Evil Error E-Book

Rena Winters

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

In 1953, the first case of ‘mercy killing’ was recorded in the Arizona Homicide Files. A former policeman is accused of killing his invalid daughter. There are extenuating circumstances, but what are the reasons for the murder, and who actually committed the crime?

Against all odds, investigative reporter Gene McLain, of the Arizona Republic newspaper, puts his career on the line in pursuit of the truth, and later becomes known as “the greatest investigative reporter of our time,” winning five Big Story awards and a Pulitzer prize.

This high-tension thriller by Hollywood producer, director and writer Rena Winters is based on the true story of a man who proved that one person can make a difference.

Leseprobe

EVIL ERROR

ARIZONA HOMICIDE FILES

BOOK 3

RENA WINTERS

CONTENTS

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Award

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Rena Winters

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by Lordan June Pinote

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

PREFACE

This book is based on a true homicide incident that took place in the 1950s in Arizona.

Gene McLain, “Bulldog” “Man of Murder,” was an investigative reporter employed by a national Hearst newspaper who wrote and solved major crimes.

In the 1950s, computers were not used in police work; there was no internet, cell phones, boom boxes, MTV, seat belts, air bags, VHS, CDs, DVDs, or DNA testing. None of the technology we take for granted today was available. There was only the teletype, and law enforcement agencies were not connected.

Television was brand new and the nation was amazed at black-and-white pictures that came out of the air. There was no air conditioning in vehicles and air conditioning in new homes was just coming to the marketplace.

There was no Miranda-Escondido law. When you were arrested, you forfeited your rights and the police and sheriff departments could get confessions any way they wanted.

We did have crime, and that’s what this is all about. The world of homicide and the mean streets, Gene McLain’s world. He not only wrote award-winning stories about crimes, in many instances he solved them.

PROLOGUE

SAHARA TRAILER PARK

It was a great day. It was a Saturday in May 1955 in Phoenix, Arizona, and spring had just started to bloom. Trees and flowers were springing forth all around the trailer park where Pop Nagel and his daughter Stephanie lived. It was a beautiful sight to see. This was always a great time of year as Phoenix is mostly desert, and once summer comes, nothing blooms and it is hot and arid for months.

This was a special day, the day of the birthday party celebration for his daughter.

He had planned this party for two months. Every detail was to be perfect. All this last week he had cleaned the house, the small but adequate trailer that he and his daughter lived in. Pop Nagel, a retired Brooklyn police officer, had taken care of his crippled daughter since his wife died when the child was one year old, deserting them. He had fed his daughter, bathed and dressed her for the past twenty-eight years and now she was about to be twenty-nine years old.

At one point, for a few brief weeks, he had tried to put her in an institution, but he was unable to stand her tears begging him to take her home to their house trailer. That was the only answer. So for the majority of the past years he had taken care of her every wish. He had spent little time on anything for himself, whether it was money or social events. Everything was directed to taking special care of Stephanie twenty-four hours a day. Yes, it was time-consuming and consumed his whole life, but really there was nothing else in his life. He did not have a social life since his wife died. Most women were afraid to get involved for fear of having to take care of Stephanie, and he did not pursue outside entanglements. He had all he could do with Stephanie and they were happy together. He lived a very quiet life, especially since he retired. He read the newspaper, watched TV, occasionally took Stephanie out to eat, planted a few vegetables in their small garden, but most of the time they spent together just enjoying every day.

Pop had taken the news hard when the young doctor told him that he had cancer.

No one likes being told they are sick but it was not for himself that he felt deep sorrow in his soul. It was for his crippled, helpless daughter. The daughter he had fed, bathed and dressed all her life.

They had a little party. She loved parties. He helped her into her favorite dress. They had the foods she liked best then topped it off with white cake and ice cream.

Afterwards, while she watched TV, Pop thought about the future. Would he be able to take care of her? Would he survive until she died? Should he take his own life and leave her to fend for herself, which she really couldn’t do, or find someone to look after her to help. His money was running out and his pension was not much. His thoughts raced. What to do? What to do? For all probability and intent, both their lives could be ending as they were living. Should he take her life? What to do? What to do?

CHAPTERONE

ENCANTO PARK

Blondie and Gene McLain were having a picnic on this particular Saturday in May. The springtime weather was very pleasant for being outside and the boys were enjoying the park games, baseball, etc.

Gene had just finished consuming a large amount of fried chicken and was now starting on the potato salad as Blondie lay down on the blanket to read a book. Gene brought up the subject that they should try and take a vacation this summer, get away somewhere cool, maybe by the ocean in San Diego for a few days. The boys would enjoy the break in routine and certainly both of them would look forward to a few days of rest and relaxation as their regular schedules were so hectic.

Blondie said, yes she would like to do something like that and that they should plan it early as the ocean-side motels get booked for the summer months. Gene mumbled yes as he consumed the potato salad along with chips and asked her to look into a vacation spot. Something not too expensive, but family-oriented and close to the beach. She said starting Monday she would ask around for suggestions and then book something.

Gene laid back on the blanket and took in the blue sky and the trees surrounding the park. Even counting a fly or two and maybe a bee. Days like this didn’t happen often for him. Most days he was staring at blood and someone’s demise, a death scene, a murder scene. His visions centered around homicide, victims and criminals. These hours were special and didn’t happen often enough to wipe away the scenes of tragedy that proliferated in his brain.

But he wouldn’t change a thing about his life for anything. He loved being on top of everything that was going on in Phoenix. He had made loads of connections in his work as a homicide reporter. Informants that were only too happy to share what they knew for a few bucks. He worked closely with the police and sheriff’s departments and had made many friends along the way. They trusted him to give them any leads or information that he turned up about crimes and they in return gave him access to the criminals to interview and write stories about. It was a good working relationship that certainly benefited him and The Arizona Republic newspaper where he worked.

