Episode 6
"I'll give these to the techs when they show up," Tate said taking the gun and ammunition from Garza.
"Sure. Why'd you give them to me in the first place?"
"To give you something more to do than hold up the door frame. I'll be outside when you're done."
Garza went back into the office while Tate made his way through the club and out the door.
In the parking lot the crime scene technicians were putting on their white coveralls and booties. A representative from the coroner's office was standing near the Infinity looking in the driver's side window.
"What do you think?" Tate asked.
"Looks dead to me. Want to know anything else? Or can I go home and get back to bed?"
"Let's see what else there is to see."
Tate waved over one of the technicians, the one holding a camera. The man came over the the car while zipping up his coverall.
"Take your pictures so we can open the door without messing anything up. We want it all be the book.'
Tate and the coroner's representative stood back while the man took a half dozen photographs from different angles; through the side window, the front windshield and the rear window. He nodded at Tate when he finished
Tate pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and pulled them on. He then grabbed the door handle and pulled. There was a click as the latch was released and the door opened out. The technicians took several more photographs and then stepped aside to allow the coroner's man examine the body. The dead man's eyes were half open. The arms hung heavily with the palms slack and resting on the seat cushion. The medical examiner, Dr. Correa, checked the body with his rubber gloved hands, a thermometer and a penlight.
"He hasn't been dead long. A couple of hours at the most. I can only see one wound behind the left ear. No exit wound visible. Right now, before I get the body in the examination room, it looks like he was dead almost before he knew he was shot."
"You're sure he was shot?"
"Oh yeah." He tilted the man's head forward and pointed to the wound. "See the pepper?" There were black particles embedded in the skin around the wound. "Unburnt gunpowder."
"Thanks, doc. You can go back to your air conditioned bedroom now."
"Do you know who he is?""
"No. Not yet. Why?"
"He looks a little familiar."
"Hang around for a few minutes and we'll find out."
"No thanks. I'll see enough of him when he gets to the morgue. I can wait."
As Dr. Correa walked away Tate flipped down the driver's side visor and found the automobile registration folded into a visor pocket. The name of the registered owner was listed as Matthew Hauser and the place of residence was in Horseshoe Beach. The name tickled something in Tate's memory, but he decided to ignore the feeling for the moment. The legal owner of the car was Wendy Hauser, also of Horseshoe Beach. He tucked the registration back into the visor pocket and used his flashlight to look around the inside of the car. He checked the switch on the dome light and found that it was turned off instead of burnt out. He switched it on.
The inside of the car was neat and clean and smelled of car deodorizer and a slight trace of gunpowder. The car keys were in the ignition. The man's clothes, except for the blood on his collar, were clean; the pants pressed. His feet were shod in black tasselled loafers. He looked dressed more for a golf course or yacht club than a topless bar. The hands were clean, uncalloused and the nails were manicured. Clean shaven with a strong jaw, he smelled slightly of an expensive cologne Tate couldn't name. The image of Captain America flashed into Tate's mind as he looked at the face. Captain America traveling incognito.
There was nothing in the back seat except a beige windbreaker.
"Find anything?" Garza's voice came from behind him.
"Nothing. A name. That's all. Do me a favor? Get those loafing paramedics over here to take out the body and take it to the morgue."
"Sue. I'll put the surveillance tape in your car on the way.
A moment later two paramedics arrived pushing a wheeled gurney. They pulled the body out of the car while Tate, Garza, Sgt. Washington and one of the technicians watched. As the man was being placed on the gurney the front of the man's hair fell back revealing that he was wearing a toupee. Tate went through the man's pockets and removed a billfold, a gold money clip with a crossed golfclubs device holding four fifty and two twenty dollar bills, a second keyring holding what looked like a couple of sets of house or office keys. Tate bagged the money clip and keys and handed them to the technician. He then opened the wallet and slipped out the driver's license. The photo on the license matched the face of the man being wheeled to the paramedic's van. Tate quickly looked at the men crowded around him. Their faces showed curiosity or anxiety or indifference.
