Murder by Omission

By Raul Aguilar

Sherman Allen’s search for answers to the murder hides the lingering depression that lies beneath the surface and allows him face death without fear. Can he find happiness with an attractive, troubled woman trying to break through the glass ceiling of the legal profession? A disturbing deathbed confession raises legal and moral questions about murder, death and religion.

Sherman Allen finds that a grisly torture-murder has been committed and no one cares. The twisted lives of the victim’s family, priest, brother-in-law, a former partner and a disgruntled client provide suspects with a reason to commit homicide. An unspoken secret binds the family and the priest together that tests their moral values in protecting the victim’s sins.

Sherman’s methodical search reveals singular truths about love, faith and how the people we trust and those we revere, corrupt those truths. Sherman Allen’s search for his own moral and life compass continues as he allows others a brief glimpse into his troubled soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raul Aguilar
• Release date: Mar 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301347070

Raul Aguilar

Raul Aguilar has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for over 35 years. A degree in Electrical Engineering lead to a career as an Electronic Analog Design Engineer for 10 years and ultimately inspired him to pursue a Juris Doctor degree from the University of San Francisco. Admission to the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office diverted his interests temporarily, but ultimately fate led him to pursue a career as an Insurance Regulatory Attorney.Raul has pursued writing short stories as a means to express his interests in travel, 13th Century European History and International Relations. Raul's travels have led him from San Francisco across all the major cities in America to London, Paris, Cote d'Azur, Monaco, Germany, Italy, Rome, Spain, the Cayman Islands, the Caribbean, Mexico and South America. His writings reflect many of the places and cities visited by Raul and his lovely wife Diane.

Book preview

Murder by Omission

Sherman Allen Series

By Raul Aguilar

Copyright 2013 Raul Aguilar

Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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Acknowledgments

I dedicate this book to my wife, Diane. A sweet and gentle soul who patiently stood at my side and unselfishly gave her last measure of love and life in support of my efforts. Without Diane, nothing would have been possible.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Many Ways to Die

Chapter 2 - Searching For Answers

Chapter 3 - Old Friends

Chapter 4 - Return to What?

Chapter 5 - Suspects

Chapter 6 - Close Relations

Chapter 7 - It's Obvious

Chapter 8 - Partner in Crime

Chapter 9 - Unexpected Consequences

Chapter 10 - A New Partner

Chapter 11 - One Solution

Chapter 12- Journey's End

Chapter 13 - Call for Help

Chapter 14 - Mother's Love

Chapter 15 - Another Time

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by Raul Aguilar

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Chapter 1 - Many Ways to Die

The San Fermin Festival

It was 7:00 in the morning and there were already 50 or 60 runners at the corral at the Santo Domingo gate. The police were holding everyone back until the rocket fired announcing that the bulls had been released. I can do this. The total run is only three or four minutes long. I just have to keep my wits about me, he said to himself. As he examines the crowd, all dressed in a white shirt and white trousers with a red waistband and neckerchief tied around their heads, he noticed that there were a large number of women runners. This surprised him, he remembered reading that there were some women runners, but he did not think that there would be this many. The crowd continued to grow and press anxiously against each other. The trick is not to fall. In this crowd there is more of a chance that you will be trampled by other runners than by the dozen cows and bulls, he said aloud.

At 7:45 AM the sea of runners started to sing a prayer which was part of the ritual of the running of the bulls known as the encierro. A San Fermín pedimos, por ser nuestro patrón, nos guíe en el encierro dándonos su bendición Sherman knew the words to the Spanish prayer,We ask Saint Fermín, as our Patron, to guide us through the encierro and give us his blessing. By tradition, they sang the bendición twice, once in Spanish and once in Basque. The crowd then shouted, Viva San Fermín! Gora San Fermín! several times and prepared for the encierro. After the prayer and shout, the runners took the red scarves off their heads and tied them about their necks. The crowd was anxious and the mass of humanity visibly stirred when the 8:00 am rocket fired from the balcony of City Hall to confirm that the gate at the Santo Domingo corral had been opened. The Bulls had been released. He could feel the tension in the crowd as the rocket sound reverberated throughout the Plaza and was starting to have second thoughts about being there. When the police heard the sound of the second rocket announce that the bulls had left the corral, the police stepped back and allowed the runners into the narrow street Cuesta de Santa Domingo.

Sherman gripped a newspaper, rolled to draw the bulls' attention from him, and crouched to give himself better balance against the pushing crowd. He started jogging in as balanced a position as he could assume. Within seconds, the runners around him had passed him and were dispersing the crowd. Suddenly Sherman saw the biggest, fattest, meanest, nastiest bull he had ever seen in his life. The adrenaline in his system kicked in and he started running, trying to maintain his balance. To his left, another bull or cow came into sight, although he really could not tell the difference when they were that close. Sherman looked back briefly and saw three more nasty looking bulls with horns that looked to be three feet long.

Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted near the closest bull and stayed slightly behind and to the right of his rear end. I'll use him as a shield and I will have him carve a corridor though the crowd for me, he thought to himself. Suddenly, he saw a runner fall in front of him. Sherman leaped over the poor man and regained his balance. This seems to be too easy, he said aloud. As the crowd of runners reached the Plaza de Ayuntamiento, Sherman heard someone scream and then he saw several men running behind the barricade to escape the onrushing bulls. A runner had fallen and several bulls had trampled him as they rushed down the narrow alleyway. Sherman could feel the runners behind him start to push him in the back. He had expected that and absorbed their force, but he had nowhere to go. He could not slow down, so he ran a little faster. He found himself covered with warm, wet, slimy spit from the mouth of a bull running next to him.

They all had been told to be extremely careful when they came to the Plaza de Ayuntamiento, which curved, into the last stretch of the run down the Calle Estafeta. Notwithstanding the anti-slip pavement, the bulls would lose their footing, fall, then get up and gore the person next to them. It had come up quicker than he had anticipated. He could not focus on any of the faces of the people around him. He concentrated on the runner in front of him and the bull next to him. He saw the corner of the street and a commotion. A bull had fallen, regained his footing and charged three runners. At this point, Sherman did not care about anybody else on the street, except himself. Sherman knew that the city had first aid personnel who would drag you out of the way of the crowd and the bulls. Unfortunately, they could not do it while the bull was tossing you around like a rag doll.

Sherman took comfort in the fact that the double row of barricades along the route would allow him to get quickly out of the way of a nasty bull in case of danger. The gaps in the barricades were wide enough for him to slip through, but narrow enough to block a bull. Sherman came to the corner and pivoted on his brand-new Nike running shoes. The bull next to Sherman slipped a bit, but did not lose his footing. Sherman could hear the heavy breathing of another bull somewhere behind him. He looked ahead a few yards at the closest runner, took a chance, and looked over his shoulder only to see an ugly looking bull three feet away from him.

For the first time that morning, Sherman experienced fear. Whatever primal urge had driven Sherman this far kicked in overdrive and Sherman sprinted until he caught up to the runner in front of him and followed him into the stretch run down the Calle Estafeta. The crowd was now tightly packed and he could no longer hear the bull's breathing, but he knew that there was another dangerous turn to navigate before they made their way into the bullring, and safety. Sherman had read that many people had been injured at the entrance to the bullring because they would become wedged together and the bulls would either plow into the wedge or try to leap over the group. Sherman was prepared to leap over any group of runners wedged at the entrance, if necessary. Another large black bull appeared out of nowhere and ran by Sherman. Sherman picked up his pace so that he was running behind and to the right of the black bull.

Several runners tripped and fell directly in front of Sherman. He could not avoid them and was worried that he would trip and fall. He jumped over the first one and landed on the back of the second runner, keeping his balance and running as fast as he could. Two large brown bulls ran directly next to Sherman and he tried to get as close to the barricades as he could and avoid contact. He tried to pace himself behind the bull closest to him, but the bull moved rapidly ahead of him. A runner running next to him bumped Sherman against the barricade. Sherman staggered, but regained control of his balance and got behind a large gray cow. From the corner of his eye, he could see another brown motley bull on the other side of the gray cow pick up a runner with his horns and drag him like a child’s doll for a few yards before he mercifully released him.

Sherman could hear the roar of the crowd reverberating through the narrow streets. The bullring must be up ahead, he thought to himself. Sherman turned the corner and ran into the Curva de Telefónica and there, in the distance, down the Callejón, was the entrance to the Plaza de Toros. The runners ahead of Sherman were shoulder to shoulder and all you could see was a white wall with a line of red handkerchiefs in front of him. There was not a lot of space between Sherman and the runner in front of him, but Sherman was determined not to get caught in the logjam at the entrance of the arena.

Fortunately, for Sherman, the motley brown bull was not going to tolerate these people in his way either. The bull lowered his head, rammed into the crowd, and opened a small gap through the wall of humanity. Sherman ran directly behind the bull and into the bullring arena. The packed crowd of runners in front of him suddenly separated allowing a 10 to 20 foot path into the middle of the bullring arena. Sherman ran 5 or 10 yards into the bullring and then moved to the left side of the crowd and turned to watch the other runners and bulls make their way into the arena.