The lazy day drifted into the early evening hours of five o’clock when they decided to pack it all up and head for home.

Sunday slipped by uneventfully with church in the morning and cold cuts for Sunday dinner, which the kids love.

CHAPTERTWO

ARIZONA REPUBLIC

Monday morning I rise early, shower and dress for the office. The drive in is slow as the whole world seems to begin moving in Phoenix on Monday mornings. Weekends are sleepy times but come Monday all activity resumes.

My desk is already loaded with messages taken over the weekend and early this morning. Just as I am reviewing them and making plans to return some of the calls, Specs Bonheim, my editor boss, appears in front of my desk and says, “I want to see you, McLain, right away in my office.” What now.

I disentangle myself from the desk as I shuffle the papers looking busy.

Entering Specs’s office I hear, “We got another one.”

“Another what?”

“This time the rapist went too far.”

“This girl is not a street walker/prostitute, just thirteen or fourteen years old. Possibly a runaway?”

“They found her body behind a small coffee shop, Louie’s, on Camelback Road.”

“Get down there, McLain.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

I grab my Nikon camera, a notepad, and depart for Camelback Street. It wasn’t hard to spot the location. Several police cars were already there and the ambulance, although it should have been the coroner’s wagon. Now the ambulance will have to make a special trip to the Phoenix coroner’s office instead of the local hospital.

The young girl was already dead. Probably had been dead since some time last night. Wonder why she was behind the stores in the alley, behind the coffee shop? I must check if she hung out in the coffee shop regularly. Maybe the rapist picked her up there. If so, he probably wasn’t too old as she would not have followed him out into the alley. That is, unless she was doing a sex act for money. Maybe real hard up and needed the cash to pay for food. Her shoes looked badly worn as if she had walked a long way. Perhaps she is not from the Phoenix area.

Note: To look into runways from areas outside of Phoenix. No obvious marks on the body other than red marks around her neck indicating strangulation. She didn’t put up a fight, perhaps death came unexpectedly and caught her by surprise. Did she know the guy? Assume it was a guy, women don’t usually strangle victims. She was small, hardly developed as she was only thirteen years old. Not yet developed as a woman. She would have been easy to strangle. He was either a young guy who she would go with, or an older man offering money and a pedophile who liked very young girls. Not a nice way to start the week. The messages on my desk will have to wait. This takes priority, as Specs said.

The girl was dressed conservatively, not showing her body off. She was wearing a yellow and blue plaid shirt and her yellow cotton exterior pants had been removed. She was probably raped or at least groped. Where were her under pants? Did the perp take them? I walk up and down the alley looking for something, a small pair of underpants or anything else that looks out of place. Nothing is to be found.

Note: Talk with the corner regarding if she was raped, semen, injuries, etc.

I talk with the police officer who was first on the scene early this morning. He said he always walks the alley to check to see if all the exterior doors to the shops are locked and to rouse any potential drunks who might be sleeping it off there over night before the shopkeepers come to work.

Note: Talk with some drunks in the area to see if they saw or heard anything.

Thanked the officer and continue my walk on down the alley. My search provided nothing of interest. No underwear. The guy took them with him is my guess.

Shops are starting to open, and the curious are descending on the crime scene wanting to know what happened.

I leave the area and let the police explain to the curious shop owners. I enter the coffee shop, look around, and find a cook just opening up in the rear area of the shop. A young man is cleaning up the floor in one of the restrooms. I ask him if he was working last night.

He says, “No. I only work the morning shift before attending school.”

Well, that rules him out. Proceed to the back of the store and corral the chef.

“Were you working last night?”

“Yes, why?”

“Did you see a young girl in a yellow outfit enter the coffee shop and perhaps order something?”

“Yeah, she sat in the corner booth for a very long time. Not sure what she was eating as the waitress would have taken her order. Think it was Sally working the evening shift last night.”

“When does she come in today?”

“Probably around noon. We try and close by 9PM at night.”

I give the chef my card and ask him to pass it along to Sally indicating that I will return later in the day to talk with her.

I drive a couple a blocks away where several of the drunks hang out: “Camp City’ as it is referred to near the park.

Park the car, get out, and walk around. Chat with several of the bums, drunks that call this area home. Continually asking if anyone of them was sleeping it off in the alley behind the Camelback coffee shop.

No response. Flash a five and at least they look at me. Repeat asking the question and no one responds. One guy said that his friend, Chuck, sometimes sleeps in the alley but he is not here right now to talk with. He goes up town to one of the major intersections and panhandles for money for booze. I ask him to describe this guy. Tall with a white beard. Not young. Probably sixty years old. Usually wearing camouflage clothing. Thank him and give him the five. The others look like they want to kill him. A five is big dough to these guys.

I drive over to Apache Junction where I find Chuck working the corner. Stop and get out of my car and walk towards him. He seems like he wants to bolt. I explain I am not a cop and don’t care what he is doing hustling money on the street corner. He stands cautious, still waiting to hear my pitch. I don’t approach too close as I fear he may run. Looks scared for some reason. I inquire if he was sleeping in the back alley on Camelback behind the coffee shop and local business last night.

He looks confused and says, “Yes.”

“What time approximately did you go to that area to sleep it off?”

“Probably around midnight. I don’t own no watch. That’s when I ran out of money at the Black Jack bar for drinks.”

Pretty sure this lets him out of the picture. Thank him and go on down the street onto the Black Jack bar.

The bartender looks at me kind of crazy.

“Yeah, he knows Chuck, the bum.”

It just happened his night bartender called in sick so he pulled a double shift.

“Yeah, Chuck was in. What’s it to you?”