Letters
Chapter 1
Some inches away, the cell phone was ringing and vibrating. It was 54 crime-cooling degrees on the street, the same temperature as San Francisco Bay and the same temperature in the bedroom.
Hieu Trang turned over and stuck his arm out from under covers, and at the same time, his wife, Hanh, released his dương vật. The phone light guided his movements.
“Hello,” he said.
“It’s Larry.”
“Morning.”
“Sorry to wake you. Dead woman. 645 Euclid, Number 5. Can you meet me there in 20 minutes?”
“Yeah, sure.” Hieu was still sleepy but had heard the message correctly. He hung up the phone and turned to his wife.
“What was that for?” he asked Hanh in awe.
“I wanted to shake the hand of a close friend of yours.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“Can’t you stay a minute longer? I love you so much.”
Hieu laughed out, “Dead woman in Jordan Park.”
“Mistress?”
Hieu got out of bed and began dressing.
“Why does he always call you?”
“He’s my supervisor.”
“It’s wrong for him to call you this early.”
“Hanh, Larry treats me like family, and you, too. You have to get used to my new position. When I was a patrol officer, I had more regular hours. Now, I’m an inspector and can be called at any time. Larry has been doing this job a long time, and his wife understands.”
Hieu adjusted his shoulder holster, donned his gray pinstripe suit jacket, and backed out of 1158 Pacific Avenue.
He made two right turns onto California Street and headed away from the rising sun.
His wife had slipped a sprig of lavender next to the starched white handkerchief in his top pocket, so he lowered the window to the racket and smell of city life and refuse collection.
Hieu Trang turned over and stuck his arm out from under covers, and at the same time, his wife, Hanh, released his dương vật. The phone light guided his movements.
“Hello,” he said.
“It’s Larry.”
“Morning.”
“Sorry to wake you. Dead woman. 645 Euclid, Number 5. Can you meet me there in 20 minutes?”
“Yeah, sure.” Hieu was still sleepy but had heard the message correctly. He hung up the phone and turned to his wife.
“What was that for?” he asked Hanh in awe.
“I wanted to shake the hand of a close friend of yours.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“Can’t you stay a minute longer? I love you so much.”
Hieu laughed out, “Dead woman in Jordan Park.”
“Mistress?”
Hieu got out of bed and began dressing.
“Why does he always call you?”
“He’s my supervisor.”
“It’s wrong for him to call you this early.”
“Hanh, Larry treats me like family, and you, too. You have to get used to my new position. When I was a patrol officer, I had more regular hours. Now, I’m an inspector and can be called at any time. Larry has been doing this job a long time, and his wife understands.”
Hieu adjusted his shoulder holster, donned his gray pinstripe suit jacket, and backed out of 1158 Pacific Avenue.
He made two right turns onto California Street and headed away from the rising sun.
His wife had slipped a sprig of lavender next to the starched white handkerchief in his top pocket, so he lowered the window to the racket and smell of city life and refuse collection.
***
645 Euclid, Building Exterior
|
645 Euclid, Number 5
|
645 Euclid, Number 5, Interior
|
Blood oozing from her throat, she lay like a wounded swan in front of a radiator painted white.
Above her was a ballroom mirror that hung on the milky-white walls. On the coffee table lay some Playboy magazines, adding color to the room.
Hieu passed a brutish man standing in the foyer and, after asking the officer standing nearby a few questions, took the big man out of the unit and into the common hallway.
“Mr. Edward Hill?” Hieu asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for the loss. Your girlfriend’s name was…”
“Madeline Mingst.”
“I was told you were sleeping and heard a noise and found her on the floor. Is that right?”
“Yeah. I found her with the knife in her throat,” he answered, raising and lowering a limp arm toward the unit’s front door.
“I’m so sorry.”
Hieu waited. He wanted to show compassion with a touch but decided to keep his distance. COVID-19 protocols prohibited even benign bodily contact and required he keep his mask on at all times.
“Things will get better.”
He waited a little longer but could not see any tears.
“I have to ask, sir. Where did the knife come from?”
“The kitchen.”
Hill wore a wife-beater and orange boxer shorts with little green shamrocks, and he reeked.
“It looks like a common pocketknife. Do you own one?”
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone? I don’t want to hang around here. Can I get dressed and go to my son’s place?”
“Where does your son live?”
“The Hamilton.”
Larry appeared next to Hieu and answered, “San Quentin.”
“What’s the Hamilton?” Hieu asked.
“What, you don’t live in the city? Where you from, China? Hmph. The address is 631 O’Farrell. I bought the place for him. Can I go?”
“No,” Hieu answered.
Hill straightened up, raised his fists, and said, “I’m called Big Red…on account of my size.”
“And big face,” Larry said, unphased. “When did you last see Mingst?”
“When I went to bed!”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know.”
The medical examiner approached Hieu and Larry. He was tall, thin, and rickety like a skeleton. Hieu and Larry stepped back inside but left the door ajar.
