The Memo from Katie Rose: The Katie Rose Saga, #2

The Memo from Katie Rose

(Second book in Katie Rose Saga)

MCDONALD HANSON

D2D EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

McDonald Hanson on D2D

Copyright © 2013

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KATIE AT 18: Katie Rose Fowler, the celebrated kidnap victim of three years earlier in her small coastal hamlet, becomes involved in a major murder mystery when the body of a wealthy co-owner of a suburban daily newspaper is recovered at sea by fishermen, the victim of a shooting. Lead investigator Bob Wood and his partner have a prime suspect in the murder case, the business partner of the victim, but the evidence is insubstantial. When the acting DA forces the matter to trial he is facing Rusty Garcia, the crafty young defense attorney hired by the accused. Jake Thomas and Katie Rose join the trial team as observers as Jake researches a book on the celebrated case. When the trial remains unresolved, the now young adult Katie, about to enter the university, second guesses the legal heavyweights and comes up with a theory to solve the case and enlists Jake in her efforts. (The second book in a seven-part series.)

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AN EXCERPT:

KATIE AND CHRIS came by for a visit with Jake on Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day. A front-porch day, warm but not hot, no trace of fog, and Jake was feeling better than he had for a week or so.  My father was right, he thought, old age is definitely not for sissies.

Sam, who Jake suspected might be totally deaf now, spotted Katie when she rounded the hedge and he immediately perked up from his snooze. Careful now, Sam. She’s got herself a boyfriend now. No jealous rages, Jake said.

Of course, Sam didn’t hear a word he said and he just ignored Chris and jumped up into Katie’s lap when they sat down with him on the glider. Jake was in a rocking chair.

"Did you read today’s Press-Tribune? They did a big story on the upcoming Olden trial? Chris explained. He turned his head and said, I see your P-T is still sitting on your driveway, so I’m guessing not." Jake’s secret was out. He hated reading newspapers when he didn’t have to and this was Sunday and he was about 60 pages into a Wambaugh novel. Who needs news? He thought. The Press-Tribune could wait until tomorrow, or the next day.

Has the world come to an end? Jake responded betraying his lack of interest in today’s headlines.

Oh, this story is way bigger than that, Katie said. You should really join the human race more, Jake. We all would really like having you around as part of it.

Nag, nag, nag, Jake grumped. That’s my job, she answered. That’s what Jake’s wife, now deceased some 10 years, used to say, Jake thought. She’s possessed Katie.

Are you two an item now? Jake asked. Katie giggled. A little like the old days.

I hope so, Chris answered, turning to Katie with a winsome smile.

Oh, you know me, Jake, just playing the field. They just come and go. You know, all those fish in the sea. Katie had mastered the age-old feminine tease to nobody’s surprise, and most certainly not to Jake’s.

Chris’s smile disappeared momentarily until Katie turned to him and gave him the high powered grin. He relaxed. Jake, we are going down to the embarcadero and check out one of the seafood snack bars, why don’t you come with us? Jake could read Chris’ eyes, he didn’t think that was a great idea at all. Wonder why? Jake thought, with a sly smile. The old man begged off, to Chris’ relief, but they didn’t get up to leave.

The conversation swung around to the Graham murder case again when Jake observed, Bobby Wood must have caught a break in the case. I wonder what it could be? Jake mused aloud.

Katie interrupted, in her burst of enthusiasm manner Jake had come to expect from every visit he has had from her since she was a little girl of eight, when they had become special friends, in her words. You know what, Jake, I have an idea.

Katie, you have never lacked for ideas, or words, or anything that I know of.

Yeah, but this is good, this time, she countered, picking up on the wise-ass tone of her old friend. Jake leaned back and waited. I think you ought to go see Mr. Garcia, Mr. Olden’s lawyer, and ask to sit in with him in preparing and trying the case. You know Capt. Wood and you could get the police side from him during trial. I think it would make a great book and you should write it.

She has possessed you, Jake answered.

What are you talking about, Jake?

Snowy, that’s who. She has possessed you. You sound just like my wife. Jake paused. She was always encouraging me to write.

Sounds like I have good company, Katie countered.

