A Pacific Murder

By J. Marshall

A battered body is found floating in the Pacific Ocean along the cliffs of the small and very wealthy city of Pacific Verde located in the greater Los Angeles area. The local police assume the man either slipped off the edge of the cliffs or chose to jump to his death onto the rocks below. The true cause of death is revealed when the victim is rolled over. Local detective Diana du Coeur is assigned to the murder. The identity of the murder victim pulls in the Los Angeles Police Department to the investigation and the whole of downtown Los Angeles is shaken by the crime and scandalous implications that arise with the findings of the police. LAPD detective Chris Morrison teams with Diana and together they uncover a ruthless killer at the heart of criminal and political tangle directing a complicated and deadly push for money and power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Marshall
• Release date: May 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310804175

J. Marshall

J. Marshall was born and raised in Southern California. He is married to a very supportive wife and has two terrific children. After teaching English for many years he decided to write his own book to experience the challenges that his favorite authors endured and found that it magnified their accomplishments.

Book preview

Turning a tight circle, the helicopter zeroed in on the body at the edge of the sandstone cliffs. A corpse trapped in a shallow tide pool, floated rhythmically along with the waves of the Pacific Ocean. Detective Diana du Coeur of the Pacific Verde police department stood at the edge of the cliff and noted on the motion of the body in green-black water. She called on the radio to the two uniformed police officers that had finished making their way down the narrow and steep trail and stood next to the body.

The man is dead, isn’t he, John?

Yep, he’s pretty dead.

Diana looked up at the chopper pilot, who gave her a thumbs up and then a quick salute. He spoke into his radio, Looks like you and your men have the situation covered. I’m going to head south to see if we have any additional bodies which might have drifted farther along in the current.

Thank you, officer. Let’s hope not.

Diana looked back down to the shore and saw Sargent John Cooper standing at the edge of the tide pool with his head askew studying the body.

John glanced back at the cliff in time to see her starting down the trail and said, Take care, Detective. That’s one slippery slope you’re on.

John, I grew up a few blocks from here. I’ve been up and down this trail I don’t know how many times.

There’s no need to be in a hurry. This guy looks as if he was in a high-speed car wreck. Why don’t you concentrate on walking down that rock slide?

Diana walked and slid expertly down the uneven path, descending with the surety of a person who had roamed that trail since childhood. Her raven-colored hair danced with the sea breeze. She stopped and scanned down to the rocky beach with dark brown eyes that contrasted with fair skin that featured a touch of olive shading. The sharp lines of her face often revealed her mood before her words as she usually spoke in a quiet and deliberate manner. She was thin but ample in breast and moved with an athlete’s grace. Diana gained speed at the bottom of the dirt trail and gracefully landed on the pebble and rock-strewn beach. Making her way along the beach she looked at the gray morning sky and felt a chill that rode in on a gust of wind. She gingerly walked on the uneven rock strata that jutted out from the water’s edge and stood next to John.

The man appears to be a bit under dressed for the season, doesn’t he? asked John.

I would say so. It was pretty chilly last night, answered Diana.

Chilly? Detective, it was cold last night with that wind. Summer has up and left us over a month ago, said John.

Diana looked down and said, He looks to be Hispanic or possibly Indian from his darker skin and black hair. He seems to be fairly tall, or he used to be tall. It’s hard to tell from his legs.

She could see right away that body had been badly beaten up. It must have fallen almost a two hundred feet down to the rocks. The energy gathered up during the fall had ripped through the man’s body on impact; it torn flesh, fractured, and then rearranged his limbs. One leg looked markedly shorter. The left femur had exploded which had caused the thigh muscles to tightly contract, pulling the leg upward. The resultant damage of that massive internal shockwave was now frightfully plain to see. Loud snaps must have competed with the sound of the waves. He might be difficult to gather up.

Poor soul. I hope he died immediately, said Diana.

I don’t even want to imagine this guy drowning after being busted up like this, said the pale younger uniformed officer.

Its your first corpse isn’t it Billy? asked John.

Yes.

They can set your breakfast back some. When you choose to become a cop you often come across bodies; however, we won’t see much of it in this town, so let’s just get through the morning without you losing your ham and eggs, OK?

Billy offered a syllable of some kind and steadied himself.

I wonder when he fell, said Diana as she heard her name on the radio. It was the voice of Mike Irons, the chief of police. Diana, what do we have? he asked.

