Blood Debt: A Vince Torelli Mystery, #3

By John R. Schembra

http://www.writers-exchange.com

A Vince Torelli Mystery, Book 3: Blood Debt

Copyright 2019 John Schembra

Writers Exchange E-Publishing

PO Box 372

ATHERTON  QLD  4883

Cover Art by: GermanCreative

Published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing

http://www.writers-exchange.com

ISBN: 978-1-922233-67-7

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher.

Acknowledgement

I wish to thank my good friend, Officer Amy Cole, of the San Francisco Police Department Crime Scene Investigations Unit for her invaluable assistance in providing me with procedural and department structural help in making the Vince Torelli novels as realistic as possible. I strive to make the stories as authentic as possible and could not have done it without her help. Thanks, Amy, for promptly answering my dozens of e-mails, and for being my friend.

Chapter 1

Vince paced back and forth in front of his desk, hoping for the call from the Department Operations Center advising that the tactical team he had requested was ready and heading to the staging area. So far it had been two hours of waiting by the phone, drinking lukewarm, stale coffee. His stomach was in turmoil and the delay was driving him crazy.

A few hours ago he had finally gotten an anonymous tip that led him to where Jimmy Lee was holed up, and after he and his partner, Bobby, had confirmed Jimmy was there a perimeter was established, effectively closing off all exits from the building. Bobby and several patrol officers and detectives were surrounding the apartment building where the suspect was hiding, trying to keep out of sight.

Over the last ten days Vince and his partner, Bobby Mattox, had been working a particularly frustrating homicide case. It was an especially brutal double murder that occurred at a less than sophisticated bar in the Tenderloin District. During a night of hard drinking the suspect had gotten into a fight with two dock workers after they began making fun of his southern accent, calling him a hillbilly and southern trash among other unsavory things, including references to his lack of intelligence and disparaging remarks about his mother. He had given almost as good as he got in the fight, but ultimately was beaten down by the two dock workers and thrown out of the bar. As he picked himself up from the sidewalk, battered and bleeding, he could hear the laughter at his expense from inside the building.

Seething with anger, he staggered to his pickup truck, removed a three foot section of two inch iron pipe from the bed and walked back to the bar. He opened the door and walked inside, holding the pipe alongside his leg so it was nearly unseen in the dim light. All heads turned to look at him and several of the patrons pointed at him and started laughing again. Spitting a gob of blood onto the floor, he said, This ain't over.

The two men he had fought with were leaning against the bar, nursing their drinks, holding wet bar towels to their bruised faces when they noticed him. They looked at each other, nodded, and one said, Let's get it done. They started walking toward him, saying, You ain't had enough yet, okie? We got lots more for ya and this time you won't be walkin' away.

He waited until they were within five feet of him before bringing the pipe up. With a two handed grip, he swung it in a powerful sideways arc at the closest dockworker. The pipe connected to the side of his head with a sharp crack, crushing his skull and knocking the dockworker sideways. Blood spurted from the fracture in his skull as he collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.

The second dockworker stopped in his tracks and stared in shock at his friend lying on the floor, blood pooling around his head. He never saw the pipe coming and moments later he, too, was lying on the floor. He would live for three more hours, dying on the operating table at the hospital.

Jimmy Lee left the bar and walked unhurriedly to his truck. Tossing the bloody pipe to the ground, he casually got in and left the parking lot. Fingerprints lifted from the pipe and the crime scene resulted in an NCIC hit identifying him as Jimmy Lee Jackson, a small time criminal originally from a small town 40 miles outside Memphis, Tennessee.

Jimmy had arrived in San Francisco eight months earlier looking for work. Finding a job with a janitorial service, he rented a small apartment in a seedy neighborhood and settled in. He had few friends by choice, preferring to keep to himself.

It had not taken long for Vince to learn Jimmy Lee's San Francisco address through the post office and within a few hours surveillance was placed on his apartment while the manager was contacted. He provided Vince with the name of the company Jimmy worked for and a description of his truck, including the license plate. Vince was told that Jimmy Lee had not been seen coming or going since the day before, nor had the manager seen Jimmy's truck at the apartments.

Within twenty-four hours Vince had run out of leads as to Jimmy's whereabouts, so he made a call to the family in Tennessee and talked with Jimmy's brother Aldon. He told him why he was looking for Jimmy and what Jimmy had done, asking if there was any friends or any family in the Bay Area with whom Jimmy might seek shelter and whether anyone in Tennessee had heard from him in the last couple of days. Aldon said Jimmy Lee hadn't contacted anybody in the family and they had no friends or family living in California. He either couldn't or wouldn't provide any other information that might help Vince. He did tell Vince he was getting on the next plane and would be in San Francisco in a few hours. Vince asked him to call when he arrived in the City.

It seemed as if Jimmy Lee Jackson had dropped off the face of the earth. No trace could be found of him in spite of the best efforts to get his picture out to the other detectives, patrol officers and sub-stations. Vince even had flyers with Jimmy's picture posted around the neighborhood where he had lived in the hope someone would see him and call the department. After having identified the suspect within a few hours, the case had gone stale.