Chris spoke up. "I think that is a great idea.  I read The Kidnapping of Katie Rose and you should do this. Priscilla would probably give you a leave of absence. We all would chip in time to cover you. This might just be a great book. I’m sure Emmett wouldn’t mind. Think about it, Jake."

He already had, in a split second. I’d have to talk to Priscilla and Emmett... His words trailed off in thought. I think Rusty might go for it. I haven’t noticed that he is particularly publicity shy. Bob Wood is different, but you never know.

Katie turned to Chris, He’s hooked. Now we just have to reel him in.

Jake turned to Chris like he caught his words on a rebound. "When did you read Katie Rose?"

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Edition License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part One

Chapter 1-5

Chapter 6-10

Chapter 11-15

Chapter 16-20

Chapter 21-24

Part Two

Chapter 25-30

Chapter 31-35

Chapter 36-40

Chapter 41-45

Chapter 46-49

Part Three

Chapter 50-55

Epilogue

About the author:

Other Katie Rose books:

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PART ONE

The Body

1

GUS TSONGAS liked being the big frog in a small pond – if you could call the Pacific Ocean a small pond. But skippering a small fishing fleet in the waters he called home – the bay at Montana Bahia and the nearby coastal fishing lanes – that was Gus’ pond.

He savored the smells of the estuary at low tide, the harbor and the salt air as he steered the Annie C past the breakwater heading for the open sea and the albacore catch. It gave him a kind of peace, the peace of a man confident in his life and his career and in harmony with his environment. And this Friday morning would be no different, he thought. That was until his deployment of the first long line snagged an unwelcome catch – a human, and, very dead, body.

It happened just as the sun was peaking up over the coastal morning mist and the crew was busy baiting the lines and beginning deployment.  A slight swell rolled out of the southwest, gently rocking the boat while the lines were being prepared. Charlie Tuna, as Gus called him, yelled first. Hey Skip, cut the screw. I think we caught a floater. Charlie Tullas had a gravelly booming voice easily heard over the mini-roar of the engine and Tsongas slipped the controls into idle and told Mike Gleason to take the helm while he checked it out. He arrived on the fantail just as the line was being cranked in with the human catch a mere 25 yards off the starboard side.

It appeared to be a man’s body, maybe around six feet tall, 180 pounds, Gus would guess, but with the bloat and the discoloration, you could tell little else other than it was dressed in boater style, white pants and white shirt. The rest defied description. It took about 10 minutes to haul it to the side of the trawler where the crew could get a rope around it and, with the aid of grappling hooks, hauled it aboard.

Gus yelled to Mike get the Coast Guard on the horn and inform them of the situation and to make note of the latitude and longitude at the time of the find. Gus checked his watch; it was 5:17 in the morning. His guess was that it was about 10 minutes earlier that they spotted the body. The crew put the unwelcome passenger on a small tarp while they stood over it. It was a lifeless blob and they shortly lost interest in looking at their grisly catch. Gus looked for signs of violence on the body, but saw none, but that was hardly conclusive. That’s the coroner’s job, he thought to himself.

Anyone recognize this guy? Gus asked. No response. He was not even sure his own mother would recognize the body in the condition it was in. Gus ordered them to wrap it in the tarp and move it out of the way, up to the bow. He planned to make the report to the Coast Guard and get back to work. He had an albacore run to track down and it was nearby by his calculations.

When he got back to the helm, Mike was on the radio with Bill McChesney, sometime skipper of the local USCG cutter, a familiar voice to Gus over the years. Mike says you snagged a stiff out there, Bill said in greeting Gus on the radio. Stiff would be the wrong word, this one is waterlogged and as limp as your dick, right now, Gus rejoined. What’s your pleasure, mate? How do you Sea Scouts want to handle this? Gus’ voice reflected his displeasure at the upsetting turn of events and his impatience to not have it interrupt his run.

Bill caught the tone and dropped the banter. Gus, your position puts you in the jurisdiction of San Juan County, so we will inform them that you will be returning to port with the body on board. Might as well go about your business as usual and I will have the cops and the coroner meet you when you return. That mollified Gus somewhat, but he wasn’t looking forward to the red tape interfering with clearing the hold of his catch when he returned. You have the situation in control there, McChesney added, and we are checking out what may be related report on a slack-sail watercraft bobbing around about a mile from where you are with no one on board. It could be connected, so we will be taking it in tow back to our shop.