A male, possible Hispanic but could be Indian, or Pakistani; it’s hard to tell. As you can see he’s not wearing a shirt; he’s also missing one shoe. There’s a lot of trauma to the limbs; injuries from the fall I assume. It’s possible the other shoe came off on impact. We haven’t turned him over yet, reported Diana.

Well if he’s busted up that bad, he probably fell from up here and didn’t drift down from up north some place. Diana, wait for the medical examiner before any of you touch the body. He’s pulling up now and will be with you shortly. See if you can find anything else down there that will tell us whether this is an accident or a suicide.

Will do, Mike.

I’m sorry about screwing up your schedule. I know you had your day all laid out at one of the high schools, but Bob Mason started on a week long vacation today. He’s retiring in two months and he has a boatload of sick leave accumulated, so he’s off again, fishing down in Mexico.

No worries. My problem children aren’t going anywhere.

Diana scoured the beach, looking for evidence but found nothing that might be connected with the victim. She looked out at the gray, soupy sky and the dark, shifting ocean and shivered a bit. Winter might be weeks away, but an uncomfortable chill hung on from the night before. She hoped the sun would gain enough momentum to burn off this gray in the next hour.

Diana asked herself, Why in the world does that man not have a shirt on? He should be in at least a jacket or sweater as cold as it was.

She surveyed the beach but saw nothing. She looked over and saw the medical examiner speaking to the two policemen standing near the body and gesturing to them to roll the corpse over so Diana made her way back over to the group.

Oh, man! This guy is going to be a mess when we turn him over, said a young cop.

I don’t think so, said John. His coconut is still fairly round. I bet his head landed in the water. Jesus, I wonder if this guy did drown. Imagine lying face first in the water after bouncing off these rocks, unable to move and knowing you’re drowning. Yikes. Bad times, right, amigo?

The two officers flanked the body and lifted, pushed, and pulled, trying to coordinate their efforts to rotate the limp, lifeless man. His dead flesh felt uncomfortably cold to the touch, but the officers doubled their efforts and the body spun. Death appeared in full force. The man’s blood had settled in cells of the lower half of the body. The face and front of the torso were stained purplish blue. Despite that horror, all could now see that this death was no accident or suicide. The neat hole centered in the man’s forehead caught everyone’s eye. A split second later the four bullet holes in the man’s chest drew everyone’s attention.

John whistled and said, This fella sure didn’t drown.

My God, this is going to make things much more difficult. I just hate to see violence like this, said Diana.

Up above, on the cliff’s edge Steve Van Der Zee, the mayor of the little town, had joined the police chief. He handed Mike a cup of coffee.

I’d stopped off for a cup of mud on my way to the office when I saw the helicopter circling, so I thought I would bring you one and see what was going on. What do we have, Mike?

Thank you, thank you, this is just what I needed, and he raised the hot cup in salute to Steve. We have a body down there. It’s probably an accident, or maybe a suicide, but that’s all I know right now. The guy is half dressed so maybe he went nuts last night and did a swan dive. Who knows, but something odd is going on. Diana, what do we have down there?

Murder.

Mike stopped mid-sip, Murder? Explain yourself, detective.

We have a middle-aged male, Hispanic, I pretty sure, with what looks like five bullet holes, four in his chest and one in his forehead.

Ah, shit, said Mike, dropping his head, Why would we have this crap here. I wonder if he floated in from Venice or Santa Monica.

I don’t think so. He looks pretty busted up, like he landed on the rocks and got stuck, said Diana.

Oh, for God’s sake, a murder, said Steve

Diana, I want you three to search that entire area down there to see if you can find his clothing and his other shoe or anything at all and when you’re done come up and we’ll begin a search all along the cliffs, said Mike.

A murder here, Steve said again, Unbelievable.

Both men looked down below at the increasingly crowded scene. Two newly arrived ambulance workers were attempting to fish out the body to place it on the gurney that they had wrestled down the trail. The medical examiner was directing their efforts. They lost their grip on the body and it rolled on to its face again.

Steve studied the scene. Damn, why would this happen here, and what are we going to do? he asked.

Two good questions, said Mike. We’re going to be very busy trying to find out the answers. I may be just a small town cop of a very small department, but we will do our best to find the answers.

Mike, I know that. I just mean that our quiet little town is full of nice people who don’t break the law, much less shoot someone a five times.

