The Murder of Johan Milkozavich: A Sandra Lerner Mystery

By George W. Barclay Jr.

World famous transplant surgeon is murdered by his transplant team only to return from his grave. Johan Milkozavich is murdered in brothel, and the house manager is arrested and charged with murder. Sandra Lerner takes the case. Mystery, horror, mysticism, sex and violence in hostile neighborhood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 28, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469765396

George W. Barclay Jr.

Dr. George W. Barclay Jr. is retired Beaumont Cardiologist. He writes adventure, mystery, science fiction and metaphysics. This is his twenty-sixth novel. He is graduate of Texas AM and Southwestern Medical School (MD FACC).

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All Rights Reserved © 2002 by George W. Barclay Jr.

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

C h a p t e r 1

C h a p t e r 2

C h a p t e r 3

C h a p t e r 4

C h a p t e r 5

C h a p t e r 6

C h a p t e r 7

C h a p t e r 8

C h a p t e r 9

C h a p t e r 10

C h a p t e r 11

C h a p t e r 12

C h a p t e r 13

C h a p t e r 14

C h a p t e r 15

C h a p t e r 16

C h a p t e r 17

C h a p t e r 18

C h a p t e r 19

C h a p t e r 20

C h a p t e r 21

C h a p t e r 22

C h a p t e r 23

C h a p t e r 24

C h a p t e r 25

C h a p t e r 26

C h a p t e r 27

C h a p t e r 28

C h a p t e r 29

C h a p t e r 30

C h a p t e r 31

C h a p t e r 32

C h a p t e r 33

C h a p t e r 34

C h a p t e r 35

C h a p t e r 36

C h a p t e r 37

C h a p t e r 38

C h a p t e r 39

C h a p t e r 40

After thought

C H A P T E R 1

Houston, Texas April 19, 1991

Houston led the world in advanced surgical techniques, and Dr. Vladimer Pusske’, immigrant Russian scientist, had no equal. In the last two years, Dr. Pusske’ and his internationally famous transplant team had performed one thousand transplants using cadaver brain, heart, lungs, and kidneys, singularly, or, where needed, simultaneously with one operative procedure. His success was one hundred percent, and his complications few with the patient able to walk out of the hospital in four days and resume normal activities.

Concurrently with his busy surgical schedule he was involved in research on primate cloning for donor organs, and his paper, HETEROGRAPHIC CLONING AND ORGAN TRANSPLANTATION IN PRIMATES, had achieved wide scientific acclaim. It was rumored that he was on the short list for the Nobel Prize in Medicine.

Dr. Pusske’ and his wife Lote’ were host to his transplant team, Drs. Teena Mazon, Jack Strongbach, Shari Lanka, and Mohammed El Shamir, along with his close friends Johan Milkozavich and Father Frances Burke. During the celebration, Vladimer handed his wife a loaded 9mm Beretta, laughed, and challenged her. He held up his Russian Death Certificate and said, Go ahead. I dare you! You’ll see. I’m inerrant, infallible, indestructible, and immortal, like the Olympian gods.

Lote’ fired and the bullet struck Vladimer in the center of his chest. He smiled and continued to drink champaign.

Give that to me, commanded Teena Mazon. Teena grabbed the Beretta and emptied the clip in Vladimer’s chest. He slumped to the floor, turned cyanotic, then pale, and ceased to breathe. Dr. El Shamir, the cardiologist, felt his pulse and could detect no sign of life. Father Francis Burke performed last rites, and Johan Milkozavich dialed the phone and gave instructions to pick up the body. Vladimer had willed that he be buried at sea.

Sunday morning Vladimer surprised them all by making early morning hospital rounds and calling anesthesia and the transplant team out for an emergency heart transplantation with another to follow. Life went on as usual.

