Unknown Victim Read online

  UNKNOWN VICTIM

  Gina Santoro Mysteries

  ________

  Kay Hadashi

  Copyright © 2021 Kay Hadashi

  All rights reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Author

  Original cover image by: RLSather at selfpubbookcovers.com

  Business and certain location names are fictitious, as are all characters in this story. To the author's knowledge, there is no Bunzo's Bar or Pinoy Boy's market, nor is there a Tanizawa Estate or chruches mentioned in the story. Place and street names are real, in both Honolulu and Cleveland. That said, this is not a travelogue, but a fictional murder mystery, and should be read and enjoyed as such.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About The Author

  Other Series by Kay Hadashi

  Prologue

  Rookie patrol officer Gina Santoro rubbed her chin for the fourth time since the excitement of their last call. She and her field training officer had an hour to go on their shift, and it had been a wild one. It had started with a DUI arrest of an old high school classmate. That was followed by breaking up a bar fight, where Gina took a right cross to her chin. Then there had been the liquor store holdup. More time had been spent in booking their arrests and on paperwork than they had in patrolling streets. As far as she was concerned, all she had to do was patrol a few miles of Cleveland’s Little Italy, issue a traffic citation, and call an end to the frosty night.

  Cheerful red and green Christmas lights strung along eaves of older duplexes reflected off the wet pavement as she drove. Turning off the residential street onto a large but quiet boulevard, she couldn’t help but notice the same displays she’d seen all her life: frozen snowmen in parking lots, Santa decorations in store windows, and the aging Nativity scene arranged at the park. This year, like in too many recent years, there were a few homeless people at the park in their tents and under tarps, hiding from the early winter cold. Somehow, they’d have to find a way of staying warm, just like Mary, Joseph, and Jesus had to in their tin metal and hay bale manger that shared the park with them. When a yawn came, she let it loose, and then gave her field training officer a glance.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sergeant Butch Morrison said. He watched the driver of the car next to them while they waited for the signal to change. “See anything unusual about this character next to us?”

  Gina knew better than to look directly at the guy, but had noticed his nervous activity when she brought the squad car to a stop. “Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel a mile a minute, and there’s no music playing.”

  “Right. Good. Think he’s stoned?”

  “I think the party started about twenty minutes ago. Want to do a sobriety stop?” Gina asked.

  “Let’s pace him for a block or two. If he weaves, we’ll light him up.”

  The red traffic signal turned green, and Gina let the driver in the other car go through the intersection first. She noticed him checking his mirrors frequently as she paced behind him for the first block. It was beginning to look like another DUI bust would end their night.

  “Haven’t seen you at Smitty’s bar lately, Santoro. I know your father would like to see you there after shift,” Butch said.

  Gina couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her field trainer watching over her personal life. As an old friend on the force with her father, she’d known Butch like an uncle all of her life. “When I see him at Mass, he’ll see me at Smitty’s.”

  “To a veteran cop like your father, spending an hour after work with the guys is the same as going to Mass.” Butch used their on-board computer to check the driver’s plate for wants and warrants, and waited for results. “Other than Smitty’s, I’ve never known your father to be a religious man.”

  “Either have I,” Gina muttered. “Do I look like one of the guys to you?”

  He laughed. “In your uniform you do, yeah.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The wet streets were beginning to freeze into thin sheens of ice, making steering tricky. Gina noticed the nervous driver’s tires kiss the broken line on the pavement for the second time. It was time to pull him over. That’s when a dispatch call came over the radio for a convenience store holdup in another precinct. “Want me to pull this guy over or should we go back up that 211?”

  “Stick with this guy. That call was on the other side of town. A couple other squads will be closer.”

  “Any wants on his plate?” Gina asked when they got to the third block of following the nervous driver. She closed to within two car lengths behind, just to let the guy know he was being followed.

  “This old computer is worthless. Better call it in,” Butch told her.

  While calls from dispatchers came across the radio about the robbery across town, she called in the plate. “Wants and warrants for late model silver Lexus, Pennsylvania vanity plate I-M-R-I-C-H.”

  After a couple of minutes passed, half of which was while both cars waited at red lights, Gina looked across past her partner’s broad chest to see what the other driver was doing. The rapid thumb drumming had stopped, but he was leaning forward and stiffly looking out the windshield. It was almost as if he was trying to pretend everything was fine. It was the oldest trick in the book, to pretend to look innocent when a cop was right next to you. It never worked.