You’re right, of course. I don’t see any of our local doctors or lawyers engaging in this kind of shit.

You know what this means. We’re going to get all sorts of media coming around and undoubtedly making a nuisance and bothering everybody. People around here pay a lot of money for their homes to avoid crap like this. Something like this could hurt the town’s image, said Steve.

Mike gave him a slight look of disbelief.

Now, don’t get me wrong; it’s terrible what happened to this man, but he was murdered in a place where people never get murdered, said Steve.

Steve Van Der Zee not only served as mayor of the small and affluent town but also was the most successful practicing real estate attorney in the area. News like this could shake people up. This is a safe place. A lot of people forgot to lock their front door at night and didn’t worry about when they woke in the morning. Nobody would welcome this kind of trouble from an outside, rude world.

Diana and the two uniformed officers crested into view and walked over to Mike and Steve.

We found nothing anywhere around the immediate area. We looked for the rest of his clothing but couldn’t find any. I suspect the killing happened up here and then the victim was thrown off the cliff, said Diana breathing noticeably.

Well, that’s just an awful concept, said Steve.

It makes sense, though, said Mike. We need to make a thorough search from here until the end of the cliffs. There’s no telling if he landed here or drifted down a little ways from over at the north cliffs.

Mike motioned to the body on the gurney and they walked over to it. Mike spoke to the ME, Let’s see the body.

With a nodded assent the medical examiner drew opened the bag and all looked down at the victim’s grotesque face, saw the punctuated forehead, the wide-opened eyes, and the gaping mouth.

Jesus, he looks like he came out of some low-grade horror movie. We need to take care of this situation as fast as possible, said Steve.

Mike shot a look at Steve, his anger beginning to show.

We’re going to do our best; however, this will be our department’s first homicide since I joined the force twenty years ago. We’re going to be very careful in how we proceed in our investigation. We can’t just wrap up the case by tonight.

I’m sorry. I just wish this hadn’t happened.

Trust me, I wish it hadn’t happened as well. OK, we need to identify this man so we can notify next of kin and maybe get a better idea of why he was here in the first place.

Does he have any ID on him? asked Steve. Maybe he works somewhere here.

Could be, He’s wearing slacks and one loafer, with tassels yet. I wonder if he just bought a home here or maybe he rents an apartment, offered Mike.

Diana said, John checked his pockets but didn’t find a wallet. I don’t know him nor have I ever seen him around town, do either of you know him?

I don’t know the man, said Mike.

I don’t think so, said Steve slowly. I see all the listings of home sales; I don’t remember any recent buyers with Hispanic names.

Diana said, It’s possible he wasn’t shot here; just dumped off.

Mike asked the medical examiner, How long do you think he’s been dead and in the water?

My initial estimate tells me that he’s been deceased over night.

Mike said to Diana, Bring John and his young ward over to me I want to speak with him.

Diana nodded and said, Be right back.

Steve remained silent for a moment bothered by some vague, nagging thought. None of our residents would shoot this guy, he said. As far as real crimes go, all we get out here is an occasional burglary or some petty theft. A homeowner confronted face-to-face with a burglar would have called nine-one-one and asked for help, not shoot him. We’ve never had any kind of shooting, have we?

No. Besides he’s not dressed exactly like a burglar, not in slacks and loafers.

Geez Louise. People aren’t going to be happy.

Mike said, I agree, it’s a first. We don’t have to say anything right now. None of the news helicopters have made their way over here yet. As far as anyone around here knows, all we have is an accident not a homicide. Once we remove the body, any interest in this morning’s activities will die down. If someone asks, I’ll stall a bit and say that we don’t want to give out any details until the family is notified.

Mike looked down the street at the very large homes and added, He does look Hispanic to me. If so his killer may be on his way to Mexico. Damn, if we can’t make any headway on the case, we’ll have to go public, and see if anyone knows this man.

Of course. I just hope you can figure this out quickly, before we have to do that, said Steve.

So do I. I’ll call our neighboring police departments. They are more experienced in investigating this type of crime. This guy may be from someplace around there. I’ll have Diana coordinate with them; she’s a damn good detective, and by far one of the best people persons I’ve got.

Diana came back with Sergeant John Cooper and Billy just as Mike asked the mayor, Something’s bothering me; does this guy look a little familiar to you?

You know, that’s been bugging me too. His face is discolored and it’s contorted, but it seems sort of familiar. I don’t know; I’ve been too busy going over in my head what we should do next.