Two years later, on April 18, 1993, Dr. Pusske’ was admitted to West Mean Street Medical and Surgical Emergency Room DOA of an apparent heart attack. He was subsequently buried in his family mausoleum on April 21, 1993, and, on the evening of April 24, telephoned his wife from Disneyland. He returned to work on April 25. On Thursday evening, April 29, 1993, Johan Milkozavich fell victim of an ice pick murder at the Vista Ole’ Motor Hotel and Pool on the corner of Queen Boulevard and South Mean Street. Manager of the Vista Ole’, Sharla Castro, was arrested and charged with murder.

Friday, April 30, 1993, a dead whale washed up on Galveston’s West Beach. At autopsy Marine biologists found a forty gallon barrel containing the mummified remains of a white male thought dead two years.

* * * *

Sandra Lerner had agreed to accompany Sherry Deagio and a CIA agent to Tokyo to sign contracts between Nippon Imperial Oil Company and Saudi Royal Oil Company (SROCO). They would leave HIA at 5 p.m., fly Continental to Seattle, Pan Am to Tokyo, and return Sunday.

When Sandra got the call from Sharla Castro shortly after twelve Friday morning, April 30, she hurriedly dressed and drove to jail. Sharla was obviously beaten with bruised eyes, nose bleed, and laceration of the left brow.

Did you kill Milkozavich?

Nope! He beat me up. We had sex, and I went downstairs to work. I went back up later and found him dead with an ice pick sticking in his chest.

Sandra had successfully defended Sharla Castro Fernandez, same client, from charges of the ice pick murder of her husband, Sanchez Fernandez, about two years earlier. The police never located the murder weapon, and Dr. Berta Allen, dentist, testified that Sharla was keeping a dental appointment.

C H A P T E R 2

All rise.

"Judge Lois Morrison was thirty-eight, married and had two teenagers. Sandra had known her from the University and Law School, but they were never close friends, because Lois was quiet, studious, and family conscious. Rafael Allegromande, ADA, was thirty-five, recently divorced, horny as hell, and made a pest of himself with the eligible women not excluding Sandra.

Judge Morrison took her seat, looked at the clerk, and announced, first case.

Sandra and Sharla approached the bench. Rafael opened the first manila folder on his stack, and the clerk called out:

State of Texas vs. Sharla Castro. First Degree Murder.

"Your honor we were called by Miss Castro around ten last night to her apartment to investigate the fatal stabbing of Johan Milkozavich, 58 year old Russian American white male. Miss Castro told us he attacked her while intoxicated, beat her up, and raped her. She left him in bed asleep, and, when she returned to her apartment at ten, she found him dead, murdered, with an ice pick still in his chest. She tried to pull the ice pick out to perform CPR, but to no avail. When we arrived, his body was cooling, rectal temperature 97°, deeply cyanotic, and pupils were widely dilated and beginning to cloud. We found four puncture wounds neatly placed in the fourth intercostal space just to the left of his sternum. There was very little blood. It was our impression that the decedent had been stabbed expertly in the heart and died almost instantly. Only the defendant’s fingerprints were found on the ice pick, and there was no evidence of breaking and entering or struggle. The killer would have had to have a key and enter through the back door. We found nothing. The ice pick was part of a collection taken from the defendant’s kitchen.

Your honor, preliminary evidence is sufficient to support probable cause, and defendant should be bound over to Grand Jury Thursday, May 6, and arraigned on May 10.

Judge Morrison looked at Sandra.

My client pleads not guilty, your honor. Defense has no objection to Mr. Allegromande’s tentative schedule. Defense pleas she be released on her own recognizance.

No objection, said Rafael.

Sandra helped Sharla get her stuff together and called her a cab. Sandra explained she’d be out of town for the weekend but would get Derek Strong, her private detective, on it.

* * * *

Sandra met Derek at ground floor Park Shops.

"Dirk, I’m flying out of Houston International on Continental at five today and will be back at or around seven, Sunday. Sherry Deagio and I are flying to Tokyo on business. We’ll use the spiral parking garage at Concourse C near the top floor.