The examiner said, “The knife in the woman’s throat is a 2.7-inch pocketknife. It nicked the carotid artery resulting in unconsciousness within two to three minutes or even sooner. Death would’ve taken five or six minutes. I’d estimate the time of death to be two to four hours ago. The 9-1-1 call came in just before five o’clock, so that would mean her death occurred between 1AM and 3AM. The autopsy results will be ready in 24 hours. Oh, and here’s her driver’s license.”
“Thanks. Can you give us a preliminary cause of death?” Hieu asked.
“The wound indicates the knife moved in a downward direction from above. If she fell on the knife, the wound would indicate an upward direction. A suicide would produce a wound with neither a downward nor an upward direction. She would be holding the knife in her fist and would thrust it straight into the neck.”
He’s always precise.
“So, is that it?” Hieu asked.
“A final determination will be made when the autopsy is finished.”
As the examiner left the room, the Situation Investigation team entered, as did Big Red’s stench.
Larry turned. “Stay where you are, Big Red. We'll come out to you.”
Hieu turned the license over and read aloud as he and Larry stepped into the hallway. “Her REAL ID says she was born 09-30-1988. 31 years old.”
Hieu and Larry kept six feet between themselves and Big Red.
“What is your relationship with Mingst?” Larry asked.
“Girlfriend.”
“How long has she lived here?”
“About two years.”
“You have a son. Any other children?”
“No.”
“How old is your son?”
“I think he’s 25.”
“You are divorced?”
“Yes.”
“Does your ex-wife have any animosity toward your girlfriend?” Larry asked.
“No, and if she did, I wouldn’t care. Why are you asking all these questions?” asked Big Red, crossing his arms.
Larry gazed into space and back at Big Red.
Larry’s getting miffed.
He asked, “Was your girlfriend on medications?”
“I...uh, I don’t know.” He raised his bare arms and hands in frustration.
“If she was living here, you would know that, sir,” Hieu said.
“I gave her a lot of privacy. She wanted that.”
“Mr. Hill,” Larry said, “How old are you?”
“52.”
“Go back into your unit. SIT will take some samples from you. Despite what you’ve gone through these last couple hours, you will be asked to cooperate.”
“What is SIT?”
“The people inside. Stay local if we need to ask you more questions. Understand?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“It’s Tuesday. If you have to contact me, call me at my workplace, Hill Marketing.”
Larry nodded. “C’mon, Inspector Trang.”
***
“Can you do a background check on Madeline Mingst, Edward Hill, and Jacob Hill. Madeline Mingst and Edward Hill? Yes, thanks.” Hieu waited for an answer as they drove back to Central. He looked over at Larry.
He’s weighing the interview with Big Red, a blow-hard, and Larry suffers little with that kind. What kind of woman was this Madeline?
“Thank you very much.”
Hieu pocketed his phone.
“Larry, Madeline Mingst and Edward Hill have no criminal record, but Jacob Hill, aka Jake, does, and you’ll remember the case. You directed Inspector Murphy. Jake is sitting on death row for murdering his wife, Jocelyn Hill, on June 10, 2015.”
“Yep. You know, Big Red reminds me of other Irishmen on Geary row, bloated bellies, bloated faces, bloated fists.”
“Maybe we should go there for a drink one of these days?”
“No. We’ll go to a Vietnamese restaurant next time.”
“No, next week we’ll go to my parents’ house for dinner.”
“After we’ve solved this damn case.”
Fifteen minutes later, Larry walked into his office at Central Station with Hieu right behind him. On his desk was a large envelope.
“It’s from Captain Dempsey. Wonder what we have here?”
Larry opened the envelope to find a type-written letter and began to read it aloud.
To whom it may concern:
I had an affair with Madeline and I killed my wife to get her out of the way. I was put in a trance by Madeline. She bewitched me! What a fool I was! I was loved by my father and tricked by a woman who ruined me forever. Forgive me.
Jake Hill
“It came out of a printer,” Larry said.
“I heard inmates have access to a computer in the prison library.”
“Crazy California giving access to murderers. Nothing new there.”
“They want to work on their appeals, Larry, that’s all.”
“Why shouldn’t they? The poor lambs.”
“How do we know Jake actually wrote the letter?” Hieu asked.
Larry said, “We need to interview Jake but not until we get a bite to eat.”
After lunch, Hieu and Larry walked through a set of gates that protect the world’s real lambs from 750 death row inmates.
Jake Hill shot hoops unattended in a cage with a basketball court; he was missing a lot of baskets. Fawn-color skin stretched over the hardened face of the muscle man.
Jake turned as Larry and Hieu approached. “Who are you?” he asked. He was clad in an orange jumpsuit and pushed thick brown hair back out of gray eyes. Thick glass and metal separated Jake from Hieu and Larry.
