Editors note: Haunted Bones by Thomas J. Morrow marks the return of the popular Sunday Serial to OsideNews. Each Sunday we will bring you a chapter of Tom’s 2013 novel, Haunted Bones, a story of two city detectives trying to piece together a series of murders. The victims’ bodies have been preserved and stuffed into the walls of a seaside resort in Oceanside,California.
Authors note: This is a work of fiction. It does not reflect any actual events, and all of the characters are fictional. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
There is a real city of Oceanside, California. It’s San Diego County’s third largest city with a below-average crime rate.
The Grand Pacific Hotel is fictional, but during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, there were at least two similar resort hotels that did exist, primarily serving railroad passengers and tourists as described in this book.
— Tom Morrow
Foreword
Oceanside, California is one of the Golden State’s more pleasant beachfront communities. With a population of nearly 170,000 citizens, its residents enjoy a mild year-round weather pattern with temperatures averaging in the sixties seldom varying more than twenty degrees one way or the other.
The city is home to the historic Spanish Mission San Luis Rey. Built in 1798, it’s the largest of the twenty-one missions scattered along the California coastline. The string of missions are connected by the famed Spanish El Camino Real otherwise known as The Royal Road.
During the late 1960s and into the seventies, neighboring Camp Pendleton was turning out as many troops as possible to meet the never-ending quotas for the Vietnam War. Countless recruits, many with less than stellar backgrounds, descended onto the streets of Oceanside causing havoc at every turn. The local police had all but an impossible job of keeping the peace.
In an effort to help curtail the debauchery, the Marine Military Police were assigned to patrol alongside the local police. For a while, it helped; but in the years to come, and well into the nineties, the city’s crime rate began to rise resulting in a less than desirable reputation.
Those wild times took place more than forty years ago. However, the military has since adopted more stringent recruiting requirements, and the Oceanside Police Department has developed a better-trained police force. Together, these two factors have brought peace and tranquility to the city’s downtown area and to its colorful beaches.
Danny Saenz and Joe Stein are hard-working homicide detectives for the Oceanside Police Department. They have a stellar record investigating and closing their cases. So much so that they are considered the premier detective team for the OPD with a 100 percent closure rate. However, in the spring of 2012, they were handed two mystifying murder cases that would all but threaten their record. This is the story about those cases.
Chapter One
There was nothing blue about the Pacific Ocean on this early morning May. The ocean today was the ashen shade of lead gray perfectly matching the thick layer of misty low clouds that rolled in from the sea. Almost occurring on a daily basis, from the last days of April til the warm July sun cooks off the foggy gloom of June, this thick layer of moist, offshore cool air gently moves inland creating a ghost-like atmosphere reminiscent of any Stephen King movie. This natural phenomenon called the Marine Layer is created by the cold surface waters of the Pacific that acts like a giant cooling system that prevents the California coastline from turning into a desert.
During these somber gray days of May, it makes it difficult for one to determine where the horizon meets the sea and where it doesn’t. But today there were three small sailboats bobbing about a few miles from the shore; just that in itself solved the mystery.
Along the coastal walk this early foggy morning, a flock of seagulls scrambled frantically over pieces of bread that didn’t make the trash bin. Skyward, a gangling flight of pelicans, in an imprecision-like formation, soared above the famed Oceanside Pier, the longest on the West Coast stretching some 1,950 feet out and over the water.
As with most early mornings in this seaside community, calm is pleasantly caressed by the soothing, dull roar of the ocean as its waves slowly crash onto the sandy coast. Early bird surfers, riding their boards hundreds of yards from shore, catch the cascading waves that carry them back to shallow waters where they paddle back for more.
But on this early misty morning, the idyllic coastal peace was aberrantly destroyed by the ear-piercing siren of a red and white fire department ambulance racing along Pacific Street towards an old oceanfront home. It was situated on The Strand—a ten block residential avenue hugging the Pacific Ocean and the city’s nearby landmark, the Oceanside Municipal Pier.
Detectives Danny Saenz and Joe Stein also received the call and were directed to the address for a potential intrusion and, what appeared to be, a homicide. The house was a Great Depression-era bungalow owned by a retired Oceanside physician and his wife. The small-framed structure was nestled between modern condominium complexes where wealthy local residents, out-of-state snowbirds, and Zonies seek refuge from the hot and dry air of the desert. All have picture window views of the balmy blue, albeit, often gray Pacific.
