, una Pepsi,” Carlos replied. “I’ve quit drinking man.”
The two men looked at each other again. Carlos had had a bit of a drinking problem and John was happy to hear he had given it up. There were some alcoholic genes in the boys’ past and both men knew what that could lead to. But the better left unsaid was good and they chit chatted about family for a few minutes until the food arrived.
Ceviche was a good lunch meal with its shrimp, red sauce, lime, crackers and lightly hot salsa. It went well with a beer Potenza thought, but he was giving Carlos the nod with the Pepsi as the two men clicked their bottles together in a salute.
“Salute,” they chorused together leaning back on their Italian heritage.
“So, what’s got you up here Johnny?” Carlos asked switching gears to the more serious of tones.
“Trouble, big trouble and I’m in it up to my eyeballs,” he said taking a sip of the cold beer.
“Really?” Carlos pondered out loud. “That’s not like you.”
“Yeh, well this one has gone too far and I’m afraid for my sister,” Potenza unveiled.
“Maria, what’s she got to do with police work, I’m assuming we’re talking police work here?”
“We are,” Potenza said taking another bite of shrimp followed by a swig of beer. “You’ve read about the tattoo murder we have I’m sure and it looks like a potential gang war is what we’re trying to avoid.”
“Yes, I’ve read about the killing but from what I have read you don’t have a suspect yet, or do you?” Queried Potenza’s cousin.
“We do but we can’t pin anything on the guy yet, and there was another murder this morning, I just came from there, it’s related,” offered the officer. “Something extra about this one is that there was a message sent to me directly.”
Carlos leaned back, for the first time taking in the fear his cousin was expounding. He wiped his hands on his napkin and thought for a second.
“Where does Maria come into all of this?”
“Well she frequented the tattoo parlor and even got a tag from the dead guy, so the suspect knows who she is and it’s just gotten too close. She’s even been paid a visit by one of the gangsters.”
“And you want me to take Maria in here for a while until the heats off?”
“Yeh, something like that, if she’ll go for it and I’m not sure she will. She may since she’s been threatened by the gang already, at her place of business,” Potenza relayed.
Carlos looked at the worried officer knowing Maria was head strong and it wasn’t going to be easy to convince her to take some time off and visit her relatives up north for who knows how long. He knew the Potenza family was a stubborn lot and didn’t scare easy which is why he was taken unawares of John’s fear. John Potenza didn’t fear much but this was family, and he knew if Maria was in danger she could not only get hurt but it also could jeopardize the case. Both were bad news.
“I’ll call her today at the shop and invite her up for dinner this weekend,” Carlos suggested. “Once I get her here, I’ll explain and see what we can do to convince her.”
“Thanks man, you are the best,” Potenza said as the two men hugged again.
John finished his beer and summoned the bar maid.
“Senorita aqui, porfavor!” He motioned to her, and she came quickly.
“Si senor?”
He handed her a $20 bill for the $18 tab and added another $5.
“This is for you for being so beautiful, senorita,” he said handing her the extra $5 as a tip.
“Gracias senor, gracias,” she responded.
“Always with the ladies, you still have that old Johnny Potenza charm,” Carlos said with a huge smile.
“It pays to be different,” the officer said returning the grin.
As he walked out the door John Potenza felt better about things but couldn’t get the dead girl off his mind. She was so young and so overtaken by the Stingrays. He wondered about her background and knew he’d find it out when her parents or whoever was next of kin were called in. He wanted to meet the parents just to greet them if not something else. He felt responsible for her death. Somehow, he felt as if he had caused her demise because of the plan to get the records. Now she was dead and if he hadn’t made the move, she might still be alive. He kept telling himself this over and over and it wasn’t helping. He had to focus on the case and the threat from Grister and above all his sister. She could not be involved. The officer had to make his next move a bold one.