Billy joked, Sir, why don’t you call the chief of police or the mayor of San Peder? Coop told me that they end up with dead Hispanics males from time to time.

Steve flinched just as if he had stepped on a live electrical wire, he reached over and grabbed the chief’s arm and said, Oh, Jesus, Mike. This isn’t their Mayor, is it?

Whose mayor? Mike looked back down and studied the face with the vacant eyes and then he flinched. Holy shit! It could be!

Mike and Steve both studied the body again to confirm their fears. They started talking in very low tones and decided they needed to find the victim’s ID as fast as possible.

Billy straighten up and looked at Diana, asking Wait, this isn’t the mayor of San Peder, is it? Hey, I was just kidding.

A pained Diana asked, John, San Peder doesn’t have its own mayor, does it?

No, it doesn’t.

Billy added, What are you guys talking about? San Peder is a city; it’s got to have a mayor.

It isn’t really a city Billy; it’s a thin section of the city of Los Angeles that runs down to the port, said Mike.

Diana spoke after a couple of seconds, So that means this guy might be the mayor of Los Angeles.

This is just going terribly wrong, said Steve.

Diana slowly said, We may have an assassination here.

If that’s true, said Mike, all sorts of shit is going to come at us at light speed when the news gets out that the mayor of Los Angeles, Juan Tomás de la Grande, is laying dead at our feet, murdered.

Chapter Two

Lynne Williams, the mayor’s chief of staff, wondered aloud, He’s over an hour late. Where in the world could he be, Pablo? She looked directly at the deputy mayor of city communications, Pablo Martinez.

I really have no idea. He said he’d be here at eight at the latest and warned everyone else to be on time, replied Pablo. He felt like saying, This wouldn’t be the first time Juan screwed up by not getting to some important event on time, but he refrained.

Instead, he said, We have three hours before the conference begins, he’ll make it.

The two stood outside the mayor’s office amid a rush of city workers as they prepared for a day of diplomats, meetings, a cascade of international food, expensive wine, and finally the introduction of a lucrative treaty signed between the city of Los Angeles and several cities in southern China, especially Shanghai.

Juan had told his staff that Los Angeles would become the sole exporter to southern China, and someday, to the rest of Asia. By providing ridiculously low harbor fees and city-subsidized storage fees for Chinese goods flowing into America, Shanghai and other Chinese port cities would trade exclusively with Los Angeles. Shanghai wanted high-end luxury goods like California wine, Hollywood movies, Disney memorabilia, and ginseng grown in the central valley. Other and more important products from the rest of America would directly ship to Guanzhou and Qingdao with a minimum of government delay and at a reduced tariff. Juan called it the express lane of international shipping.

People in China love us, Juan had said while negotiating the treaty. The growing moneyed population of China has taken a liking to American products. They look for the stamp ‘Made in the USA’ as opposed to the locally made crap the Chinese government had reserved for its citizens.

Juan wanted to push out the other West Coast ports as a point of departure for China, and if he could legally lock San Francisco out of the Chinese market, the deal would be even sweeter.

Juan had said many times, Those uppity bastards up in Frisco hate us. Their superior attitude has always pissed me off. Besides, what in the hell are they famous for besides trolley cars, homos, and fog?

De la Grande had pushed the Chinese trade council for exclusive distribution rights for shipping from the West Coast, and to the amazement of everybody in LA city government, he had succeeded.

I can’t wait until I hear them howl in San Fran, along with those fucking hippies in Seattle and Portland, laughed Juan.

Lynne turned to scan the hallway in hopes of seeing Juan and shook her head and sighed to no one in particular, This is so damn annoying. For him to be a no-show is typical, but not on a day where he is suppose to shine in front of the cameras.

What the hell is that suppose to mean? asked Pablo.

All sorts of men who saw this very attractive but business-first woman of twenty-seven years, blessed with a rich, deep brown skin, and black hair, furtively drew up plans for conquest. Her achingly inviting feminine body and lovely brown eyes pummeled their senses and lit fire to their loins. Sadly, she rejected all offers of courtship and none of the civil servants had, as of yet, won her heart. This fueled rumors about her preferences in companions, and a few women approached Lynne with offers of something deeper than friendship but were politely rebuked. Lynne considered the workplace simply that, a place of work and nothing else; she would not entwine her personal life with the people in city government, much to the displeasure of a lot of frustrated men.

