Shadow Watcher

By J.F. Phillips

Another murder mystery for the ever surfing detective of the Marin County Sheriff's Department.
"This installment continues the themes of the series, embracing the culture and geography of the San Francisco Bay Area while delving into its seedier elements and graphically describing the actions of "evil doers." (Kirkus Reviews)
Just returned from a lengthy "leave"Detective Pat Nolan is called to a bizarre crime scene in West Marin. Nolan, the unflappable plodder, soon realizes the clues aren't necessarily leading to the killer. To find the truth he'll have to pay more attention to who and what is lurking in the shadows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.F. Phillips
• Release date: Jan 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781467551540

J.F. Phillips

I was born in Buffalo, NY and raised in Ohio and California. I took my first creative writing course at the University of Hawaii and have undergraduate and graduate degrees from the University of San Francisco. I own a small residential construction company and live with my wife in Northern California. We have four grown children.

Book preview

For my mother, Mary Ann Phillips;

always my first reader and my most honest critic.

PROLOGUE

There was no reason for Dougie to have woken from a sound sleep. One moment he was asleep, unconscious given the amount of booze he had ingested and dope he had smoked, and the next he was howling in pain. Something had smacked or kicked the hell out of the bottom of his right foot as he had lain sprawled naked over the breadth of the jumbled king size bed.

The last thing he remembered, prior to the crude awakening, was teaching that bitch of a wife of his that she had once again pissed him off. She just didn’t seem to get the message, no matter how many times he yelled at her or slapped her around. He never really hit her; not with his fists anyways. He’d slap her around a little until she either stopped crying or started apologizing. Once she was back in the real world he rewarded both of them when he climbed on her from behind and rode her until she begged him to finish. How many times had he climaxed inside of her and the only sounds to be heard were coming from deep within him?

She had been talking to those dykes at MDVA (Marin Domestic Violence Alliance) and going to their ‘secret location’ meetings for three months now; a lot of good that had done her...or him. Her head was getting filled with more and more psychobabble mumbo jumble and he was getting pissed off more often.

It used to be he only ‘went off’ every four or five months when they first got together. Now, after all the help from MDVA he was going off every month or so; and it wasn’t his fault damn it. Good lord, but women knew how to totally piss a guy off. No way in hell any of this was his fault.

He had even agreed to take the referral from MDVA to ‘One More Hand’. These were the ‘talking head’ pussies that worked with MDVA in counseling abusers. Abuser my ass!

The way she was always baiting him with her words and her smug little faces; she was asking for it. No guy could possibly be expected to put up with that kind of shit. Hell, if a guy talked and acted to another guy, like women did towards men, that guy would expect to get his lights punched for being such a bitch. You can’t talk shit like that and not expect heavy shit back. Common sense!

So he had listened to the ‘One More Hand’ speakers, shared with the counselors, participated with group discussions, and even gave up his fucking time for role-playing. For a while it worked; as it made her happy and therefore she kept off his case with her whining bullshit. Then in no time it was right back to the same shit. What was a guy expected to do when it came to appeasing these bullshitting, no putting out bitches?

And, no way was he the only guy in this situation and reacting the same damn way. Man, they were trying to make it work, all the time, twenty-four seven. But women, they’ll just never be happy with any shit they get a guy to do.

So, he had another ‘come to Jesus’ discussion with her again last night. How the hell did that happen?

The night started out well enough. The kids were at her sisters for the night for some sort of Sponge Bob marathon. The two of them had dinner at that Puerto Rican place on Lincoln Avenue, her favorite place, as his present to her. Then they came home, and instead of partying, she wants to talk about how frightening he can be sometimes. Sheee-it!

He’s trying to be cool and listen to what she was saying. They had been telling him that listening is the first step to resolving any sort of conflict and misunderstanding. Well, he had no misunderstanding about where she was coming from. He already felt like he had given up one of his nuts to appease her…and now she just wanted the other one.

So…voices were raised, he tossed her sucking orchid plants out the back door, and she got in his face.

She was daring him.

He didn’t slap her that hard.

Suddenly she was glaring at him from the couch he had shoved her onto.

She was wearing clothes that made her look more like a tramp than the mother of his children. What was that about?

So now she thinks he is just going to stand-by and watch her trawl for another man? Fat fucking chance of that. No guy should have to put up with that crap.

The more clothes he ripped off of her, the quieter she got. So this is what she was looking for? He could feel himself getting harder with every slap. He held her head against the back cushion of the couch with his right hand as he kicked off his sandals and his left hand fumbled with dropping his cargo pants and boxer shorts to the floor.

She wasn’t moist like he expected her to be from the foreplay. No matter. As he climaxed, and she slumped forward, he began wondering why the men’s group never covered this type of role-playing?

