Authors: Timothy Allan Pipes
Another burst of gunfire shredded the wall above them as they struck the unforgiving tiles, instinctively clinging to each other as they rolled free of the doorway.
“Call 911!” Oliver half shouted, releasing Jenny as he rose to a crouch. Heart jack hammering, he drew his weapon, switched off the safety and stepped to the door’s edge, ready for the pounding of attacker’s feet up the walkway. Instead, an engine’s roar mixed with the squeal of tires pushed him back until it trailed off down the street.
He leaned against the inside wall and felt the inevitable adrenaline-induced urge to react, to do anything except sit and wait for backup and only a minute or two later he heard the wail of approaching sirens.
“Jenny," he called, turning back toward the hallway. "You okay?
“Yea...yeah. I’m okay,” the small shaky voice came back. “Are...are they gone?”
“Yes,” he said after dipping his head briefly into the doorway and back out. “But stay put till I give the all clear, okay?”
Her shaky, incredulous laugh came back, “Hah, no argument here!”
What sounded like several squad cars whipped around the two ends of the street and seconds later two of them screeched to a halt beside his cruiser. He popped his head out and saw Willy Johnson, Pacific Grove’s only black police officer push his door open and bring his barrel-chested frame to a quick crouch behind it. The other car, just out of sight produced matching sounds. Oliver forced himself to wait until they responded.
“THIS IS THE POLICE! PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN AND STEP OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEADS!”
Willie’s amplified and thus tinny voice boomed up to the house and back across the neighborhood. He waited until the echoes died before calling out.
“Willie! This is Oliver Piedmont!” Resisting the urge to step out the door, Oliver waited for a response. An exemplary cop, Willie remained behind his own door until he could make visual identification.
“Ollie, you know the drill...step out with your hands in the air.”
Oliver flicked the safety back on, then placed his weapon onto the tiled entryway. Inter-lacing his fingers atop his head, Oliver slowly stepped into the doorway and carefully walked down the wooden stairs, keeping both hands above his head until the two cops could recognize him.
“Jesus Christ Almighty...” called out a voice as he reached the sidewalk. “You can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
Oliver turned to see John Collinson come out from behind the unseen cruiser and holster his weapon. Oliver smiled through gritted teeth, but turned toward the other car.
“Willie,” he called. “Have PG base put out an APB for a sky blue Mercedes, older model maybe 2009 or '10.” Scrunching his eyes, Oliver searched his memory for some identifying mark from that one backward glance. Opening his eyes, he snapped his fingers. “Back right tire missing a cover. Suspects should be approached with extreme caution and are armed and dangerous.” Willie ducked back inside his squad car and began to speak, his lips moving silently through the windshield into the microphone.
“Come on, Collinson,’ Oliver motioned for his friend to follow but stopped when Collinson whistled high and long. He tried to turn back around but felt two fingers press through two bullet holes in his ruined jacket and into his flak vest.
“Looks like you need a tailor, Ollie.” Collinson said.
Ollie stepped free of the two fingers scraping the flack vest and strode up the walkway.
“Couple of patches will do wonders, John...besides, it’s a trend now.” Oliver smiled without turning back, aware Collinson was a hopeless fashion follower and often looked more like he stepped out of GQ than a small town detective.
Collinson let out another piercing whistle behind him as he passed through the bullet decorated entranceway and into the residence. Oliver halted, picked up his gun from off the tile foyer, then proceeded down the down the hall.
“Jenny, come on out!” Oliver called a moment later. “The cavalries arrived!”
A squeaking door hinge answered, followed a few seconds later by an ashen-faced Jenny McKenny.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Collinson asked as Oliver pulled his coat off and gathered it around her shoulders. She nodded absently, her eyes just out of focus. After mouthing, ‘Shock’ to Collinson, Oliver led her out into the afternoon sunlight.
As if stepping from a police poster, Willie Johnson’s square-jawed visage greeted them at Oliver’s cruiser and with a polite nod toward Jenny, opened the passenger door before he walked back to join Collinson by his own vehicle.