Aldon Jackson had stayed a few days, mostly wandering the Tenderloin talking to locals, trying to find his brother. He flew home, giving up his search when he couldn't find out where Jimmy Lee had run to ground.

Vince called Bobby again using his portable radio to see if anything had changed since his last call. Vince, nothing happened on this end in the last seven minutes since your last transmission. What about you? Have you heard from Operations yet?

Not yet. Should be anytime. I'll call you when I know the SWAT team is enroute.

OK. We haven't seen any movement from the apartment in the last two hours. Be assured we've got it sealed off. He's going nowhere, partner.

OK. Talk to you soon I hope. Out.

Vince slammed the radio down on the desk in frustration and resumed his pacing, muttering to himself. Looking at the clock he saw it was now 10:25 p.m. He walked to the coffee station and poured himself another cup, then walked back to his desk and sat down. Sipping the bitter, tepid brew he stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

Ten minutes later the phone did ring. Vince snatched it up before the second ring. Torelli. Tell me the team's ready, he said.

A woman's voice on the other end said, Yes, Sir. The SWAT team is on their way to the staging area. ETA is less than 10 minutes.

Great, Vince replied and hung the phone up. He grabbed his body armor, pulling it over his head but not fastening the straps, and his black windbreaker with the yellow POLICE stenciled across the front and back and ran out of the office.

Vince drove like a madman, weaving through the thin traffic. He did not turn on his emergency lights or siren to avoid drawing attention to himself and to not warn the suspect he was coming. He pulled up to the staging area the same time as the SWAT team and contacted the SWAT Commander. After handing out photos of Jimmy Lee and providing a short briefing, the team leader laid out the team's assignments, designating the entry team and the follow-up officers. He assigned Vince to follow the entry team, telling him not to enter until the apartment had been secured. Vince told the team leader he wanted to be with the entry team when they went in to make the arrest himself. After a minute or two of somewhat heated discussion, the team leader agreed with Vince's demands. Though this was against their protocol, he knew Vince had been a SWAT officer for a few years when he was assigned to patrol, and was familiar with their procedures and techniques, plus he knew this was an unwinnable argument. Vince would be there with or without his permission.

Ten minutes later they were poised at the door to the apartment where Jimmy Lee was confirmed to be hiding. Using their breeching tool, the door was quickly smashed open and the first two team members rushed in, one covering the room to the right and one to the left. The saw the room was empty and quickly moved toward the bedroom door, followed by Vince and two more of the SWAT team. The entry team positioned themselves to either side of the door, waiting while Vince, crouched down to the right side called out, Jimmy Lee Jackson. This is Inspector Vincent Torelli of the San Francisco Police Department. We have a warrant for your arrest. Come out slowly with your hands up.

Immediately, three gunshots sounded from inside the bedroom, the bullets ripping through the flimsy door and impacting the far wall. Vince heard running inside the room, then a window breaking. Grabbing his radio, he keyed the transmit button and shouted, Shots fired, shots fired. Suspect is armed and fired on officers. Heads up at the rear, he may be coming out the bedroom window.

As the SWAT team prepared to enter the bedroom Vince heard shouting from outside the apartment, then a fusillade of shots. More shouting occurred, then silence. A few seconds later his radio crackled to life. An excited voice shouted into the radio, Shots fired to the rear of the apartment. Suspect is down. I repeat suspect is down. We have one officer down and need an ambulance. Suspect has been neutralized.

Vince sat down on the floor. Ah, shit! he exclaimed.

Chapter 2

Several hours later Vince was back at the office and had just finished his report. Two more cups of the old lukewarm coffee had soured his stomach even more. He had a throbbing headache that the caffeine had only made worse. He opened his drawer, took out the Advil bottle and shook three tablets into his palm. Popping them into his mouth, he washed them down with more coffee. He sat back in his chair and stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. Yawning, he looked over at his partner and saw he was sitting with his elbows on his desk, his head between his hands, eyes closed, massaging his temples.

Need some Advil, Bobby?

Nah. I'm good. Just tired. Looking up at Vince he asked, Has anyone contacted the family yet?

Not yet. The coroner will be making the notification tomorrow.

This isn't going to go well with the family, if they all are anything like the brother.

Yeah, I know. Background on the family is not good. The father is dead, and his two brothers have all been in numerous scrapes with the law. Remember when the oldest brother was out here, supposedly trying to help us find Jimmy Lee? He was less than helpful, and it was pretty obvious he hates cops.

We're gonna need to be careful with this guy. He's a time bomb waiting to go off, and Jimmy Lee's death just could be the catalyst.

Changing the subject, Vince asked, You done with your reports, Bobby?

Yeah. Finished a half hour ago. I'm ready to call it a night.

Me too. I'm gonna call Maggie and let her know I'm coming home. You need a ride?