All that pleasure from last night and he hadn’t even dreamt about it; at least he didn’t think he had. Man was he still high or what?

And now, here he was rolling around, naked, with his throbbing right foot drawn up to his chest. He was cradling it in both hands trying to soothe the sting. I think it’s fucking broken!

He suddenly spun, propelled off the bed, when what felt like a pillow was swung upside his head. You, bitch, he was thinking to himself.

Get off the floor asshole. The voice was clear, calm, and didn’t sound like Shelley at all.

He sat on the floor next to the bed trying to get his eyes accustomed to the semi-darkness while he felt around for…something.

A silhouette was forming out of the oblivion; kind of like when the body of a shark slowly came into focus in those ocean documentaries she was always watching on PBS with the kids.

The emerging body kind of looked like her. She was naked, standing just inside the bedroom door, but her posture wasn’t really erect, her head sort of moved in circles on her neck, and her eyes looked like they were closed.

Man, no more red wine with that new Baja shit he smoked last night. He hadn’t even finished half the joint before she’d started in on him.

He wrestled himself up onto his knees. His right foot felt like it was on fire as pain and heat radiated up his calf. Dougie straightened his torso and saw she was moving closer to him, but…there was this weird shadow or cloud hovering behind her. Her body seemed twice as thick as it should have been. It was like a ghost was carrying Shelley to him.

You haven’t finished your wine Dougie. What kind of hostess am I? The voice sounded wrong. Was that the ghost or Shelley speaking? Maybe Shelley was just as wasted?

His head tilted back, his jaw dropped forward, the wine glass lightly kissed against his lower incisors. His hands were hanging limply at his side. Finally dreaming? The glass floated passed her and towards the dim light coming from the living room? That Baja weed was awesome!

Time to say good-bye Dougie.

What? Where are you going? We live here baby, and I’m kind of digging this whole ghosty shit you got going.

God, was this even his wife? Was he in his own house? Did they bring somebody home with them? Man, was it her sister he did last night? He always knew the sister-in-law was hot for him. You can see it in their eyes. The unspoken desire…

I’m staying…you piece of whale shit. You’re the one leaving Dougie. The voice was as emotionless as a wind slowly filling a spinnaker on a becalmed San Francisco Bay.

Whale shit?

Yeah. You know why that’s what I call you Dougie?

Why? He was so confused now, that was all he could think to ask. Of all the thousands of questions ricocheting inside his head, ’why’ was the best he could do.

Because it is the lowest mammilla excrement there is. Just like you Dougie.

Dougie stared as the shadows slowly raised a thick pointy finger and leveled it at his head. Her pointing finger flashed! Once! Twice! He didn’t hear any sound. Just a soft pffft; like his mom’s hand used to make, once he had learned to anticipate and duck, as she missed the side of his head.

Two shooting stars joined the thousands of questions ricocheting inside his head. Dougie never really experienced the sensation; nor the illumination that the stars brought.

Now the third tap, the one in the left ear, was just plain cold.

Good night Dougie. I’ll be fine. The kids will be so much happier.

None of this was making any sense at all to Dougie. He was well past listening.

CHAPTER ONE

Marin County Sheriff’s Detective Pat Nolan lay in bed in the pre-dawn darkness with no sound to disturb him. With more than thirty years in the department, he still woke every morning wondering if the new day would be a workday or a rare day off. Nolan hadn’t had a regular schedule during his entire professional life.

The intensity of the recently concluded Hinkley murder case and the decades of being on duty, to some degree everyday, were causing him to more frequently consider retirement.

Nolan was sleeping in for the first morning in more than a week. His first week back on duty had been exhausting and the middle of the week had produced three days of great surf. He was tired, the swell had fallen, it was Saturday, and his wife was still in bed with him.

The sun wasn’t quite ready to peek over Tam (Mount Tamalpais), but some early birds were out in the pre-dawn haze stirring things up. He lie on his back, scrunched into the bedding, and feeling a light grin spread across his lips. It formed slowly like the rays of the sun squeezed through a light fog over the surface of the lagoon outside their bedroom. The sensation brought him the same warmth as the sun brought to the water’s surface. He began to roll to his left to see if Cate was interested in…My phone?

He reached for the cell phone that sat every night on the arm of the upholstered wingback chair that had once sat in the living room of his in-laws San Rafael home. Blindly he unplugged the charger and brought the phone to his right ear.

This better be good.

What? Excuse me, but…Detective Nolan? Oh, this young lady was more than flustered.

Sorry. Yeah this is Nolan. He had scored another terrific first impression.

Detective you’re next up on the board. We have a 1-8-7 in Lagunitas and patrol has requested an investigator on scene. I’m sorry to be calling so early. The apology had Nolan feeling almost as badly as when he disappointed his mother; which was often, and awful.