Damn it. Juan picked the wrong day to act like a teenager, said Lynne.

She ran the city with a noticeably efficient manner whenever the mayor discovered himself too ill to command his public office, or when he simply found the role too demanding and slipped off for a bit of R and R. Lynne had grown up in this city and truly cared for it. She did not like it when people failed her or her city; merely being the boss warranted no exception.

I can only assume he went out late last night. He’s not answering his home or cell phones, and he left me no other number. He looked me in the eyes yesterday and promised he would be here early, said Lynne with a building sense of exasperation.

She added, We’ve a million things to do to get ready, all he has to do is to show up, stand up there, read the damned teleprompter, then shake hands and smile for the news cameras.

Stop worrying, Pablo chimed in again.

We aren’t just dedicating a neighborhood park; this is the announcement of a historic international event. What do I tell the Chinese? ‘I’m so sorry, please accept our deepest apologies, but our mayor is fast asleep on some hung-over blonde out in Marina del Rey.’ You know he’s a sucker for blondes, Pablo, and redheads, and brunettes.

Pablo said, Take it down a notch or two, would you. Jesus, it’s not quite nine and the conference isn’t until noon. He’ll show up. This announcement is very important to Juan; he needs this to make his move to Washington later this year. The president desperately wants a prominent and popular Hispanic to become a California US Senator. He feels that if Juan serves in his cabinet for two years he will be ready for a run at the senate. Then the president can send a Hispanic political clout down to speak to Central and South America and bring them in on America’s side with global issues. He’s a shoo-in to win the office with all the support of the Latino and white Democratic voters.

Part Hispanic you mean. Juan’s mother is half Greek and half Lebanese. I swear the man lives on kabobs and rice. His own mom calls him Johnny at family get-togethers or here in his office when she thinks the staff doesn’t hear her.

That doesn’t matter. As far as the public is concerned, he’s Hispanic, said Pablo.

Most people have never heard Juan’s Spanish.

They won’t care. The name is right and he looks the part, and we can get him a tutor, besides who has done more for Hispanics in this city than Juan?

True.

So calm down; he’ll show up.

Then why isn’t he here now? We only have two hours until the entire red-guard arrives, demanded Lynne.

Just relax alright, he said again with an edge this time.

Pablo didn’t care for Lynne Williams and wished Juan had picked anyone else for his chief of staff, someone who wasn’t as comfortably combative toward him. He felt she had taken her position to places in the office where she didn’t belong. Her eyes radiated strength not deference and worse, Lynne ignored Pablo when she shouldn’t have. His father had taught him about the nature of respect a woman owed to a man of importance.

Last night I told his driver, Manny, not to make any stops or detours in taking Juan home. Manny said he did as I told him. Anyway, he told me that Juan was tired and didn’t feel like going out, so he drove him straight home.

So where is he? demanded Lynne.

With an audible sigh, Pablo lectured, I’ve known Juan before law school. We roamed the streets of Beverly Hills when we were students at UCLA, and I’ve seen him handle every type of situation. He knows when something is important and he thrives on pressure, but sometimes Juan gets bored. He should have been home last night, but even if he did slip out for a little late night fun, he’ll still be here.

And when he doesn’t show? asked Lynne.

I’m telling you that won’t happen. It would take a natural disaster or worse for that to happen, said Pablo.

He knew the Los Angeles mayor better than almost anybody else in government. Pablo’s parents had emigrated from the same rural area of Mexico as Juan’s great grandparents. Both generations wanted their children to be American citizens, and both had braved the long and difficult journey to make that happen. Pablo grew up poor on the problematic streets of Boyle Heights, near downtown Los Angeles while Juan was driven around the extravagantly affluent streets of Brentwood.

Pablo was a year younger than Juan and was raised by a fiercely protective mother and devoted father. He in return, had excelled in school, earned scholarships, and entered the university of his dreams.

Unfortunately, Pablo was born a small child and, worse, unattractive, and he remained so as a grown man. Pablo would never make it far in public office; not in Los Angeles; ugliness is an unforgivable sin in this town. He felt he would never achieve the position he desired so he made alternate plans. If Pablo could never be the face of power he could still be the influence, another fabled man behind the curtain, pulling the levels, hidden by steam. He only needed a face.

From the start of his career, Pablo had earned respect of the downtown courtroom community, performing as