Читать книгу Bath House Murders - Logan Masters - Страница 4

Early Saturday morning, the autumn’ sun peeped through the kitchen blinds, whose blades were set to keep out most of the warm rays.Ellie Ramos, an eight year old girl, spooned cereal from her favorite bow as she watched a kid’s television program, a cartoon show called “Super Defenders.” A machine, in the form of a spider, was crawling up a building and about to pounce on several of these futuristic-looking super heroes who were unaware of the impending danger. Her six year old brother, Ricardo, was also seated at the table with a cereal bowl before him. He provided the additional commentary for the program’s sparse dialogue.

“Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. Hah! Hah! Hah!” He trailed off with what had been intended as an eerie laugh. In truth, his mummery was more irritating than eerie.

“That’s what I’m going to be on Halloween,” Ellie while pointing with the empty spoon toward the set.

“A mechanical spider?”

“No!” she exclaimed in discernible disgust, “a Super Defender.”

“Nope, you’re gonna go as a creepy spider.” He got up from his place, hunched over, spread out his arms to form an arch, and showed his gritted teeth.

With a glaring countenance, and deeply disgusted at his apparent immaturity she continued, “You are so dumb!”

“Who are you calling dumb Ellie?” asked her mother, who was in the process of hastily getting dressed, and coming into the kitchen for one last cup of coffee. The woman, although still without makeup, had a gorgeous face. She was in her early thirties.

“She called me dumb,” interjected Ricardo.

“Ellie, what have I told you about calling people dumb?”

“I did not know you meant Ricardo, he really is dumb,” she then plopped a large spoonful cereal into her mouth, a look of satisfaction on her cute face, at having gotten a good dig in on her annoying brother.

“Mommmm!”

“Ellie, I’ll not have you talking to your brother in an unkind way. You know what they teach in Catechism.”

Ricardo got a smug look on his face. To have God, himself, against his sister was all the better.

“You can wipe that look right off your face Ricardo. What did you say to make your sister call you dumb?”

Before he could answer, in the background, the television station announced the time. It’s now 9 AM.

“I’m late! Finish your breakfast. Grandma will be here soon.”

The woman’s name was Angelina. To the two youngsters, it must have seemed that her parental relationship with them was one long, expanded dash—through multiple doorways, fleeing in and out of rooms, and forever darting down an extended corridor called family’ life. In keeping with this, Angelina hurried down the hallway to her bedroom, to finish dressing!

Her full name was Angelina Marie Ramos. Like so many residing in Phoenix, she was of mixed blood heritage—her father Caucasian and mother Hispanic. For the whole of her life she had grown up in that City of the Sun.

She was a beautiful woman with light copper-tone skin and brown hair with golden highlights. She had always been confident and outgoing. In high school had been a popular cheerleader. Upon graduation she had begun her college education at Arizona State. Her major was criminology. After two years in school, she met a blue-eyed dreamer named William Snodgrass. He was good in bed, but beyond that had no comprehension of a work ethic nor compunction when it came to any sense of responsibility. Two pregnancies and several moves, back in with her parents, ended that relationship. He eventually drifted on to live in some other state. So she was left, like so many of her friends, a single mom raising her kids without a male influence.

Angelina completed her education while working a beginning stint at the Phoenix Police Department. Given her determination, hard work, and sharpened skills she had reached the rank of detective. As a woman, this had been quiet a triumph, especially since the Phoenix Police Department was known mostly for its machismo and for holding to attitudes reminiscent of the Old West.

What Angelina faced was no easy task—a woman alone, raising two kids, and trying to be both mom and dad. The bad experience with the ex had left her very suspicious of men. Very suspicious! In fact, to date, after her first mistake there had not been a serious second.

The kitchen door to the outside opened slowly. In walked an older, diminutive, Hispanic woman. Warmth was etched in the slight wrinkles of her rounded face.

“Mi bambinos!”

Both Ellie and Ricardo bolted from their respective chairs in response to her affectionate greeting. This was grandma. Their small arms stretched forward in an attempt to reach around her plump lower torso. Saturday was her day to come and spend with them while her daughter Angelina was on duty.

“Mama,” Angelina called out, upon hearing their voices in the kitchen.

She intended to say more, but before she could continue her cell phone began to chime. Angelina instantly picked up the phone from her dresser.

“This is Detective Ramos,” her answer was in a very business-like-manor.

She listened intently. “Hello. Hey!” a brief pause, “go ahead, I’m listening.”

A short minute passed, then another. Meanwhile, the children and their grandmother provided background noise as they laughed and talked in the kitchen.

“What’s the address,” Angelina finally spoke up, as she promptly moved to obtain a pen from her purse. She jotted down the information on a notepad.

In a flash, the conversation ended!

She sped back into her bathroom to take one last quick glance in the mirror to ensure that all was in place. She raced down the hall and in a flash was in the kitchen. With her mind racing at just as quick a pace, Angelina reached the trio in the kitchen having been readily transformed from a determined mother into an equally determined, uncompromising detective!

She stepped to her mother, kissed her, then Ellie and Ricardo, each on top of the head.

“I’ve got to go,” she exclaimed, exiting the kitchen door, “I will call you as soon as possible to check in.”

The door, flowing with Angelina’s swift motion, shut behind her. In unison, the kids shouted, “Bye mom.” This was their typical Saturday morning.

Angelina and her children lived in a neighborhood of newer homes, just off of North Interstate 17. Early on as a cop, she had perfected her driving skills. Statistics say women are better drivers than men; in Angelina’s case, that was magnified by ten! Shortly, she was up onto the freeway speeding to her destination.

“Angie, come in,” came a strong masculine voice over the patrol car radio.

She picked up a mic, “I read you.”

“Where are you?” The voice appeared to be anxious.