What a freaking high, he yelled out loud as he joined the cheering mob. The night before had been a drunken orgy, but it did not compare to being inside a bullring with 50,000 screaming people and a hundred exhausted runners. Sherman had made the running of the bulls safely and without a scratch. The entire run had taken less than four minutes. He wondered if Jacqueline had seen it on television. Sherman knew that he would never have a rush such as this ever again in his life.

For the next hour or so several of the runners teased the bulls by running at them and then leaping physically over them. Occasionally a bull would catch the runner midair and fling him into the crowd with a snap of his head. What magnificent creatures. The cows will become hamburger, the bulls will fight and then they will be slaughtered. This is barbaric and I don't know why I'm not repulsed, he asked himself. The crowd, the runners, the moment overwhelmed Sherman. It was time to hit the bars to celebrate his accomplishment and drink himself senseless. Perhaps this would be the day that he would lose his demons, he thought to himself. He wished that his wife Diane had been there to see him run. Not that it was brave, perhaps stupid, but he had done it and had come through this ancient rite of passage uninjured. She would have been so happy and so proud.

Through the roar of the crowd, Sherman thought he heard someone yelling his name. He ignored the thought because he was alone in Pamplona and he was absolutely certain that no one that he knew would have the courage or would be foolhardy enough to run with the bulls. Sherman? Sherman Allen! yelled a tall thin wiry man, grabbing Sherman by the shoulders. Sherman looked at the man blankly. The right side of his face and the side of his white shirt were smeared with blood and dirt, detracting from the full set of perfectly white teeth outlining a huge smile. Sherman looked into the man's deep blue eyes until the shock of recognition worked its way through his adrenaline-clouded mind. David, David Montion. What the hell are you doing here? You crazy bastard! he yelled, grasping the man by the shoulders and jumping up and down like a high school kid at a pep rally.

What are you doing here with all these other crazy bastards? yelled David Montion. Sherman had known David for only a few months when Sherman handled a litigation team protecting the rights of a group of walnut farmers in the San Joaquin Valley around Stockton, California over 10 years ago. David was a walnut farmer who indulged in making gallons of homemade wine. Sherman and David had spent many evenings drinking from David's private wine cellar and talking about the similarity between creating a great bottle of wine and living a good hard-working life without the benefit of rich parents. Sherman respected David's success at developing hundreds of acres of empty land into productive walnut groves starting with a few acres, hard work and a good grip on his bootstraps. Suddenly, Sherman felt a surge of emotion go through his entire body. Sherman was so happy to see his friend. Sherman did not want David to see the tears in his eyes so he gave him a huge bear hug yelling, We made it. At our age, we ran with the bulls.

One of the side effects of the loss of Sherman's wife was his inability to disguise his emotions. For the vast majority of Sherman Allen's life, he was in absolute control of himself, his emotions and the direction of his life. With the death of his wife, all of that control evaporated and his life changed forever. Any small thing could trigger the flow of tears or a flood of feelings, which reached deep into his soul. Over time he had been able to suppress those feelings, unfortunately this was not one of those times. After jumping around for a while with his friend David, Sherman composed himself pushed him away and said Is your wife here? Any of your kids? Did you just up and leave your ranch and your wine cellar to take a chance that some bull would stick a horn up your ass? You crazy bastard. Hey, you are a couple years older than me. What the hell are you doing here? Do any of these bulls need a lawyer to keep them from being slaughtered? You crazy bastard, retorted David.

I'm really glad to see you, whatever reasons you have for being here. Everyone that I have had a drink with in the last couple of days has been so toasted that I may as well have been alone. When they throw us out of the bullring, if we are separated let us meet at La Nuez for a glass of wine. That is, if you don't have any other plans, said Sherman. I have no other plans Sherman. Moreover, even if I did, I would break them. Yes, we need to celebrate, he said. The crowd interrupted their discussion by moving rapidly backward as two nasty looking black bulls decided to chase a few of the runners around the bullring. Sherman and David separated, but Sherman knew that he would have someone to share the adventure of the day. Sherman looked for David in the crowd, but he was gone.

Jacqueline Du Lafont clung to her chair as she watched the television broadcast of the San Fermin Festival. Her heart raced when she spotted Sherman for a few seconds running alongside a large black bull and then run out of sight of the camera. A minute or two later she caught sight of Sherman following another large black bull through a crowd of runners and into the bullring. That crazy, stupid man made it. I knew he would, death wish and all, she said, her eyes brimming with tears. A few minutes later, she spotted Sherman in the crowd inside the bullring watching the runners' hi-jinks and teasing the bulls. She wanted to call him and congratulate him. Sherman had called the night before to tell her he was running on the second day of the Pamplona Encierro's, seven day San Fermin Festival.