No need to apologize. I could definitely have answered with better manners. Nolan gasped, You won’t tell my mom will you?

The dispatch operator manufactured a noise that could only have been the result of hot coffee coming out of her nose. It was the combined sound of half yelp of terror and half cackle. No. No, I won’t do that. Can you respond? Right back to business; Hildy always knew just who to hire. This young dispatcher was all ready very good at her job.

Hildy was the long time supervisor of the Communications Section of the Marin County Sheriff’s Department. She kind of felt that the place couldn’t run without her; it was an opinion shared by just about everyone in the department. Hildy wasn’t bragging; it was simply a fact.

Yeah, I’m good to go. What’s the address? Nolan jotted down the information in one of the numerous notebooks he left scattered around the house for just such purposes. Cate had gotten up halfway through the call and was pushing him out of the way as she came to make his side of the bed.

I’ll call the on scene officer and give him my ETA. Thanks. Nolan cut the connection, tossed the phone into the seat of the wingback and slowly lowered his wife onto the partially made bed as he kissed her good morning.

Don’t you dare start something with me, Gypo Nolan, when you have a homicide date.

How the hell could you hear that conversation? Nolan’s worsening hearing had him dialing up the volume on his cell.

I not only hear everything Nolan, I can hear some of the things you think. She hip bumped him away from the bed as she arranged the last of the pillows at the head.

"You can…

I just wish you had finished rolling over this morning and that damn cell phone hadn’t rung. Guess we’ll just have to wait…won’t we? She closed on him, brought his hands to her morning warm breasts, kissed him deeply, took a step back, looked down to admire her effect on him, gave him a wink, and patted his bare ass as she marched out of the room to start the day.

*****

The first deputy arrived on scene at the house on Chaparro Avenue more than twenty-five minutes after the first call had come into the Sheriff’s office. The deputy had been patrolling just off of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard (SFDB) in San Geronimo when dispatch radioed. With lights and siren he was only five minutes from the turn off of SFDB in Lagunitas. Four residents had called reporting screams, but none of them could pinpoint the address of the resonating shrieks.

The hilly woody terrain had offered no visual confirmation and the screams were echoed and distorted by the flora and the geography. Once the patrol unit turned at the Catholic Church and onto W. Cintura, he had sped up onto Alta Avenue and made the left onto Chaparro. Listening to the dispatcher speaking with residents, he began cruising slowly with all the windows down in the cruiser. Every hundred yards or so he would stop, turn off the ignition, and listen intently through the soft static of his radio for some hint of disturbance.

For fifteen minutes he continued his stalking. With the last stop he exited his cruiser, to get away from the static whisper, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the mumbled rustle of the wind through the conifers. After thirty seconds the Zen moment was shattered by an inhumane and agonizing howl. As he jumped in and keyed the ignition he heard the dispatcher fielding new reports from the neighborhood. He flew down the hill in reverse to the last driveway he had passed. Hopefully, in the pre-dawn darkness he wouldn’t meet any of the hundreds of deer that roamed these hills at night.

Speeding up the driveway he cleared the right hand bend and had his first glimpse of the house. But the details of the house didn’t register, his reflexes instinctively focused his attention to swerving to avoid the naked, bruised and bloodied woman, standing in the middle of the driveway with a pistol in her right hand. Her scream curdled through the forest boughs.

*****

Nolan had taken his time shaving and showering as he resigned himself to the fact that these would be his only personal pleasures this morning. There were probably worse ways to ruin a Saturday morning, but this had to be right up there with the winners.

Prior to the last week of work, he had been on a four week mandatory paid leave. His superiors had extended what had originally been a one week leave, without his input. The reasoning had been that the stress of the previous case, in combination with Nolan’s penchant for internalizing his angst and letting the ensuing guilt nearly destroy him, necessitated a leave.

He had attended the ordered counseling visit with the department’s shrink. Marsha Mitchell,PhD was retained by the sheriff’s department to counsel officers involved in shootings and other stress related episodes that the job created. The fact was…Nolan liked her. He saw her occasionally on his own. She was a friend. She was maybe the main reason he was even marginally sane. Even so, he dispensed with her offered assistance after one session.

He had spent the bulk of the time-off; surfing, hiking the ridge and coastal trails of the GGNRA (Golden Gate National Recreational Area), surfing, getting reacquainted with his wife, surfing, and trying to hold at bay the exhaustion that in the right circumstance threatened to let him slip ‘quietly into the night’. The fucking Irish could be so morose at times.

Dressed in an oxford shirt, blue jeans, and his cowboy boots he made his way down the stairs for instant oatmeal and coffee with the newspaper and crossword puzzle. Nolan hadn’t missed a day of doing the crossword since he was in high school. Early morning, a cup of fresh ground Kauai coffee, a favorite fountain pen, and the crossword puzzle; he jealously guarded this time of day.