Oliver kneeled down beside her as she settled into the seat, then rolled the window down before gently closing the door with hardly a sound.
“I need to take you down to the station to make a statement.” He smiled into her upturned face. “But first I’d like to brief the others, if that’s okay with you?”
A few seconds passed before his words seemed to register. “Uh, sure.” She seemed to shake herself, then said more strongly, “Sure, I’ll be...right here.”
He reached in and squeezed her shoulder, then walked back to where Willie and Collinson stood.
“She okay, Ollie?” Collinson asked.
“Yeah,” he said, putting his coat back on. “Just shook up I think.”
“Understandable.” Willie nodded and looked toward the figure in the car ahead. “Anyway, Ollie, I reached all the surrounding cities but nothings turned up so far.” After a glance at Collinson, Willie turned back toward him. “So Ollie, you’re not about to tell us this was a drive-by are you?”
Willy’s incredulous tone relieved Oliver of stating an uncomfortable truth. Though he worked for the Pacific Grove police Department, Willy lived in Seaside, the predominantly black community on the Monterey Peninsula and while not a regular occurrence, Seaside had been the only community to suffer from this crime, until now.
“I've gotta say it sure felt like a drive-by, Willy.” He leaned against the car. “But either crime is paying better or the guy didn’t think we’d live long enough to identify his high-priced car.”
All three cops turned as two more police cars appeared around the corner and crawled to a stop behind Willy’s cruiser. The farthest back, Oliver saw, was the forensics team.
“Well, whatever it was,” Willie looked up and down the street. “...You’d think curiosity would pull people out of their houses to see what just happened.” He shrugged, “I guess I’ll knock on a few doors and find out if anybody happened to be looking out the window at the right time.”
“Ollie,” Collinson smiled at Oliver as Willy crossed the street.
“Why don’t you drive Mrs. McKenny down to the station, get her statement and then maybe…take her to dinner. With a woman like that, going through this all alone, you could...”
“John...” Oliver said abruptly, loud enough for Willy to stop and look back toward them. Oliver waved him on, then turned to Collinson. “Stow it,” he said, forcing a sick grin onto his face.
Even before his arrest, Collinson’s views weren’t something Oliver much liked and dating advice from the man didn’t suit him any better. Collinson’s smile froze, then melted as both hands rose in mock surrender. Hendricks and York arrived with the forensics team in tow and Oliver set to work, briefing them.
Sliding into the cruiser, Oliver suddenly wished it were cleaner, seeing only now the many stray bits of multicolored trash and closed the door with a sigh.
“How are you doing, Jenny?” He turned toward her and inserted the ignition key. “You okay...”
“Sshhh,” came back at him. She was staring at the two-way radio.
“What?” he said, with a laugh of surprise.
“Carol,” she said, turning toward him. “That’s Carol’s address.”
“What address?” He adjusted himself to face her. “Jenny, what are you talking about?”
“The man on the radio, he just said a ‘Possible 10-71 had been reported and then read off Carol’s address.” Her lips began to tremble. “What’s a ‘10-71?”
In answer, he reached over and grasped the microphone.
“PG. base, this is Peidmont.” A brief moment of static passed until he released the com button.
“I read you, Ollie." Richardson’s familiar, though somehow warmer voice responded. "You okay?”
“Yeah, just a little surprised.” He switched the microphone to his left hand and with his right, reached over and covered Jenny’s white-knuckled interlaced fingers.
“Richardson, was there a 10-71 reported a few minutes ago?”
“Yeah, Ollie,” Richardson came back without a single static break. “Neighbor said he heard shots fired at 410 Sunset. I’ve sent Hays and Platt over to investigate... should be checking in soon.” Then, more of an after-thought, “been a busy day for us all.”
“Guess so,” Oliver said, then replaced the microphone into its cradle. Oliver felt the trembling spread through Jenny like a wave down her neck and across her shoulders until finally plunging down her arms and into her hands.
