Third Time, Not A Charm

ProloguePhoenix, Arizona and environs in 1995 is a sleepy large city. It has not yet encroached across the full span of the “Valley of the Sun.” Expansion and constant construction of new homes is at a high but not yet a fever pitch. Older homes are still selling well despite hundreds of new homes coming on the market every month. New developments are springing up in places where development has not been seen before. Buckeye is being reeled into the Valley on the west. Mesa, Tempe, Chandler and Gilbert are, for all practical purposes, one city and are being swallowed by Mesa as well. But there are open spaces left which development is slowly filling. Golf courses are being built. Strip malls are popping up by the dozens. Several large shopping malls are on the drawing boards or under construction. Sun City is still expanding in size and population. Schools are being built around the city almost in a ring as the development begins to encircle the core of the city. Expansion is causing some dislocation in services provided by the cities. Glendale is having a difficult time expanding its services to meet the needs of all its new citizens. Surprise is in its infancy as a city. Youngtown has been swallowed by the westward march of development as have Peoria and Tolleson. Both those western cities, just outside the ambit of the megalopolis for so long, have now been all but incorporated into the city of Phoenix. But still they maintain separate police functions, fire departments, the like. And each has its own groups of a charitable nature. Each tries to honor its frontline troops in the constant fight against crime. James Cade is one of those frontline troops and has been, in 1995, for a number of years. He is Captain of the Phoenix Homicide Division. He is an imposing figure of a man at six feet two inches tall and roughly two hundred twenty pounds. In his early forties he is graying at the temples but still erect, muscular, a large person whose stature does not seem to frighten those around him. On this day he stands at the podium of the 100 Club, the downtown Phoenix Rotary Club, as a specially invited guest. It is the first time the Phoenix Rotary Club has invited a black man to be honored. Jim is in uniform this day wearing his blue best with his Captain's bars gleaming, the brass dutifully shined, his shoes glistening with a fresh coat of polish. His wife, Kimberlee, his teenaged son, Jim Jr., a strapping young lad of fifteen years, himself nearly as tall as his Dad and a little heavier than Jim had been as a lad, most times just called Junior, and his daughter, now ten years old, sit by his side. The third Cade child, just seven years of age, is involved in a school project and she cannot attend the meeting. He is justifiably proud of his family and very proud to have them with him. Jim is being honored for his many years of service to the City of Phoenix Police Department. His career is winding down, he thinks, but it has been amazing. The department has given him awards for merit and valor. The business community is honoring him for many reasons in addition to those acts of heroism and generally great police work he has been involved in through the years. There are but few Black members of the 100 club but their hearts swell as he stands and listens to the accolades being thrown at him, as do those of his wife and children. Phoenix still has its problems with ethnic biases and racism. Those problems will grow and become more evident in time with both the Black and the Latino communities. But this day will show no evidence of those problems. Jim's mind wanders a little as he listens to the speaker introducing him. His thoughts turn to his son, a budding football player with some real talents, and to his daughters, both students of martial arts, both well coordinated and physically talented as well as mentally gifted. In the midst of a reverie about his children he is brought forward to the dais to speak. Jim thanks the Rotary Club for its attention to the notion the Phoenix Police Department is doing a good job. He thanks the club for its award and says, “There are so many in the department who deserve your accolades, deserve awards for their bravery, their everyday willingness to do what it takes to help others and fight crime. Each street officer who works his or her daily beat, every detective who toils to determine responsibility for criminal acts, every CSI who searches for information which will help to resolve 'who dunits' (he pauses for the laughter to subside), is equally as deserving of this award as am I. Some put their lives on the line daily. There are so many other unsung heroes in the system who keep us all a little safer. Attorneys, yes I know attorneys and cops are not supposed to have much use for each other but I respect those in our criminal justice system immensely as I do the judges, court reporters, the list goes on and on. Likewise there have been so many ho have come before me that were a lot better police officers and better investigators than I am. With all those things said I humbly accept this award on their behalf and on behalf of my family as well as my own. It is one which my family and I will always cherish. Thanks again.” His concise message brings about a standing ovation and then everyone settles down for a lunch of catered Sirloin tip steaks. As Jim takes his place with Kim and his children he also thinks of a case on which he had received information only a few hours earlier. It deals with a body found laying in the middle of a dusty dirt road a number of miles out on the east side of