  Even though Gina had graduated from the police academy, and was currently training with her Field Training Officer on the street, half of everything she’d learned about police work had come from the real law and order mentor in her life, her Cleveland Police Detective father. How to guess what someone might be thinking from the expression on their face, what sort of weapon might be hidden in their clothes, reading body language, basic interrogation techniques, and behaviors while driving were all drummed into her and her sister while growing up. In her thinking, she’d already had twenty years of field training, just not in uniform.

  “If we follow this guy much farther, we’ll have to turn him over to Akron PD,” she said, growing tired of their simple pursuit.

  “This thing never has worked.” Butch poked his finger on the screen of the on-board computer several times. “Dispatch will get back to us before this thing ever comes to life.”

  Gina tapped the brakes when she was cut off by the other driver making a sudden lane change without using a turn signal.

  “Okay, that’s a real, live traffic violation,” she said.

  “Let’s light him up.” Bu
tch leaned forward and flipped on the lights. Hitting a siren switch, he gave a couple of short whooping blasts. “Offer Christmas Eve greetings from the mayor of our fine town.”

  One thing that Gina had come to enjoy during her first month of patrolling the streets, it was using the loud speaker to tell a driver to pull over. Grabbing the mike, she hit the switch and prepared to use her commanding tone of voice.

  Beating her to it was their radio coming to life with a new call from dispatch. It wasn’t about the plates on the Lexus, but announcing another emergency.

  “Unit Eight-Seven, Unit Eight-Seven. Be advised. Prowler reported at Saint Benedictine Church, Fairview and Murray Hill Road,” the nasally female voice said.

  Gina grabbed the dashboard mike to respond. “Ten-four the prowler. Unit Eight-Seven, out.” When Butch turned off the lights, she asked him, “Now what should we do?”

  “What’s priority? Prowler at a church or a dude that can’t drive in a straight line?”

  “Focus on the more serious crime. That said, the stoned dude might cause an accident, but the prowler might be a late-night jogger.”

  “Take your pick,” he said.

  “Unit Eight-Seven, Unit Eight-Seven. Please respond. Break in at Saint Benedictine Church, rear door. Meet the priest in the parking lot. Break in at Saint Benedictine, Fairview and Murray Hill. Please respond. Code Two.”

  “Forget this guy. Let Akron PD deal with him,” Gina said. She made a sudden U-turn with the squad car. Once she had the squad car straightened out and had her foot pressing on the gas pedal, she turned on her collar mike to respond to the emergency call. “Unit Eight-Seven enroute, Code Two. ETA, five minutes.”

  While she made the call, Butch had turned on the emergency lights. “Cross traffic coming, hit the horn.”

  Gina blared the horn as the sped through intersections. She knew these streets like the back of her hand, having lived her entire life in Cleveland’s Little Italy. As far as her mother was concerned, all routes led to St. Benedictine Catholic Church, Sundays or otherwise. With some clever maneuvering, Gina got to her family church in record time. Instead of going straight to the back parking lot where the priest was waiting for them, they took a slow lap around the block looking for anyone dressed in dark clothes and might be carrying something stolen. While they watched, their flashing emergency lights reflected off surrounding houses and buildings. The wet street in front of them glowed like a light show.

  “See anything?” she asked, shining a spotlight between houses as they turned back to the church.

  “Nothing,” Butch said. “Not even lights on in windows. These guys go to bed early around here.”

  “Careful what you say about my old stomping grounds.” She pulled the squad car into the church parking lot, leaving the lights on. “See Father Romano?”

  “Not him, but I see a door hanging open. Call it in. I’ll take a look.”

  Butch left Gina in the car to call in the open door at the side of the church and request backup to their location. Once she finished the call, she got her flashlight and unclasped her holster.

  When she got out of the squad car, the bitter cold of the winter night air hit her face and heavy steam came with each exhale. She knew from life experience that a frigid front was coming from the lake, bringing its famous ‘lake effect’ snow with it. For the next few days, crime committed in public would be at a yearly low, but responding to calls would be difficult on icy streets. As much as she had enjoyed snowy days as a kid, she hated going on patrol in hard driving conditions.

  In her left hand, Gina held the flashlight over her shoulder aiming it forward, and kept her right hand on her sidearm. Shining the strong beam of light in front of her, she approached the rear door from an angle, remaining in shadows and near cover. It was becoming a habit, to control her breathing in tense situations, but what she couldn’t control was her escalating heart rate. She also couldn’t control the actions of her partner, who had disappeared.

  “Sergeant!”

  She got no response. The cloud of vapor that had come from her lungs hung in the air. A few snowflakes began to flutter in the ambient light from the squad car’s headlights. Her hands were already getting cold, her fingers stiff, and she wished she’d taken a moment to put on gloves. As it was, there was still a smear of blood on one left over from the earlier bar fight. Fleeting thoughts of getting extra gloves and a knit beanie went through her mind as she approached the open door.