Harriet and Homer Dobbins had been married for nearly thirty years. Curious neighbors, standing around the outside of the home, told uniformed officers, who first arrived on the scene, that eighty-three year old Dr. Dobbins was a well-known medical physician. Most OPD officers, who grew up in the city, knew the man. Over the past half-century, he had brought half of the local population into this world before retiring more than a decade ago.
At approximately five o’clock that morning, the doctor called 9-1-1 to report a break-in and a shooting. He also reported that his wife appeared unconscious in her bed and that she looked as though she had been beaten. When the medics arrived, it appeared that Dr. Dobbins’ eighty-three year old wife Harriet had in fact been beaten to death and that her husband had received a gunshot wound to his left side of his abdomen. The bullet appeared to have passed cleanly through his body.
The detectives arrived about ten minutes after the ambulance had transported Dr. Dobbins to the Tri-City Medical Center. Mrs. Dobbins remained on the bed for the detectives to study. The uniformed officers that arrived before them reported the doctor was cognizant but withering in pain. They escorted the detectives back to the bedroom where Harriet was lying in a pool of blood—presumably hers.
About thirty minutes or so after studying the scene and combing through the house, they released the body to a second ambulance crew that had already arrived to take her to the morgue. In the meantime, Detective Stein suggested to his partner that it might be a good idea to go to the hospital and try to question the doctor.
“The sooner the better before he stops remembering. You just never know. I’ll stay here with the forensics team.”
“Yeah, memory’s a funny thing with older people,” Danny said. He left the house. Joe walked over to a tech holding a camera.
“Be sure to photograph the entire scene.”
“We’re on it, Joe,” the tech said with a slight smirk. This task automatically launched as part of the routine when the team arrived on the scene. The detective’s habitual statement was getting old.
Detective Daniel “Danny” Saenz—pronounced Signs—was a fifth-generation Mexican-American. His ancestors came to the United States in the mid-1800s as merchants. They settled in Los Angeles when the town was nothing more than a dusty hamlet surrounded by one of the many iconic Spanish Missions.
Danny was a tall, slender, nice-looking gentleman with light olive skin and a physique resembling that of Antonio Banderous. By all accounts he looked Mexican, but he was born and raised in Oceanside and all-American in every way.
He could no doubt speak fluent Spanish that he learned from his grandparents, but he could neither read nor write the language. However, his English was impeccable and spoken without a hint of a Latino accent.
At the Tri-City Medical Center, located on the southeastern edge of the city, Danny worked his way to the emergency bay area where Dr. Dobbins was being treated. When Danny walked into the room, the old man was conscious and talking with a hospital physician. In one corner of the room was a uniformed officer looking over his report. When the officer noticed the detective, he pulled him aside and quietly told him as much as he knew.
“According to Dobbins, someone broke into their home, shot him, and then apparently pummeled his wife to death.” Danny didn’t look too surprised but wondered.
“I can’t understand why both of them weren’t shot?” “Dunno,” was the soft reply.
“Can he talk?”
“Yeah, some. That’s how I got that much out of him.”
The hospital physician looked at the detective and uniformed officer and told them they could briefly talk to Dobbins but cautioned them to proceed with care. He also told them he had been medicated and wasn’t very lucid. He left the room. Saenz walked to the side of the bed; the officer to the foot of the bed.
“Dr. Dobbins, I’m Detective Saenz. How are you doing?”
The old man slightly moved his head up and down against the pillow. His blue eyes were glazed over and his white, balding hair was disheveled. He was thin in stature and his face was gaunt.
“They say I’ll live,” he replied in a weak and raspy voice.
“Yes sir. That’s good news, sir. Think you can you tell me exactly what happened?” The old man thought for a moment and swallowed hard; he glared at the ceiling.
“I was awakened by a noise I think coming from the garage. I got up and went to the family room to look down the hall. That’s when our cat came running from the dining room and flew by me scaring the hell out of me.”
“Yes, I can relate to that. We have three cats at our house,” Danny replied.
“So you know what it’s like having them around. Anyhow, I started back to the bedroom believing the noise I heard must’ve come from the cat. On the way back through the family room, I saw a figure coming through the doorway on the other side of the room. At first I thought it was Harriet but then realized it wasn’t. I got startled.” “Yes sir, go ahead,” Danny said.
“Well, whoever it was didn’t say anything and started walking towards me.”
“Could you recognize this person?” Danny asked.