"Our victims' name is Matthew Hauser. Age: thirty-nine. Resident of 26321 Sand Dollar Way, Horseshoe Beach.."
"Uh-oh," came a voice.
"What's wrong, Sergeant Washington?"
"I recognize the name and the man."
"Well?"
"He's Reverend Matthew Hauser. Sometimes he's called Rev Matt. He's a TV preacher. Has a big church they call a 'worship center' in Horseshoe Bay."
"What else do you know about him?"
"Not much. He's one of the Name It And Claim It boys. My niece was mixed up with his church until she came to her senses."
"What's Name It And Claim It? Garza asked.
"Basically it that God is your Butler. If you've got enough faith you can ask for a new Cadillac and God will give you one," Tate answered. " Am I right, Sergeant Washington?"
"Pretty much. I'm just glad I'm not in your shoes. You're going to have a lot of people on your back to find the killer and they'll want his name to be Ol'Scratch. Especially when it comes out that Rev Matt was killed in a place of liquor and loose women."
" Well, I guess that they'll have to learn that life is full of disappointments. The sooner we get on it the faster we can find the baddie, whether he's Ol' Scratch or Mimi La Voom.
"Let's turn the techs loose and let them work their magic. Maybe they can find the killer in a drop of sweat like they do on television.
"And Sergeant Washington. Tell your rookie, O'Connor? that he can start his dumpster diving now. Tell him that if he finds anything to get out of the dumpster before he touches it and let the techs at it."
"Yes, lieutenant."
As Washington went to tell O'Connor about his new assignment Garza followed Tate outside the newly strung Crime Scene tape. Tate began filling his pipe from a worn leather pouch while watching the activity taking place in the parking lot.
"Who's Ol' Scratch?" Garza asked.
"El Diablo, amigo."
"You Anglo sure speak a strange form of Ingles."
"I don't think Sergeant Washington is an Anglo."
"You know what I mean, Do you think he's right about getting public grief over this guy?"
Tate nodded as he lit his pipe. "I wouldn't be surprised. Remember the priest scandals in LA. It'll be like that. Maybe worse if the guy was a famous TV preacher. Half the people who watched his show will want us to round up every stripper in the county, half will insist that he was Simon clean and set up, and the third half will go into deep depression because their spiritual leader had feet of clay and blame us because we found him someplace they think he shouldn't have been."
"That's three halves."
"I know. It's new math. What I meant was that a half of each of the first two halves will make up the third half."
"Even the people who'll think he was set up?"
"They'll be the most disappointed. They'll say Hauser was a victim of an evil conspiracy, but they'll really know that he wasn't. They are the ones who scream the loudest because they're trying to drown out their doubts.
"Are you making any progress ion The Hoodie?"
"Not much. The Grocers' Association is putting on the pressure, but we don't have much to go on. Witness descriptions and bad security tapes. What are we supposed to do? Round up every Hispanic kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt? Post uniforms outside every liquor store and grocery and mini-mart?"
"Have you talked to Alvarez in the Gang Unit?"
"He says that his guys have their ears to the ground, but nothing's come up. I don't think it's a gang thing."
"Maybe you need a break from it. You've been working with Beaulieu on it, right? We'll put Stewart with him. She's sharp. Maybe it needs a fresh mind. You, Chen and I will work on this."
"Sounds okay with me. I've been feeling like a burro chasing a carrot on a stick for weeks."
"I'll call them all about six. We'll have breakfast at Uncle Bud's and parcel everything out."
"Fine. By the way, I didn't get much out of Malik. Just that he's got a wife and two grown sons. And his daughter died a few years ago."
"Let's put him away in a drawer for a while and let him ferment.. He may have something more to say later.
"And why don't you go catch forty while you can? One of us is going to have to be awake when we talk to the widow Hauser."
"Thanks. I need a nap."
Garza went to his truck and lay across the bench seat. Soon he was snoring as O'Connor banged around inside the dumpster.