Is SROCO furnishing bodyguards?

CIA enroute and in Japan. We’ll take a taxi from Tokyo International to the Nippon Imperial Oil Building, sign some papers, and take a cab back to the airport. Strictly business!

Sandra handed Dirk a roll of hundred dollar bills. I’ve got a new job for you, she smiled.

For what’s the money?

Last night a man, Johan Milkozavich, was stabbed to death in the Vista Ole’ Motor Hotel and Pool on South Mean and Queen Boulevard. Our client, Sharla Castro, was arrested and charged with his murder. I got her released on her own recognizance this morning, and she’s back at work. Allegromande is ADA, and Dr. Oh Nu got the body.

Motive?

Mr. Milkozavich, first name, Johan, was intoxicated, barged into Sharla’s apartment on the second floor, beat her up, raped her, and took a nap. She went back to work and later returned to find her own ice pick sticking in his chest. Although he appeared dead, she tried to remove the ice pick and give him CPR. She called 911 at about ten and me from jail shortly after midnight.

Quick work! They seem pretty confident?

Bill Riley is on vacation, and Rafael is pushing. Grand jury next Thursday and arraignment Monday week.

* * * *

Sandra skipped the office, and hurried back to her high-rise. She removed her shoulder holster and thirty-eight, undressed, showered, dressed for travel, made her face, and packed a light bag to carry overhead. Sherry knocked, and Sandra let her in.

We’re to meet Jack at four.

Jack have a last name?

* * * *

Sandra called her other private investigator, Tisha Lafemme, and requested that she call her Sunday evening. Then she called Ahava (Cissy) Berger in Pasadena. Cissy was an Israeli operative assigned to watch NASA."

Your phone tapped, Cissy?

I hope not, Sandra. Let’s don’t reveal any secrets, okay, she giggled.

What’s new that’s not classified?

Do you know the biggest lie of all time?

I give up. You tell me.

There’s no God but Allah, and Muhammed was his prophet. Cissy waited.

You are pulling a Jewish joke on me. Go on.

The second biggest lie is that God created the whole universe and everything in it in six days, she waited.

Okay, Cissy, get to the punch line. I’m fixing to catch a plane.

Do you know why there are virgins in heaven? muffling her laugh.

No, replied Sandra, giggling.

Cissy started laughing. Because souls don’t have any balls. Sandra laughed with her.

You’re pregnant with Joe Cain’s child. Sandra guessed.

Somebody told you!

Nope, I could tell you were high on something. You know why Mona Lisa smiles?

She’s pregnant! That joke is fifty years old, at least.

What goes around comes around. I’m getting ready to leave for the airport.

One word of caution, Sandra. This information is not classified. I’ll be brief. There’s a new terrorist Jihad organization called the El Wahhabi, who are fundamentalist that believe the only way to heaven is to blow everybody up that doesn’t believe as they do. I’m not kidding! They’re worse than the Saudi Hezballah who just want to run off or kill off the Al Saudi family. The El Wahhabi preach that Jesus is coming back as a Muslim and kill all the Jews and Infidels. Absolute craziness!

Congratulations, Cissy, and give my best to Joe. I hope it’s a girl.

* * * *

The airport was full of Southeast Asians and Middle Eastern types, and there would be no open luggage and passport inspection before Seattle.

Sherry had three booklets containing round trip tickets. One belonged to Jack Kennedy with a Washington D.C. address. Their boarding passes had them by a back window in the smoking section. The boarding announcement came over the public address, and the handicapped and children followed by the first class ticket holders began to board. Still no Jack.

C H A P T E R 3

It’s not difficult getting copies of unclassified public records, if you hand the clerk a ten. Dirk got a couple of Sandra’s hundreds broken down to smaller bills and headed for homicide where he was able to get the patrol officer’s report, the patrol sergeant’s report, and the homicide sergeant’s preliminary reports. He noticed EMS arrived at 9:45

P.M. and the first police officer, Sergeant Green, arrived at 10 P.M. Dirk chuckled. Among the inventory of the decedent’s clothes and personal possessions was a 9mm Beretta.