“No, I could not. He was wearing what looked like a ski mask, and I think he had on gloves. Yes, he did have on gloves. Like leather driving gloves.”
“You’re sure it was a man?”
“No I don’t. I couldn’t even tell if this person was black, yellow, or a Martian. He had on a mask.”
“It was dark. You could see that well?” Danny asked.
“We leave a few dim night lights on in and around the house. It was dark, but I could tell this person had on a mask and gloves.”
“I see. So your eyes had adjusted to the dimness?”
“Yes, they had.”
“Then what?”
“He started walking towards me and I whispered kind of loudly, ‘What are you doing in my house?’ When he didn’t say anything, that’s when I got scared.”
“Yes sir. I can imagine. Go ahead.”
“About all I can remember next was I saw a flash and heard a loud noise that hurt my ears. I assume it was a gunshot. I then fell to the floor in pain. I felt my left side and it was warm and gooey. I then realized I’d just been shot.”
“Did you pass out at this point?”
“I think so but don’t know for how long. When I came to, I knew I needed help. Somehow I was able to get off the floor and walk into the bedroom to call 9-1-1. Harriet was still in the bed. I reached down to touch her and she felt wet. A warm gooey wet. Then I realized it was blood. I think at that point I made the call and then passed out again.”
“Your call came in at 5:04. When the police and medics arrived, they had to break through the door. The deadbolt was on. They found you semiconscious on the floor by the bed,” Danny said reading to Dr.
Dobbins a portion of the report handed to him by the uniformed officer.
“Maybe I was out for about an hour. I seem to remember the clock by my bedside showing a few minutes before four when I first got up.”
“Can you remember anything else, sir?”
“Son, I’m real tired right now. Maybe we can talk later.”
“Yes sir. I’m planning on it.”
“By the way, how is Harriet? Is she okay?” Dr. Dobbins asked.
Danny looked over at the other police officer, who slightly cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders in such a manner that he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Dobbins the bad news. Danny turned his head back to the doctor.
“Dr. Dobbins, your wife didn’t make it.” The old man got a strange look on his face, and then shook his head side-to-side.
“Poor Harriet, the dear.”
“Well, that’s enough for now, sir. We’ll talk more when you start feeling better and things calm down.”
“Thank you, young man. Yes, we’ll talk later,” the old doctor said. Danny turned and walked out the door with the uniformed officer following. They walked over to the nurses’ station where the attending physician was looking over some charts. Danny pulled him aside.
“Just how badly is Dr. Dobbins hurt?” he asked.
“Well, as you guys would say, ‘It’s only a flesh wound.’ A lucky shot, really. The bullet went clean through his abdomen missing all his vital organs. He should be able to go home in a couple of days. The Doc’s a pretty resilient fellow for his age. He was our family’s doctor when I was growing up. In fact, he brought me into this world.”
“Yeah, I think he brought half of Oceanside’s current population in to. Quite a man from what I hear.”
“Yes, yes he is at that.”
After this chat, Danny walked back to his car. Before getting in, he pulled out his cell phone and called his partner.
“You still at the Dobbins’ house?”
“Yeah, sure am,” Stein replied stoically.
“You find the slug that went through the doc. From the looks of it, it would either be somewhere in the floor or low on a wall in the family room where he said he was shot.”
“Yeah, one of the field techs found it. Looks like maybe a .25caliber. We didn’t find any shell casings so the speculation right now is the bullet probably came from a revolver,” Stein said.
“Think maybe the perp picked up the casing if it came from a semi?” Saenz asked.
“Who knows? He may have, but I doubt it. From what we’re seeing around here, the scene just doesn’t seem to substantiate that.”
“Okay, you know the drill. Have them check it against any previous reports involving small caliber handguns we have on file. Maybe we’ll get lucky. I’ll see you back at the station in a couple of hours. I got to drop back by the house for a few minutes.”
“Okay, pardner.”
Detective Joe Stein was a cop with a quick grin and quip. At six-foot-nothing, broad-shouldered, and a forty-year-old-something police veteran, Stein was well liked throughout the department. Always neatly clad, complete with necktie, Stein was constantly dressed to the nines in the latest men’s sports jackets.
His partner, Danny Saenz, and most of the other detectives in the dick’s bureau, wore sports jackets if it wasn’t too hot. But a necktie?
Never—unless it was to church, a funeral, or retirement party.