Yeah, I do. I took the BART train in yesterday, and it's not running for a couple more hours.

Looking at his watch, Vince saw it was almost three thirty in the morning. You want to get some breakfast on the way home? he asked Bobby.

Sure. Sounds good. Where you want to eat?

How about the Chef Burger in Pleasant Hill?

Perfect. Nothing like a huge, heavy, greasy breakfast before bed, Bobby said, grinning at Vince.

I'm buying, Vince replied, Unless you want to go someplace else?

You didn't let me finish. Chef Burger sounds great. Just what I was going to suggest.

Vince grinned back at him and picked up the phone to call his wife, Maggie. Though it was early morning, he knew she would want him to call. Though she hid it well, he knew how much she worried about him when he was at work. They had long ago made a pact that he would always call her as soon as he could to let her know how he was and when he would be home. Besides, hell hath no fury like Maggie scorned. He dialed the number and at the second ring, a sleepy voice answered, You coming home, Babe?

Yep. Leaving in a few minutes. Bobby and I are gonna get some breakfast on the way.

OK, honey. Everything OK?

Yeah. One of our cops was wounded tonight when we went to arrest that double murder suspect, but it's not serious. He'll be fine. The suspect was killed, though.

Well, be careful driving home. Tell me all about it when you get here. Love you.

Love you too. Vince hung up and said, Let's hit it, Bobby.

On the drive home, Bobby said, I was thinking about tonight and Jimmy Lee's family. I know I said it earlier, but I'll say it again. We better handle this family gently. Brother Aldon was less than polite when he was here, and his brother dying at the hands of the police won't set well with him. His criminal record shows he has a penchant for violence. You know he's had a few assault and battery arrests, and spent three years in prison for ADW. I want to be in on the call with you when you talk to him, and we should record everything just in case.

Way ahead of you, Bobby. I planned to record the call, but your idea of listening in is a good one. This won't be the first time someone has been pissed at the cops for shooting a relative, and it never hurts to be safe. Hopefully, he'll be reasonable, especially since there is no doubt Jimmy Lee killed those two dockworkers. We have seven eyewitnesses to the fight, and we found the murder weapon, a pipe, in the parking lot. There's blood on it which DNA testing will show belongs to one or both of the victims. Prints have been lifted and compared with Jimmy Lee's with a positive match, so it's a slam-dunk case. We need to try to get him to understand that we gave Jimmy Lee every possible chance to surrender.

Well. We'll have to see. I just have a bad feeling about this.

You worry too much, Bobby. Let's see how he reacts first.

Twenty five minutes later Vince took the Willow Pass Road exit off northbound Hwy 680 and turned left at the bottom of the ramp. Turning right on Contra Costa Boulevard, he drove the half mile to Golf Club Road and turned left, then entered the Chef Burger parking lot. There were a couple of cars in the lot, along with three Highway Patrol cars, two Sheriff's cars, and one Pleasant Hill PD car. The drink-yourself-silly crowd that always filled up the place after the bars closed at two a.m. had left and the cops going off shift in a couple of hours had taken over. Vince shook Bobby awake as he had dozed off during the ride. They walked in and took a small table near the CHP officers. The officers looked over at Vince and Bobby and nodded, recognizing them as fellow officers, and went back to their meals. The Pleasant Hill PD Sergeant was sitting with the Sheriff's deputies and waved a hello to them. Late night, Vince? he asked.

Yeah, got a bit crazy out there. How's your night, Andy? Vince asked.

Quiet, as usual. Once the bars close, it gets real quiet in town. Well, better get going. He slid his chair back and stood up. He picked up his check, looked it over and placed it with some bills on the table.

You guys take care, he said, as he walked toward the door.

You too.

Their server arrived and asked, What can I get you gents tonight?

Morning, Geri, Vince said. I think I'll have a stack of your great vanilla pancakes, some decent coffee, and don't forget the extra syrup.

Got it, Vince. What about you Bobby? Your usual?

Bobby groaned and said, That's fine, Geri. He looked at Vince as Geri walked away, seeing the big grin on his face. OK, OK, so I've been here a few times. No need to make an issue out of it.

Vince sat back and raised his hands, palms out, and said, Hey, I didn't say anything.

No, but I know you were thinking it.

Why, Bobby, whatever do you mean? It's just that sitting across from me is Mr. Eat Healthy, and you are so well known here that you have a 'usual' breakfast?

Alright. I admit it. I love this place, and since breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I come here.

Vince laughed and said, Can't blame you. Their food is good, though the portions are a bit large.

Their food arrived a few minutes later and they spent the next fifteen minutes concentrating on their plates. The food was excellent as usual, and the coffee strong, but fresh. When they were done, Vince paid the bill and left a good tip on the table. They left and after Vince had dropped Bobby at his apartment, he drove home. The sky was just starting to lighten in the east, changing from night to a lighter shade of gray, and a gentle breeze was blowing the cool air around. It was quiet and peaceful, and Vince wondered again at how his life could go