Dirk walked into Dr. Nu’s office at the City-County morgue. Dirk threw a pouch of Granger pipe tobacco on his desk. Dr. Nu opened it, filled his pipe, lit up and inhaled deeply. Granger is difficult to find anymore. It’s my favorite. We public servants can’t accept bribes, only love offerings.

Dirk laughed. I’m interested in Johan Milkozavich, stabbed to death by his girlfriend last night. Sandra Lerner pled her not guilty this morning. She’s out on a recognizance bail.

Damn! Sounds like battered girlfriend syndrome to me. For starters his blood alcohol was 0.28 which is over three times legal limit for drunkenness. He was probably dead drunk. All four ice pick puncture wounds pierced his major anterior coronary artery. He had a large blood clot in his heart cover, the pericardium, which tamponaded his heart and contributed to his demise. The cause of death was fatal ice pick wound to the heart, and manner of death was homicide. Dr. Nu was still puffing on his pipe and enjoying himself. He picked up a chest x-ray and put it on the view box. What caliber of bullet is that?"

Dirk located a bullet at the level of the tenth vertebrae lodged in the spine.

It’s a 0.38 or a 9mm. You’re not going to be able to tell unless you match it up or send it in to Beretta USA. Do you have the murder weapon?

No! That’s an x-ray of a mummified corpse taken from the belly of a whale and sent in here for identification and forensic. He’s been dead about two years.

May I make a suggestion?

Surely.

Do a ballistic and identification study on the 9mm they took off Milkozavich and match it with the slug in your mummy.

* * * *

Dirk drove on South Loop US 610 and turned south on South Queen Boulevard into south central Houston which reminded Dirk of Watts, Los Angeles. He didn’t see a friendly Exxon or McDonalds sign anywhere.

He decided Sharla Castro and the crime scene were priority, and he’d sightsee another day.

After a mile and many side streets he arrived at the intersection of Queen with South Mean. The light was green, so he made a left onto South Mean and pulled into the Vista Ole’ parking lot. The Vista was a two floor yellow brick with connecting balconies front and back, metal stairs, and shaped like an L with the long end parallel to Queen. There was a swimming pool out back with poolside umbrella tables and chairs.

A light skinned Negro male was at the registration desk. No customers were in the lobby, and, except for public restrooms and public telephone, there were no other conveniences. Dirk flashed his badge and license, introduced himself, presented his business card (HAVE GUN WILL TRAVEL) and asked for Sharla Castro. The clerk called Sharla, and pointed to a stairway leading up to the second floor. She’s expecting you. Just knock.

The police had yellow and black-taped the top of the stairs and posted it off limits to all but the occupant, Sharla.

She answered his knock, helped him duck under the tape, and welcomed him in. She obviously had straightened up the room and made the bed. Sharla was dressed in a sheer negligee’ and bikini-like under-things. Her jaw and eyes were darkly bruised, but otherwise, she appeared healthy.

Sandra said you’d show up, Mr. Strong.

Please call me Derek or Dirk. He smiled.

He started snoring, and I went downstairs to my office and soaked my face with a towel and ice.

Any witnesses?

Yleta Frisbee, the colored below at the desk. He keeps a sign-in book. Probably a dozen couples signed in and paid cash.

That’s your only record?

Yes! Each girl keeps everything over fifty dollars, and at the end of the month they pay a Russian tax of ten percent across the street. Everything is cash up front, American. No foreign currency or records.

What do you do, Sharla? They have you on a salary?

I run this place, Yleta, maids, maintenance—the whole nine yards. I keep a cooked set of books downstairs for the IRS. We mostly deal in cash.

What’s your accountant’s name?

DeBlanc! Pierre DeBlanc comes by once or twice a month and checks the books. He was here last night when I was soaking my face.