"Sure. Why'd you give them to me in the first place?"
"To give you something more to do than hold up the door frame. I'll be outside when you're done."
Garza went back into the office while Tate made his way through the club and out the door.
In the parking lot the crime scene technicians were putting on their white coveralls and booties. A representative from the coroner's office was standing near the Infinity looking in the driver's side window.
"What do you think?" Tate asked.
"Looks dead to me. Want to know anything else? Or can I go home and get back to bed?"
"Let's see what else there is to see."
Tate waved over one of the technicians, the one holding a camera. The man came over the the car while zipping up his coverall.
"Take your pictures so we can open the door without messing anything up. We want it all be the book.'
Tate and the coroner's representative stood back while the man took a half dozen photographs from different angles; through the side window, the front windshield and the rear window. He nodded at Tate when he finished
Tate pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and pulled them on. He then grabbed the door handle and pulled. There was a click as the latch was released and the door opened out. The technicians took several more photographs and then stepped aside to allow the coroner's man examine the body. The dead man's eyes were half open. The arms hung heavily with the palms slack and resting on the seat cushion. The medical examiner, Dr. Correa, checked the body with his rubber gloved hands, a thermometer and a penlight.
"He hasn't been dead long. A couple of hours at the most. I can only see one wound behind the left ear. No exit wound visible. Right now, before I get the body in the examination room, it looks like he was dead almost before he knew he was shot."
"You're sure he was shot?"
"Oh yeah." He tilted the man's head forward and pointed to the wound. "See the pepper?" There were black particles embedded in the skin around the wound. "Unburnt gunpowder."
"Thanks, doc. You can go back to your air conditioned bedroom now."
"Do you know who he is?""
"No. Not yet. Why?"
"He looks a little familiar."
"Hang around for a few minutes and we'll find out."
"No thanks. I'll see enough of him when he gets to the morgue. I can wait."
As Dr. Correa walked away Tate flipped down the driver's side visor and found the automobile registration folded into a visor pocket. The name of the registered owner was listed as Matthew Hauser and the place of residence was in Horseshoe Beach. The name tickled something in Tate's memory, but he decided to ignore the feeling for the moment. The legal owner of the car was Wendy Hauser, also of Horseshoe Beach. He tucked the registration back into the visor pocket and used his flashlight to look around the inside of the car. He checked the switch on the dome light and found that it was turned off instead of burnt out. He switched it on.
The inside of the car was neat and clean and smelled of car deodorizer and a slight trace of gunpowder. The car keys were in the ignition. The man's clothes, except for the blood on his collar, were clean; the pants pressed. His feet were shod in black tasselled loafers. He looked dressed more for a golf course or yacht club than a topless bar. The hands were clean, uncalloused and the nails were manicured. Clean shaven with a strong jaw, he smelled slightly of an expensive cologne Tate couldn't name. The image of Captain America flashed into Tate's mind as he looked at the face. Captain America traveling incognito.
There was nothing in the back seat except a beige windbreaker.
"Find anything?" Garza's voice came from behind him.
"Nothing. A name. That's all. Do me a favor? Get those loafing paramedics over here to take out the body and take it to the morgue."
"Sue. I'll put the surveillance tape in your car on the way.
A moment later two paramedics arrived pushing a wheeled gurney. They pulled the body out of the car while Tate, Garza, Sgt. Washington and one of the technicians watched. As the man was being placed on the gurney the front of the man's hair fell back revealing that he was wearing a toupee. Tate went through the man's pockets and removed a billfold, a gold money clip with a crossed golfclubs device holding four fifty and two twenty dollar bills, a second keyring holding what looked like a couple of sets of house or office keys. Tate bagged the money clip and keys and handed them to the technician. He then opened the wallet and slipped out the driver's license. The photo on the license matched the face of the man being wheeled to the paramedic's van. Tate quickly looked at the men crowded around him. Their faces showed curiosity or anxiety or indifference.