Stein was the grandson of a German Holocaust survivor from World War Two. He has heard the horror stories of how the Nazis forced Jewish citizens like his grandfather into the death camps. Grandpa Joshua Stein survived only because he was a skilled diamond cutter. Nazi officers had a need for such talents after plundering the nations of Europe.
Joe Stein maintained a quirky and dry sense of humor, which everyone secretly liked, but no one really admitted it to his face.
The team of Saenz and Stein were known around the department as Murder Incorporated because of their 100 percent solve and close rate.
It was, by all means, the highest in the department.
As Danny drove towards his house, his mind was clicking away from all different angles thinking about their new case. From all the other assignments he’d worked on, he felt the details of this case just weren’t adding up. He speculated from a detective’s perspective:
“Why shoot one and beat the hell out of the other? Maybe the doc had had a belly full of crap and just lost it. And that gunshot? Well placed, maybe? The ski mask? Perfect alibi for not recognizing the perp. The entrances? All locked? Interesting….”
Danny’s wife, Yolanda, stood at the stove cooking breakfast as her husband walked through the back door. It was Saturday. Four of the kids were in the family room in front of the television set watching cartoons; however, son Daniel, Jr. was in his room studiously doing extra homework the teacher had handed out for anyone wanting extra credit. Little Danny, as he was known in the family, was a straight-A eighth-grade student, who, when at home, spent more time reading than anything else. His father and mother could no doubt see their son becoming a college scholar in less than five years because he was already on track to finish high school in three.
“Is your day getting better, dear?” Yolanda asked with a smile.
“I’m a homicide detective, what do you think?” Danny said smiling back in a jokingly manner.
The petite, raven-haired woman went back to stirring breakfast gravy on the stove. Danny walked to the oven, lightly patted her on the fanny, and then checked on the biscuits warming in the oven.
“So, I guess that means you found a body.”
“Just one,” her husband mumbled after sitting down at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and the morning paper. “Wait a couple of more hours and there’ll probably be a few more.” Yolanda shook her head side to side as she continued stirring.
“Other than that, I’m having a relatively normal day,” Danny muttered without looking up from the paper. He took a sip of coffee.
“Thank you, Jesus,” his wife mumbled in return.
“Jesus has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. It’s my keen eye, cautious nature, expert knowledge of police procedures, and a stunning personality that’s keeping me alive and solving society’s errant citizens. Oh, and my good looks help a great deal, too,” Danny whispered aloud with a grin, again without looking up.
“Don’t let your ego fall out your butt and break your heels,” Yolanda replied shaking her head with a light laugh. She continued stirring the thickening gravy.
“Sweetheart, the kids?” Danny said looking up with wide eyes and a slightly scolding expression. He made a fake smile.
“They’re in front of the TV and can’t hear a thing we’re saying. Where else would you expect them to be on a Saturday morning?”
“Where’s Danny, Jr?”
“He has his head buried in a book … as usual.” “Smart kid,” Danny said.
“Well, not to change the subject, but we…”
“But you are?” Danny said not looking up from his paper.
“We need to talk about planning for Teresa’s quinceañera,” Yolanda said. To a Latino family, the daughter turning fifteen is a right-of-passage into womanhood.
“How much is this going cost me?”
“Well, if we have it at the Elks Lodge so everyone in both families can come, I think it will be around seven to $8,000.”
“Good God a’mighty! Can’t we just have a simple little birthday party for her like all the other Gringas do?” Danny said exasperated. He put the paper down on the table roughly folding it and looking directly at Yolanda, who was ready to retaliate.
“No, we can’t! She’s looking forward to it. Besides, your mom and dad, and my parents, have agreed to help with everything.”
“What’s everything?” Danny asked in a non-believing manner.
“Well, they think they all can come up with maybe $1,000 … and, don’t forget, there’s Aunts and Uncles.”
“Is that $1,000 … or a total of?” Danny quizzically asked.
“Now, darling, it’s for our daughter,” Yolanda said.
“Yeah, but we have two more daughters waiting their turn,” Danny said shaking his head and rustling the paper. He took a large sip of coffee, got up, and headed for the front door.
“Where you going?” Yolanda asked.
“Back to the station. I got to meet Joe”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Danny turned around at the kitchen door and walked back to Yolanda still standing by the stove.
“Oh, yeah. Is forty bucks enough?” he said handing her two twenties from his wallet.
“I could always use more, but this’ll get me through the day,” she replied, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
Danny walked out the door, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. Fortunately, he knew his wife would not spend it frivolously—and rarely on herself; but, those greenbacks easily seem to slip away.