What are your business hours?

Eight until six or in the winter from dark until daylight. The cleaning people start at 8 A.M.

What about Yleta?

He lives across the hall in 202. He’s on the desk during business hours, and sometimes we trade off.

Are any cops your customers?

Are you kidding? Next to Dunkin’ Doughnuts they like us best. You can’t run a decent whorehouse unless you got the cooperation of the law and somebody on the scene to protect the girls.

Why did you try to pull the ice pick out? He was dead.

I discovered it was mine. It was one of a set I got as a wedding present, so I stuck it back in and lied. I want it back after the trial.

Did he have a key to this room? Do front and back take the same key?

I’ve never seen a key to the back. I open and close it from the inside. He was the owner. We all three—Johan, Yleta, and I have a master key to the rooms. Housekeeping has a master key. The Mexican clean up guys! There’s all kinds of master keys floating around. Anybody can have one copied. Johan could have given someone a copy. Who knows.

May I borrow your master key? Dirk took her key, went to the kitchen, opened the door and tried her master key. It wouldn’t fit, and the lock was a different brand. There were some fresh markings around the keyhole suggesting the intruder had difficulty inserting the right key in the dark. There was plenty of fingerprint dust all over, but no fingerprints that he could discern with the naked eye. They probably drew a blank. There was some white powder on the doorknob, on the kitchen drawer where Sharla kept her ice picks, and in the hall broom closet. Not much, but clearly visible to a trained eye. The broom closet was big enough to conceal an intruder. There was some gravel on the floor, a few spots of white powder, and a bundle of rolled up toilet paper in the mop bucket. It had a bad odor. Sharla had gone back and turned on the TV. He opened the wadded up toilet paper and found a blood soaked used Tampax. He rolled it up and put it in his back pocket. Ugh! Obviously the police had missed the Tampax. He took an empty envelope, scraped up the gravel and powder and put them in his coat pocket. He closed the closet door and asked, You mind if I go into your bathroom?

Nope! If you don’t mind the mess. I plan on cleaning it up as soon as they release the room. I haven’t had a good shower in three days—just a whore’s bath.

Dirk looked around. The shower soap and soap dish were wet. He went to the kitchen and came back with a dinner knife and scraped off some dried blood from the shower drain. Sharla, do you still menstruate?

Nope! My second husband gave me a hysterectomy for my birthday.

I didn’t see any scars.

I had a vaginal and an appendectomy about four years ago. They just left the playpen. She giggled and held her sore jaw.

He put the dried blood in an envelope and safely in his pocket and walked back to Sharla.

You got any old fashion ink?

Sharla retrieved a bottle from her desk drawer. He put a tiny bit of the white powder on a scotch towel. A tiny drop of ink made a big dark stain that spread out radially from the center of the powder. Starch! Somebody, a menstruating female, walked through gravel and wore rubber gloves. Dirk smiled.

What happened to your second husband?

He was murdered in bed with an ice pick through his heart. I’m serious! Two years ago. Booker Washington was the investigating officer, and Miss Lerner got me off because of insufficient evidence and reasonable doubt. I took my maiden name back. His name was Fernandez. His brother runs Pancho’s Body Shop down the street. Sanchez Fernandez!

Any other husbands?

It’s on file in Cameron County courthouse. Luther Martin from Brownsville was my first husband. He disappeared for ten years and was declared dead in 1985 by court order. I married Sanchez in old Mexico in 1986. He was ice-picked in our bed in February 1991. Miss Lerner was my lawyer.

The Luther Martin that runs a gym and promotes boxing?

Yes! He had amnesia.

C H A P T E R 4

Dirk took a chance on the Private Laboratory being open on Saturday morning and rushed to get on the loop which was an unquestionable risk of accident after five on Fridays. Seventy was average speed, and, if you slowed to change lanes or get off, you risked sideswipe, tailgate, or pile up.