  All she could guess was that Butch had either gone into the church through the open door, or had chased after someone. He would’ve yelled to her if he was in foot pursuit, but maybe she hadn’t heard him. It wasn’t protocol to enter a building without your partner, so she went to the corner of the building. Flashing her strong beam across the area, she saw nothing. No one running, no shapes, no movement at all, only the twinkle of lights on an outdoor Christmas tree near the door of the priest’s residence and fluttering snowflakes. As far as she could tell, she’d been left alone.

  Gina wanted to mutter her favorite Italian curse word, but didn’t dare while on church grounds.

  She knew the church well, having been a member of the small parish since birth. Father Romano had been the priest there all her life, the one who had baptized her twenty-five years before. According to the dispatcher, he’d been the one who had phoned in the break-in at the church. But where was he? Or her mentor, Butch?

  Gina returned to the rear of the building where the door still hung open. She shined her light inside the dark building. Neither Butch nor the priest were anywhere to be found. She drew her sidearm. Holding that in one hand, she took a position next to the doorway.

  “Sergeant! You in there?”

  No one answered, but there was noise inside the church. She heard a few footsteps, followed by more noise.

  “Father Romano? Is that you in there?”

  Still no answer, but there was more noise, followed by more footsteps. This time, they were rushing.

  Gina ducked through the doorway and raised her pistol. Aiming her flashlight in the same direction, she saw a figure running straight for her.

  “Halt!” she commanded.

  The figure got close, almost running straight into her. “Just me, Santoro,” Butch said as he raced by. “Where’s back up?”

  “On their way!” Confused with what was going on, she called after him as he got into the squad car. “What’s going on?”

  “Calling bomb squad.”

  “What?”

  “Found a device.”

  “Where?” she asked once she was at the car. Snow was already collecting on the cold metallic surface, and flakes were gluing to the surface of the car. She listened as he made the call for the bomb squad.

  “On the altar,” he told her.

  “A bomb? How do you know?” she asked.

  “I’m not Catholic, so I don’t know how this stuff works. Can you think of any reason for a package wrapped in newspaper and taped together with duct tape to be on an altar in a Catholic Church at this time of night?”

  “None at all. How do we handle this?” she asked.

  “Perp’s long gone, if he had any sense. We need to find the priest that called this in. Something about him not waiting for us bothers me. What’s his name again?”

  “Father Romano.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “His rectory is on the other side of the parking lot.” She pointed with the beam from her flashlight. “The front door is just past that Christmas tree.”

  “I’ll go there. You keep this area secure. No one, and I mean no one goes in the church until bomb squad gets here. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “And stay away from that door.”

  When Gina took a position with their squad car between her and the open door, he nodded and ran off into the dark in the direction of the priest’s residence.

  Hearing sirens in the distance, help was coming as Gina continued to scan t
he area for anyone that might be hiding. When she heard noise come from inside the church again, she had to make a decision. Footsteps meant it was human, and she needed to warn whomever it was to get out.

  Staying a few feet back from the door, she listened again to more footsteps. It couldn’t be the perp; why would someone stick around to meddle with a bomb that might go off at any minute?

  “Wait,” she whispered. “Maybe he’s still setting it up? Or a second one?”

  She ran to the outside of the church. Leaning her head back against the brick wall, Gina had a decision to make. If she could interrupt the perp from arming the bomb, she could save the bomb squad some work, and maybe even save the building. But she could be too late, that the bomb was already armed. Any perpetrator of a crime as serious as bomb placement would surely be armed.

  She took a few steps away from the door and got her cell phone out. She called Butch, breaking a rule he had with her.

  “Where are you?”

  “Searching the house. No one’s here. Why?”

  “Someone’s still inside the church. I can hear footsteps,” she said, barely louder than a breath.

  “Don’t go in, Santoro. Keep the exterior secure like I told you!”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Gina took her position behind the squad car again, trying not to care who it was inside the building. But if it was the perp, and he came running out, she’d command him to stop. Her biggest decision right then was if she would leave her post and give chase of him. She looked back toward the street that was turning white with snow.

  “Where’s back up?”

  Gina took long, slow deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating and to settle her mind. Focusing on the back door of the church, she kept her pistol tight in her grip. Listening to anything she might be able to hear and make sense of inside the church, she heard more footsteps hurrying in her direction. When those steps got close to the door, she took one last deep breath, ready to yell.

  When a man dressed in loose black clothing and a hoody ran out, she shouted for him to halt.