He took a large breath and with his own, stilled her writhing hands. “Jenny, it’s probably nothing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone on calls like that and champagne popping or backfire from an old dust-heap was the culprit.”
Meant to calm her, his words seemed to bring forth delicate tears that began to rain onto his hands. Tempted to pull her to him, he resisted the urge and instead squeezed her shoulder.
“PG base, this is Hays,” the radio said coming to life.
“I read you, Hays, go ahead,” the dispatcher’s voice followed immediately.
“We need an ambulance at 410 Sunset,” Hays stated, far too calmly, sending Oliver’s stomach into a tightly wound knot. “We have an apparent homicide, female in her mid-thirties, Hispanic...”
Oliver didn’t hear much after that and hoped Jenny didn’t, either. Great sobs convulsed her small frame and despite his earlier misgivings, slid across the leather seat and wrapped both arms about her. The slightest hint of darkness was settling on the bay, its waters a stormy gray below a quickly clouding sky.
Jenny sobbed all the way from her house to the PG Police Station and though he’d rather have done almost anything else, he knew questioning her as soon as possible was vital. This was grunge work, in Oliver’s mind: pulling key information from grieving relatives or friends and yet most investigations hinged on it. Once inside the station he led her toward the conference room and like a puppy on a leash, she followed obediently until she understood his intention.
“Please Oliver,” Jenny, said, stopping short of the conference room door. “I just don’t think I can do this right now.”
He turned and faced her, releasing her hand as he did.
“Jenny, if we don’t do this right away, the odds of apprehending Carol’s murderer grow worse by the hour.” He let his words hang there for a few seconds before opening the door and stood waiting.
For a number of seconds her face became awash in a storm of emotions before it slowly hardened into stubbornness. Stepping passed him, she entered the room and settled into the closest chair, back straight.
He followed, hearing the door hiss shut behind him and pulled out a yellow legal pad before sitting down opposite her at the small wooden table. Fishing in his right coat pocket, Oliver pulled forth a scuffed hand-held tape recorder, placed it on the table between them and pressed the bright red button to begin recording.
“Okay,” Oliver spoke toward the small tape recorder. “Interview of Mrs. Jennifer McKenny regarding the murder of Carol Montoya, on September 4, 2014.” He turned toward her. “Please state your full legal name...for the record.”
“Jennifer Lynn McKenny,” she replied, her voice small and pained.
Oliver scribbled her name on the legal pad before him and looked up at her.
“Okay Jenny, in light of the attempt on our lives today, I need to ask you some questions, first about your friendship with Carol Montoya. Later we'll deal with the charges of battery and spousal abuse against your husband, if you don’t mind.” She nodded silently and he went on.
“Ok…thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you could tell me about your friend, Carol Montoya and the last time you saw her.” He sat back against his chair, hoping to set her at ease.
“I met Carol...” Jenny halted for a moment as tears formed at the edge of her lashes, but continued after a moment. “I met Carol six years ago at her job, the same company where my...husband works. She was an assistant to one of the company’s vice presidents.”
Oliver raised his pencil slightly. “Where did they both work?”
“They worked for JenelCo, the local company responsible for cleaning up Fort Ord, the local army base which closed awhile back.” Jenny paused as he began writing this down, but continued as he motioned her to continue.
“A few weeks after we moved from Chicago, I was feeling lonely since I knew absolutely no one on the Monterey Peninsula, or California for that matter. I'd decided to meet Collin for lunch and afterward, we went back to see their new offices out at the Monterey Business Park. This was just over a year after JenelCo won the base contract and they'd just moved into their newly remodeled headquarters.
"Apparently all the bugs weren’t ironed out of their headquarters because on my way out, I found myself stuck in their brand new elevator for thirty-five minutes. Carol happened to get stuck as well and from the moment the elevator jerked to a stop, we hit it off completely.” Putting down his pencil, Oliver asked the first question that came to mind.
“What do you mean, Jenny? How’d a professional Cheerleader click with a local girl?”
She seemed reluctant to answer, but then came a bitter laugh.