“Keep your shorts on Charlie, I’m headed south on I-17. I should be at your location in ten minutes at the most.”

Charlie was an older cop, a seasoned sergeant who treated Angelina like a daughter.

“You are going to love this one,” he sarcastically shot back.

“Keep me in suspense, I’m getting nearer the exit off 17. Out.” She punched the accelerator.

A spirited exit, a swift left turn at a cooperative green light, and then another quick right, shortly she pulled onto a narrow road that was old and pocked with chuck-holes. At the speed she traveled the vehicle bounced up and down, further testing shocks that had been severely tested on numerous other occasions. Soon she eyed an entry into a parking lot. Several patrol cars were parked at the site.

As she drove in, she could see a small cluster of reporters and curious bystanders. Several reporters stood positioned by camera men and with microphones in hand, right at the yellow tape marking off a crime scene.

Angelina looked above the doorway entrance marked off by the tape. The sign on the roof read “The Bulge.” As she exited her car, a gust of wind blew through her shoulder-length dark brown hair. She used her hand to remove the strands covering her eyes, while walking toward the entrance. She was wearing a business suit, with a short shirk. Her shapely legs gained the attention of several camera men.

As she continued her approach, there was no need to show her badge. Everyone there seemed to recognize who she was.

Just then, Charlie came out of the building. He looked the part of a twenty-five year veteran. He was overweight, with gray hair on his temples. A concerned look was on his face as he walked up to her. This caused her to halt for a brief moment.

“Do you know this place?” he asked, in a whispering tone.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever been here Charlie.”

He took her arm in his and pulled her aside.

“It’s a bath house.”

Not used to using the terms in her everyday conversation, it took a second for his remark to register.

Seeing this in her eyes, Charlie spoke again, “You know, a gay bath house.”

The word “gay” clarified everything.

“Okay,” she stated, “and we are here because of a suspicious death?”

“There’s been a murder.”

“Who died and how?” she asked.

Charlie began to walk her toward the entrance. “The victim is a younger man in his early twenties. From an initial investigation, it appears he’s been strangled.”

“So who do we have that may know something for sure?”

She hadn’t much finished her remark, before a slender man with tanned leathery skin, a shaved head and mustache walked right into her path. He had a cold, loathing look in his dark black eyes. He appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He sniffed his nose a few times.

“We need to get on with this!” His tone of voice was laced with asperity, reflecting the set of his eyes.

“It’s damn bad for business to have cops walking these f’n halls.” He sniffed again.

Charlie introduced him, “This man is Carl Morrison. He is the manager of this establishment. Mr. Morrison this is detective Ramos.”

He responded as if he didn’t even hear Angelina’s name. “Bath house! It ain’t no establishment, it’s a fuckin’ bath house where guys come to…”

“That will be enough,” spoke Charlie, as he looked protectively toward Angelina. Morrison sniffed yet again.

“I know what guys do in places like this Mr. Morrison,” she responded as she returned the fellow’s stare.

“I also know, what they are not supposed to be doing in here. One thing is drugs. I believe I detect a sinus condition you’re suffering from Mr. Morrison? I strongly suggest you get that condition taken care of. That is, if you don’t want ‘us cops’ walking these halls more frequently.”

“Listen, I don’t have to take any lip off a lesbo like you, bitch.”

At that remark, Charlie grabbed the man and pulled just inside the door, out of view of those standing outside. In a swift maneuver, he drew one of the man’s arms behind his back and then the second. In a flash, he popped handcuffs on his wrists.

“Look’s like you will be doin’ your talking downtown, scumbag,” blurted out Charlie, in a very angered tone.

Cuffed, the man instantly backed down.

“Wait, wait. What do you want to know?”

“We want cooperation in this investigation, enough said,” responded Angelina.

His eye-lids dipped in a show of submission as he glanced her way.

“Let’s see this crime scene.”

Upon her request, Charlie pushed Carl Morrison inside toward the room where the body still lay on the bed. In contrast to the dark, shadowy manner the place was normally kept, lights shown brightly in the hallways.

The trio reached room #21. Two officers were busily gathering finger prints and other possible clues from the room. There on the bed was the fully exposed nude body of a young man. Angelina had seen enough corpses for the sight not to bother her. Morrison started talking.

“I don’t know anything about this. I get here this morning, the night attendant says there’s a guy in room #21 who won’t wake up. So I go to the room, to see if the guy is drugged or boozed. I knock several times. No answer. Finally, I enter to try and talk to him. But there’s no movement. I shove him. He’s ice cold. Immediately I knew he was dead.”

Angelina busily wrote in her notebook everything he said.

“We’ve had guys die in here before. A fellow, drunk as a skunk, almost drowned in the Jacuzzi just last month. One had a massive heart attack. Another died from a drug overdose. This is a young guy, so my guess is he died from drugs. Yet, your guys show up and refuse to move the body. You tape off the place and tell me this is crime scene. What does that mean? You gonna shut me down? No fag is going to want to come in here with cops constantly crawling around.”

“Mr. Morrison,” Angelina spoke up, “a man is dead. Someone who was here last night is responsible for taking his life. That should matter to you, but even if it doesn’t, the law demands we investigate his death.”

“I will need access to the list of everyone who came in here last night.”

“Lady, are you crazy?”

Charlie pulled his arms away from his body, sending a surge of pain through him. “Owe!” he uttered in a loud voice.

“Hey, give me a break. People who come here don’t want anyone to know they’re here! Privacy’s a big concern. You think I can just hand over names for you to go diggin’ into their personal lives? Damn!”

Angelina looked at Charlie as he tightly held onto the anguished looking man.

She pulled out her cell phone.

“I”m calling downtown to get a subpoena.”

She hit the button for speed dial.

“This is detective Ramos…”