Tell the county guys to keep a low profile until I get my work done, will you?

Will do, McChesney replied. I don’t imagine it will be a big deal. Probably a deputy coroner and a tech and someone from the cop shop. I’ll tell them you are a working man trying to make a living.

I’d appreciate that, Gus replied.

Meanwhile wrap the body in a tarp and don’t mess with it. They get a little touchy about things like that.

Already done, Gus answered. They’ll find it on the bow while I have to look over that creepy sight steering this barge. He heard McChesney chuckle on the radio phone. I’ll let you guys go back to pressing your uniforms and your card game, I have work to do.

OK, Gus, any questions or advisories, give a holler.

Don’t draw to an inside straight.

The Annie C hit a major run later that morning and filled the hatch with albacore and almost didn’t miss a beat despite the unexpected delay. Gus tooted the ship’s horn as he slipped past Walt’s Landing, the charter service for sport fishermen that Walt Lockhart had run as a family business for years. Walt has a ship’s horn in his shack on his dock and always tooted back. He did this time too.

Gus’ mood had lightened as the catch got heavier during the morning and by the time he cleared the breakwater he was back to early morning Gus – on top of the world and looking forward to the weekend when his favorite grandniece, Annie Callas, for whom the Annie C was named, would be graduating from Montana Bahia High School.

The  gray skies of  the June gloom, a summertime fixture, was just beginning to get its grip on the coast as a high fog layer had blanketed the harbor and was just beginning to burn off for the day. As he neared the dock, Gus spotted the coroner’s wagon parked close to the gangway of the cocktail cruise boat. Behind it was a sheriff’s cruiser. Two men and a woman were chatting alongside the tandem vehicles when Gus maneuvered his boat to the dock and the crew secured the lines. They both approached the boat when it came to a stop.

Gus stepped out of the pilot housing and walked to greet the contingent that had arrived with a collapsible gurney in tow. Understand you took on a passenger out there today. That came from the older guy that Gus recognized from the Katie Fowler kidnapping case. He was Bob Wood’s sidekick at that time. Sgt. Tom Wallace, Gus. We have met before.

I remember, sergeant, very well. The tone was flat.

We’ll try to stay out of your way. I am just going to have a photographer take a few pictures on board and we’ll inspect the body, but the rest will be done on the coroner’s autopsy table by Tim Kawakita and Molly here. Gus cut off the pleasantries and invited the trio aboard as a fourth came running up the ramp with a Styrofoam coffee cup in hand – that would be the police photographer, he thought. He probably ducked into The Fisherman for a quick caffeine fix.

Gus accompanied them to the body and watched as they drew back the flaps on the tarp. Time hadn’t improved the look of the body. He gave Wallace a quick rundown of finding the body and hauling it aboard. Wallace replied that he wouldn’t take Gus’ time now but would send by a detective to get a formal statement from him probably later in the afternoon. Wallace put on rubber gloves and bent over the body and checked the pants pockets. H pulled car keys and some change from the right front pocket and, turning over the corpse, withdraw a thin wallet from a left rear pocket.

Gus caught the odor of escaping gas from the body, an unpleasant smell that didn’t seem to bother anyone else. The photographer clicked off exposures of each stage of the probe, taking perspective shots and close-ups of the corpse. Wallace flipped opened the wallet. All eyes were on his reaction. There was none.

Got an I.D.? Gus asked.

Wallace nodded in response. No noticeable change of expression. But Gus read a hesitancy that he interpreted as recognition. Anyone interesting? Gus tried again.

Wallace nodded again. You might say that.

2

SATURDAYS ARE SUPPOSED to be quiet at The Bahia Breeze office, a cramped little storefront that housed a small but enthusiastic staff of young journalists – young, that is, if you don’t count the newly-appointed managing editor, Emmett Free, and the grumpy old man, Jake Thomas.

Emmett and Jake were the early arrivers for the Saturday 10 a.m. editorial meeting. Coffee cups filled and at the ready, they gathered around 9:30 a.m.in Priscilla Gaddis’ office for the pre-meeting meeting. Priscilla was the official editor and publisher of The Breeze, the scioness of a wealthy family and the heir of a founding great uncle’s community tabloid.