“Most people don’t know this, except my therapist or Collin, but I’m...claustrophobic. Not real bad, but enough that being trapped in an elevator makes me feel…
very
uncomfortable. It must have been pretty obvious because Carol soon had me laughing so hard I barely noticed those thirty-five minutes go by.
"The next day I made up an excuse to see Collin at work, then told him I wanted to take Carol to lunch for helping me through our
ordeal
. It was typical of Collin to be bugged that Carol was Hispanic, but she was pretty and kind of sexy so he soon warmed right up to the idea after meeting her. Soon we were going out for happy hour and lunches on our own and we’ve been...
were,
the best of friends.”
Her voice cracked at this and he watched as she struggled for control, but finally lowered her head, sobbing quietly. Oliver reached over to shut off the recorder.
“Jenny, I think we could use a break. Would you like something to drink?”
She shook her head but after a minute, her quivery voice spoke.
“The day...before yesterday, Carol called me in the morning and wanted to get together for lunch. She said she had some important news, but there was little excitement in her voice. Mostly she sounded upset so I canceled my therapy appointment and met her at one of the little restaurants out in the Monterey Business Park.
She was very nervous when I sat down across from her and several times looked around as if somebody might be watching us, very weird since we’d been going out to lunch for years. The waiter asked for our order and she jumped like he’d accused her of stealing the silverware.”
“After a few minutes, she calmed down and started talking about work and how she hated being at JenelCo. It was a conversation we’d had many times over the last month or so and then I noticed the small diamond ring. It was like I’d pointed out a wart and Carol covered it with her hand. But then she announced matter-of-factly that she was getting married and truthfully, I was stunned. She began eating her salad as if she’d mentioned buying a new pair of running shoes. Then she started on work again but I stopped her mid-sentence and forced her to tell me about her engagement.”
Jenny cleared her throat for a minute and Oliver walked over to the water cooler, returning a minute later with a cup filled to the brim.
“Thanks,” Jenny said after taking a sip.
“Did she tell you her fiancé’s name, Jenny?” Oliver asked, picking up his pad and pen.
“Yes, Jesse Beeler. Some construction worker, a carpenter I think, that she’d met through a friend.”
He scribbled the name down, then motioned for her to continue.
“Well,"´ Jenny said, going on. "I was shocked and told her so but she just kept saying she was twenty-eight and that it was time for her to get married, be the housewife she’d always wanted to be. I didn't hear anything about love or romance in her story and she could tell I was getting upset. Like some light being switched on, Carol began gushing about how wonderful Jesse was, how he’d surprised her with the ring just the weekend before and what kind of wedding she wanted to have.
"After that she sounded anxious to get back to work and we made plans to meet at her house this coming Saturday to look over bridal magazines. It was a very disturbing lunch and...that was the last time I saw her alive.”
“Do you know if Carol had any enemies or perhaps why someone would want to harm her?” Oliver reached over, holding the recorder as Jenny pondered the question. Finally she shook her head.
“Okay,” Oliver pressed the recorder switch off; its clicking noise overly loud in the near empty conference room. “That’s enough for now. We need to get you to a safe location, at least for the next couple of days.” He reached toward the table’s end and picking up the phone’s receiver, punched in three numbers. “Yeah, Chief, we need to decide where to keep Mrs. McKenny. Uh huh, yeah, she’s okay but she was best friends with Carol Montoya, the woman found on Sunset a little while ago. Yeah...yeah, okay.” He replaced the receiver and turned back toward a puzzled looking Jenny.
“Why can’t I go back to my house? You could station a policeman out front or even have a policewoman live with me for awhile.”
There was such earnestness in her words that he hated to answer. Yet no matter how much she needed to be home, a safe house was really her only option.
“Jenny,” he said reaching over, pulling her hand into his own. “The guys who tried to kill us weren’t two thugs out to steal a car stereo. These were hired killers and are more than likely involved in Carol’s death. Though it might be difficult to accept,
somebody
wants you dead as well and they’re going to try again.”
Recoiling, Jenny pulled her hand free and stared at the wall behind him, her eyes frightened as she folded both arms about herself.