He grabbed his leather bomber jacket, Smith & Wesson SD40, and headed out the front door. His vintage 1963 VW Bus was parked in the graveled parking area that buffered the end of their driveway from the front fence that paralleled Crescente Avenue at the front of the house. Every morning he would think of the sniveling banker from whom he had salvaged the Porsche 911 chassis and engine He’d owned the VW since the late sixties, but it had been an undercover road rocket for less than ten years. Patience and perseverance are what made his dreams come true.

The drive from Bolinas to Lagunitas had taken no time at all. Saturday mornings did not find many vehicles headed east. What morning traffic there would be would consist of surfers, birders, hikers, and delivery trucks headed into West Marin.

Nolan had a much easier time, than the first responders, locating the crime scene once he had turned onto Chaparro. The collection of ambulances, sheriff’s cars, CHP (California Highway Patrol) cruisers, and fire trucks made the driveway easy to see. The fact that they all had their light bars flashing and a dozen neighbors and two news vans were also gathered, rendering the place impossible to miss. There was no way he was going to make it up the driveway to the house, so he continued passed the throngs and found a dirt pull-out about fifty yards further up the road.

Leaving his jacket on the passenger seat, he pulled a new reporter’s notebook from behind his seat, adjusted his holstered semiautomatic at the small of his back, clipped his badge over the watch pocket in the right front of his 501s, and locked the bus.

As he neared the base of the driveway he eased through the crowd, ignored the reporter’s questions, and nodded a thanks to the deputy who raised the crime scene tape for Nolan to stoop under while at the same time handing him the clip board with the sign-in sheet. Scanning the sheet, he saw he was the first detective on scene. The coroner was on site, as was an ambulance crew, SIS (Scientific Investigation Section), and most of the patrolling law enforcement units assigned to West Marin.

Nothing brings us all together like a good old fashioned homicide, hey Sergeant?

Don’t be chipper with me Nolan. This caught me at the tail end of a double shift and they need me here like a monkey needs toilet paper.

Nolan gave a short laugh, handed back the clipboard and started up the drive. He stopped after two steps, turned back to the sergeant and handed him the steaming, full cup of coffee he had picked up at the market at the bottom of the hill.

You need this more than me. Let me check-in up top and I’ll send someone down to relieve you as soon as I know fuck all what’s going on.

He had already turned and started back up the drive before the officer had a chance to mutter a thank you. Thanks Nolan, I didn’t mean to start your day out any worse by complaining.

Not to worry. There is someone up there that is definitely having a worse day than I am. Nolan hadn’t bothered to turn back towards the deputy as he muttered. He really hadn’t been talking to anyone in the first place.

CHAPTER TWO

Rounding the bend in the driveway, Nolan saw three small SIS cones standing guard around a plastic evidence bag that appeared to hold a small caliber semiautomatic pistol. Further up, a county fire department paramedic ambulance stood with both back doors gaping open. A sheeted, padded gurney sat in the middle of the ambulance bay. The back third of the gurney was raised to a sitting position to better accommodate the swaddled and traumatized young woman being attended to.

How’s she doing? Nolan asked the senior paramedic.

Pretty battered. Her vitals are stabilized, but we need to transport her to Marin General and find out what she has in her system. The EMT had stepped out of the ambulance and had drawn Nolan to the side of the vehicle.

Her pulse is pretty elevated, she’s confused, disoriented, her breathing is fairly shallow, and she keeps swinging from passive to aggressive, almost violent, behavior. That’s why we have the restraints on her.

Could it all be a reaction to the trauma; or what all went on here earlier?

Sure. But my guess is that she has something in her system. Her behavior is all over hell and gone. Something has to be driving it.

Give me a chance to look around inside before you go? I’d like to have a word with her if possible.

I’m no doctor detective, but don’t let her current state of calm fool you. Not wanting to sound like a TV show, but that lady is not up to answering any questions.

No, you’re not a doctor. So don’t leave until I say so. Understood? Nolan’s tone was intended to remind everyone within ear shout that he was in charge of the crime scene.

Whatever you say detective. But the need to transport for medical reasons is my decision to…

Not until I say so. That…is the decision. Nolan stared down the pinch-eyed sneer from the EMT before turning and heading into the house. The tone of his conversation with the EMT cleared a path through the on-site personnel.

On the entry porch Nolan pulled on a pair of latex gloves, paper booties, and white paper haz-mat coveralls before stepping over the threshold.

Who was first on site?

I was sir.

Nolan turned towards the voice. A young deputy, who Nolan didn’t remember having seen before was walking towards him from the open-air kitchen that stood to the left of the entry door.

"Deputy Todd