Sherman had been drunk as a skunk when he talked to her. Sherman made little sense, but he told her that this was something that he had to do alone. I have a plan. I will not come in anywhere near the first group, but I know I can make it. I am bulletproof, Sherman, had said slurring his words. She wished that he had asked her to go. She would have found someone to give her a ringside seat in which to watch Sherman try to kill himself. He had been away for several weeks in one of his fits of depression.

She understood him better now, but only wished that she had the ability to reach into his heart has easily as his wife. In dying, she had tied him closer to her to the exclusion of every other woman. Perhaps in time she could reach him. Sherman was someone very special to her and she wanted him back. Wiping tears from her eyes, she sipped from a bottle of California Napa Valley BV Merlot. She had ordered several cases from California because she knew that Sherman liked that wine. Sherman had promised to come home after his trip to Spain. Jacqueline would be ready for him. I know that I am the best thing for him. I will make him want to stay, she said thinking about when she first met him in Virginia.

The Crime

Detective Rodriguez had seen dozens of homicides in his career as a detective for the San Francisco Police Department. Stabbings, shootings, blunt trauma and even a body which had been burned beyond recognition, but he had never encountered a homicide where the victim died over a couple of days and where the victim had been tortured and suffered a very painful death. A local real estate agent had discovered the body. She had been hired by the owner to sell his mother’s aging Victorian house in the Marina district of San Francisco. She called 911 immediately and unfortunately, when the paramedics attempted to resuscitate the victim, they contaminated much of the physical evidence. The uniformed police officers who appeared from nowhere, added to the confusion by searching the house and not giving the medical examiner or the forensic team enough time to preserve the crime scene. All in a day’s work, thought Detective Rodriguez. He had just completed his normal ten-hour shift and was about to go home for a good a night's sleep when the call came in to the Central station.

What time do you think this occurred, Detective Rodriguez asked the medical examiner. Are you asking when he died, when he was tied up or when he was shot? responded the medical examiner sarcastically. I would like to know an answer to all of those questions, do you have any educated guess that you can give me? asked Detective Rodriguez, annoyed at the sarcasm. It’s too early to tell. Judging from the clotting of the blood where he was shot in the knees, he has been bleeding on or off for two or three days. Judging from the condition of the muscles in his arms and the signs of his struggling reflected in the way the dust of the floor has been disturbed, it appears that he kept himself from choking for at least two days, but it is really hard to tell. My guess is that he died sometime between 9 and 11 in the evening. I will know more after an autopsy is conducted, he said going back to examining the body. The crime scene had been contaminated badly, the only unusual things that the Detective noticed was a recently opened plastic bottle of water near the body and that someone in high heels had been in the room recently.

Detective Rodriguez and his partner Sam Murphy spent the next few hours taking pictures and walking through all the rooms in the house. There was little to go on, but finding a body in this neighborhood would rattle all of the wealthy San Franciscans who lived in the area and they would pressure the police chief for answers. Well Murphy, we don’t have much. Somebody did not like this fellow and wanted him to suffer before he died. Once we identify the victim, we can start looking for someone that hated him. Poor bastard. Whoever did this, did not just want to kill him, they wanted him to suffer. We may get lucky, in these situations it’s usually a family member or a coworker, he said putting his notebook in his pocket. Yeah, our success rate hasn’t been that great, maybe we’ll get lucky, replied Murphy.

You know Murphy; I’ve seen this technique before. In the old Army training films before they shipped you to Vietnam, they would show you some of the torture techniques you could expect if you were captured. Hands tied behind your back, your ankles tied to a rope around your neck were a common way of torturing you. You could lie on your stomach with your body arched for hours, as you got tired and relaxed your muscles the rope would close around your neck and you would start to choke. While it can be used to kill you, it was normally used to try to get you to talk. If that didn’t work there was always water boarding or something similar, said Detective Rodriguez. So you think that we have a perpetrator with military background, asked Detective Murphy. Whoever shot the victim just blew off his knee cap. I could see one knee, but not both. He wanted the victim to suffer and possibly, if he lived, to be hobbled for life. Since there is no sign of a struggle or bullet holes, the victim must have been unconscious when he was brought to the house. The perpetrator had to be strong enough to drag him up the stairs and into the living room, said Detective Rodriguez.

Who found the victim, asked Detective Murphy to one of the uniformed officers standing at the door looking bored. In the next room, a real estate agent. She found the victim alive, choking, and called 911. No one has talked to her, so you get first shot, he said nodding his head