"Our victims' name is Matthew Hauser. Age: thirty-nine. Resident of 26321 Sand Dollar Way, Horseshoe Beach.."
"Uh-oh," came a voice.
"What's wrong, Sergeant Washington?"
"I recognize the name and the man."
"Well?"
"He's Reverend Matthew Hauser. Sometimes he's called Rev Matt. He's a TV preacher. Has a big church they call a 'worship center' in Horseshoe Bay."
"What else do you know about him?"
"Not much. He's one of the Name It And Claim It boys. My niece was mixed up with his church until she came to her senses."
"What's Name It And Claim It? Garza asked.
"Basically it that God is your Butler. If you've got enough faith you can ask for a new Cadillac and God will give you one," Tate answered. " Am I right, Sergeant Washington?"
"Pretty much. I'm just glad I'm not in your shoes. You're going to have a lot of people on your back to find the killer and they'll want his name to be Ol'Scratch. Especially when it comes out that Rev Matt was killed in a place of liquor and loose women."
" Well, I guess that they'll have to learn that life is full of disappointments. The sooner we get on it the faster we can find the baddie, whether he's Ol' Scratch or Mimi La Voom.
"Let's turn the techs loose and let them work their magic. Maybe they can find the killer in a drop of sweat like they do on television.
"And Sergeant Washington. Tell your rookie, O'Connor? that he can start his dumpster diving now. Tell him that if he finds anything to get out of the dumpster before he touches it and let the techs at it."
"Yes, lieutenant."
As Washington went to tell O'Connor about his new assignment Garza followed Tate outside the newly strung Crime Scene tape. Tate began filling his pipe from a worn leather pouch while watching the activity taking place in the parking lot.
"Who's Ol' Scratch?" Garza asked.
"El Diablo, amigo."
"You Anglo sure speak a strange form of Ingles."
"I don't think Sergeant Washington is an Anglo."
"You know what I mean, Do you think he's right about getting public grief over this guy?"
Tate nodded as he lit his pipe. "I wouldn't be surprised. Remember the priest scandals in LA. It'll be like that. Maybe worse if the guy was a famous TV preacher. Half the people who watched his show will want us to round up every stripper in the county, half will insist that he was Simon clean and set up, and the third half will go into deep depression because their spiritual leader had feet of clay and blame us because we found him someplace they think he shouldn't have been."
"That's three halves."
"I know. It's new math. What I meant was that a half of each of the first two halves will make up the third half."
"Even the people who'll think he was set up?"
"They'll be the most disappointed. They'll say Hauser was a victim of an evil conspiracy, but they'll really know that he wasn't. They are the ones who scream the loudest because they're trying to drown out their doubts.
"Are you making any progress ion The Hoodie?"
"Not much. The Grocers' Association is putting on the pressure, but we don't have much to go on. Witness descriptions and bad security tapes. What are we supposed to do? Round up every Hispanic kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt? Post uniforms outside every liquor store and grocery and mini-mart?"
"Have you talked to Alvarez in the Gang Unit?"
"He says that his guys have their ears to the ground, but nothing's come up. I don't think it's a gang thing."
"Maybe you need a break from it. You've been working with Beaulieu on it, right? We'll put Stewart with him. She's sharp. Maybe it needs a fresh mind. You, Chen and I will work on this."
"Sounds okay with me. I've been feeling like a burro chasing a carrot on a stick for weeks."
"I'll call them all about six. We'll have breakfast at Uncle Bud's and parcel everything out."
"Fine. By the way, I didn't get much out of Malik. Just that he's got a wife and two grown sons. And his daughter died a few years ago."
"Let's put him away in a drawer for a while and let him ferment.. He may have something more to say later.
"And why don't you go catch forty while you can? One of us is going to have to be awake when we talk to the widow Hauser."
"Thanks. I need a nap."
Garza went to his truck and lay across the bench seat. Soon he was snoring as O'Connor banged around inside the dumpster.
posted by Hitz at 3:06 PM
1 Comments:
Thanks, I can't wait for Tammy Faye Hauser.
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