town. The body has been there only a short time and it was well preserved, especially considering it was dumped in Arizona in the summer. It was badly treated though, much in the same fashion as another body which had been found on a cul de sac in the west part of town only weeks before! Were they connected? Were there others? What would these two deaths lead to? Sometimes, he thought, I am glad I am getting ready to retire. The world, it seemed to him, at the ripe old age of forty-five, was changing. Technology was overtaking thoughtfulness, tools were replacing planning, plotting, charting, using your head for something other than as a prop to the likes of infrared light bars which could and would show blood. They showed it very well in areas that had been sprayed with luminal. High tech cameras, the list of new equipment seemed endless and of course was very expensive as well. The thought tugged at his mind a*s to whether he and his men, those of Homicide, his friends, his trusted companions and his mate, might once again be facing a recreational killer. Or, it might be something related to drugs or gangs. Those issues were being explored by Narcotics Division of the Glendale P.D. as he was speaking without his knowledge. Both the men who had been killed had criminal records. Both had been involved with “dope” at one point in time or another in their lifetimes. But neither had been arrested recently in conjunction with drugs. Neither had been arrested for anything at all in recent months, even years. One, whose name was Johnny Campbell, had recently married, had a child on the way, had a fairly decent job, no bad stuff going on in his life according to his parole supervisor. All Johnny's fees and fines had been paid on his last offense, he was under what in Arizona is termed Community Supervision, a loose form of parole. He had been having no problems of any kind. His supervisor, Wayne Curtis, was openly complimentary to Johnny in fact. And Johnny had undergone a urine test proving to be negative for any illicit substance within 30 days of his death. It didn't seem likely that Johnny had been killed over a d**g situation unless it was from his past. Narcotics in Glendale was looking into his past to see what might have motivated someone to kill Johnny. The other victim, Joseph Antonelli, had moved to Phoenix from Cleveland within the last year, had started a small business enterprise which was surviving if not thriving. He also did not have the appearance of being involved in the d**g trade. But Joseph had been involved in his past so Narcotics was looking into his past with contact at the Cleveland Police Department. As Jim Cade thought about all these things he also thought if not narcotics then what? Johnny was recently married, seemingly happy in his new life. Joseph had a wife and kids as well. She seemed like the salt of the earth to the detectives of the Glendale Police Department. They had interviewed her after going through the notification process. “Well,” Jim thought, “it will all come out eventually I guess. It's not something to worry about right now.” Neither Glendale P.D. nor the Sheriff's Office of Maricopa County had contacted Phoenix P.D. yet nor asked for any type of assistance yet. Jim had to assume the cases were either unconnected or no connection had been found at that time. But Jim would soon be embroiled in yet another “serial murder” investigation. It would chill the marrow of his bones, shake the foundation of his years of police work. As Jim wrestled mentally with the possibilities a man begged unsuccessfully for his life next to the eighteenth green on the Superstition Mountain Country Club near Apache Junction, Arizona. There was no one else around save for he and the man facing him with a g*n. Jose Portales died knowing hell had faced him for a moment until the flame blossomed from the man's g*n and the bullet entered Jose's head. In a sense Jose was almost relieved having gone through a horrendous beating at the hands of the same man that shot and killed him. The killer simply walked away after dumping the body, whistling a ditty that his daughter had taught him in times before … wondering who he and his friends would find next. He commented to himself how easy it had been to justify killing this piece of “dog shit.” Jose, the killer thought, was less than human, had sold drugs to children in his past, had an arrest for child molestation that ended in nothing being done when both the Mother and the child had recanted. The killer had the strongest feeling, as did his friends when they discussed Jose, that there had been some coercion against the Mother and child about the child molest. The child molest was the “clincher” in the decision to kill Jose. And it was so easy to delude Jose, make him believe that it was just another “interview,” just another momentary intrusion into his life. Hah, thought the killer. Gotcha Jose. No more dog s**t on your street. Jim Cade didn't yet know of all these things while basking in the award ceremony. When he learned of them he would be incredulous at first, disgusted as a secondary reaction and heartsick in the final knowledge of the truth he would have to face. The realization of the murders and the thought processes bringing them about would begin in a matter of days after the Rotary Club Meeting. It would last a lifetime for many, a moment for some, and would become Jim's focus for a time. Another day passed with the Rotary Club, a proud and happy day. The pride and happiness of the day would ebb into the tale of the horrors wrought by a group of vigilantes that Jim would seek.