He stood and walked around the table, placing his hand on her stiff, unmoving shoulder.
“Come with me, Jenny," he said. "Let me take you where even your grandmother would feel safe.”
Oliver cruised down Alvarado and out of habit, peered into the assortment of closed stationary shops, jewelry stores and late-night coffee houses which lined both sides of Monterey’s most famous street. He found little to interest him in the darkened windows, however and after sliding past the last coffee brewery, turned down Franklin toward no destination in particular. Any place suited him lately, as long as it wasn’t Pacific Grove and his very empty home.
He eyed the cruiser’s digital clock as it clicked over to 1:54am. By the end of Franklin, he’d decided on a favorite spot only blocks away. After crossing one of the two cement and wooden bridges that made El Estero park seem more like an island than one with a horseshoe pond around it, Oliver eased into the small square parking lot. As he’d expected, a lone cruiser sat just out of sight from traffic, yet still able to give chase or watch for kids on a nighttime excursion into the park.
Several years back, a couple of twelve year olds had done just that, one of them ending the night in intensive care. Parental outcry was immediate and for a few weeks the local politicos used private security guards to ‘KEEP OUR KIDS SAFE.’ But after the issue had been used up and public attention faded, occasional police patrols had the same effect.
Oliver pulled up beside the backed-in Monterey cruiser and recognized Paul Rodriguez, a Monterey cop he hadn’t seen since before his trial. In the dim yellow light of the parking lot, Oliver saw Rodriguez’s jet-black hair had turned even more snowy at the temples, giving the young cop a paternal air.
“Ollie,” Rodriguez’s window hummed halfway down to reveal the man’s kind brown eyes amid an abundance of smile-wrinkles. “You keeping some wild company over in PG.”
“Now what company would that be, Paul?” Oliver adjusted his seat forward.
Rodriguez grinned but with there was no mirth in his eyes. “You be careful, Ollie. The McKenny's live in PG, but the bastard works in Monterey.”
A roar struck the shuttered food stand across the parking lot, bouncing toward them followed by the appearance of a classic red corvette racing passed the parking lot entrance. Oliver instinctively reached for his keys and began to pump the gas, only then remembering he was in Monterey.
Rodriguez seemed nonplused, however, about the whole incident.
“Gotta ticket the Harrison kid, Ollie,” Rodriguez said tiredly, lazily turning his engine over. “But remember what I said. They don’t play around over at JenelCo, so be careful."
Rodriguez’s last words floated back to him as his cruiser slowly rolled away before leaping forward, turning out of the lot without slowing much at all. Once on the street, Rodriguez's blue-red strobe light flared while the cruiser's siren let the Harrison kid know that his modern display of testosterone had not gone unnoticed.
Oliver leaned forward, withdrew his keys from the ignition and exhaled loudly, dropping them onto the seat beside him. Though it burned, he suspected that Monterey cops viewed their PG brothers as less capable of dealing with, 'Real Crime.’ As if the occasional serious crime in PG were somehow amateurish in their impact or less serious in nature.
He’d thought Rodriguez a little more clear-minded, but apparently his co-workers had influenced his perceptions. Even on a busy day like this, Rodriguez had come off like he was looking out for a kid brother.
Oliver sighed and scooted down until his eyes came level with the car dash and allowed himself to think of Jenny huddled away in the department’s safe-house on Bolen road, with two cops she’d just met for company. It was a day which had slipped from merely bad to utterly tragic in a matter of hours and if Chief Williams hadn’t sent him to the McKenny house, Jenny, like her best friend would be dead as well.
Until Carol’s body had been discovered, Oliver wasn’t sure who the drive-by had been after. He’d put away enough criminals over the last eight years to make
him
the obvious target. But now there were a number of people in Jenny’s life that warranted a close look and the last thing he’d done before going off-shift was to check on the state wide APB for Collin McKenny. Then he’d driven home to his still new, but largely empty home, but like many nights since the trial's end, his very empty house failed to hold him for long.