Saturdays were for review of the last week’s edition and planning against the Thursday edition of the community weekly. Emmett, Priscilla and Jake were the brain trust of the paper. After the Katie Fowler case, Jake had joined the staff as a so-called consultant and ended up with a title of associate editor on the masthead, which in Breeze-speak means underpaid part-timer. That was okay with Jake who has actually ended up being more involved in the operation than he originally intended. But being semi-back- in- the-saddle again after his years out of the business gave him a shot of adrenaline. He had helped spruce up the writing and editing of the paper, contributed content ideas, some that have led to great advertiser acceptance such as the monthly Reader edition.

Jake tried to keep a low profile, with his desk butted up against and facing Emmett’s with his back to the staff desks that were clustered behind his back. The advertising department consisted of two desks in front of Priscilla’s office, one for her niece, Evelyn, a graphic artist who doubled as the payroll clerk, and one for another associate, veteran semi-retired adman and major piece of work, Dick Smith, Jake’s counterpart on the business side.

There was also a small desk by the counter for the classified ad taker. Priscilla handled the big accounts, the market and drug store ads and large real estate office advertising. Dick did the rest in a two-day work week. He sold retail ads on Monday morning; laid them out by hand in the afternoon; left the layout for Evelyn to translate graphically; came back Wednesday morning to show proof when revisions were needed and when ads didn’t receive customer approval online, and headed back home with a nice commission in the chute for payday.

Dick was a gifted artist. His pencil renderings of an ad layout often seemed to look better than the actual ad when it was committed to print. He had an unusual hobby that was part of his calling card, along with the traditional salesman’s joke of the day. He painted faces on the smooth surfaces of river rocks with witty sayings painted under the crazy faces he drew. A few pieces of his original artwork done on paper and framed decorated the wall over his desk. The proud publisher had decorated the opposite wall with plaques and framed certificates relating to the newspaper. The recognition wall was dominated by no less than six awards won by Emmett Free and the newspaper for coverage of the Katie Rose Fowler kidnapping.

The biggest change for Jake in joining the operation was to catch up with the technology. The paper was laid out on Mac computers; stories were edited, ads were composed and ultimately all these elements were transported to finished page layouts – all by computers. The whole paper was designed, composed and transmitted to a server at the San Juan Press-Tribune digitally where it is a two-step process to plate up the press and roll. An amazing process for a guy like Jake who started out in shops with ink dripping off the walls and everything was done in hot lead and even wood type. To this day, Jake can read upside down and backwards as well as forwards because that was how pages were composed in hot lead for hundreds of years.  That acquired talent served him well when still a reporter. Any document open on a desk of an interviewee was fair game for a guy who can read upside down.

But these days, a college kid with a Mac could put out the New York Times – and, who knows, probably does!

Emmett was the last to arrive for the early session, joining Priscilla and Jake in her office. He arrived with news, a great conversation starter. Did you hear Gus Tsongas hauled a body out of the drink on his run yesterday morning? he asked. He got a joint no in response. Emmett elaborated, Seems he hooked on to a floater early in the day and brought back the corpse to MB that was picked up at the docks by the coroner. No identification from the cops, but I have a call into Capt. Wood in San Juan for further info.

He added, I ran into Gus at Dugan’s this morning. He’s taking the day off for Annie’s graduation. He described the stiff as a male, around six feet and about 180 he guessed, dressed in sailing whites.  Apparently he had an I.D. on him but Wallace was at the scene and didn’t share.

There’s a candidate for a front pager Thursday, Jake replied. Who should we assign?

Emmett thought a moment. How about if I walk the new kid, Chris, through the cop shop on this one? It will be a good experience for him. Chris Miller was a bright young man hired out of the nearby polytechnic college where he was a communications major. The shrinking job market in journalism being what it is, Chris signed on for the opening at The Breeze, probably in part out of reluctance to leave the Central Coast and partly as a stopping off point to gain experience for a bigger market, probably in television.

Jake agreed. He didn’t expect to hang onto Chris for too long since his prospects looked bright. He was 22, handsome and