Jake removed his orange top and wife-beater, giving the officers a full view of his large muscles. Hieu immediately recognized them to be the result of anabolic steroids.
“I’m Inspector Trang, and this is Inspector Leahy. You should recognize Leahy.”
“Oh, yeah. Now I do. What brings you to the bucket?”
“I have a letter.” Hieu pulled it out.
“Who from?”
“You.”
“I sent you nothing. I don’t know you.”
“It was addressed to Inspector Leahy. I’ll read it to you.”
“With a better introduction of yourself, this little tête-à-tête might have continued.”
Larry asked, “Who sent the letter?”
“Probably one of my friends in here, if you can call them friends.”
“Which one?”
“Which one? You know my answer, Leahy. With a lot of snitches here, I have to be on guard.”
Larry sighed. “I thought prison might have helped you learn to do the right thing.”
“The only thing it has taught me is to look out for myself. On the outside, if I saw you on the street, Leahy, I’d skin you alive and wear your pretty face.”
“Your father’s girlfriend died this morning,” Larry said.
Jake’s mouth fell open.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She had a knife stuck in her throat.”
Jake shifted in his seat.
“Was she suicidal...to your knowledge?” Hieu asked.
“No, never.”
“How well did you know her?” Hieu asked.
“I...can’t say more.”
Larry said, “Why not, Jake?”
“I’m done talking.”
“We’ll be back. I have a funny feeling about that,” Larry said.
Larry’s relying on his instincts, but now we know Jake is lying.
Hieu asked, “Are you allowed to use the stress box, Mr. Hill?”
“No, man, I can’t make a phone call to anyone. On death row it’s not allowed.”
“What about the prison library? Can you use it?”
“No.”
Knowing Jake was untruthful, but unable to walk around him and apply the techniques he’d learned under Larry’s tutelage, Hieu said, “All right, thanks.”
On their way out, Hieu and Larry asked the record keeper if anyone had visited Jake during his imprisonment at San Quentin, and they were told he had one visitor, one time: Edward Hill.
Hieu and Larry hopped back into the former’s personal tank, the highly polished black 2018 4-Runner with black rims.
“I think he’s protecting his father. Sons will do that, you know.”
“Uh-huh, you would,” Larry said.
Hieu looked the other way briefly, saying nothing.
So would your son, Larry. I don’t care if the troubles you have with him have come up again.
“What next, Larry? An inspector in another case mentioned the name of a forensic linguist. She did some work for him.”
“You think she can tell us if Jake wrote the letter?” In the passenger seat, Larry rubbed his face with both hands. “Do you?”
Knowing full well he had led Larry to drink at the trough, Hieu smiled and said, “We’ll find out.”
Larry rubbed his face again.
“Read this.” Hieu quickly pulled out his notepad and passed it to Larry.
Larry read aloud: “Candace Hart earned a BA from UC Berkeley in English, then for her MA she switched to Criminology or Forensic Science and learned about ALIAS in her classes. She has worked with law enforcement agencies.”
Larry said, “What is ALIAS?”
Just then, Larry received a phone call. “All right, yes, sir.”
He hung up, and Hieu looked at him with eyebrows raised, “Captain Dempsey said he got a tip saying Jake Hill sent out a hit on Madeline…from prison. All right, back to SQ.”
When they got back to the prison . . .
“Do you mind if Eddie sits in?” Jake asked.
“No, if you’re good with that, we’re good,” Larry said.
Jake’s oversized buttocks overlapped a slick round stool. An extra-large blue plastic cup looked like a barbell in his hand. He and his ally were eating sloppy joes and the tomatoey smell filled the dining room of San Quentin’s North-Seg.
Eddie took a mouthful.
Hieu began. “So, Jake, we’re here to talk about a tip.”
“A tip?”
“The tipster said you sent out a hit on Madeline Mingst.”
Jake looked at Eddie. “Well, what about it?”
“I didn’t do nothing," said Eddie.
“Yes, you did.”
Jake crushed the plastic cup in his hand while looking up at the crumbling ceiling as if it had answers, and then tossed the cup into a garbage barrel. “You’re a stupid liar, Eddie.”
Jake did not wait for an answer; he got up and threw Eddie over onto another table. Dishes and utensils went flying. Larry and Hieu stood up and backed away from the fracas while the guards immediately jumped in and subdued Jake, but not without difficulty.
Outside the gates of San Quentin, Larry remarked, “Evil is in a race with us every day, and we have choices to make.”
“I think it’s Jake,” Hieu said.
Larry shook his head. “I’m not sure. Why would he write the letter about their affair if he had her murdered? He wouldn’t want anyone to know he had a motive.”
“But maybe he didn’t write the letter.”
“Well, then, we have to find out who did,” Larry said.
At five o’clock, Hieu went home, his work done for another COVID-19 day.
Hanh greeted Hieu at the front door. She wore a knee-length, red and white polka-dot wrap dress, making her look sweet, vulnerable, and grabbable, which he loved. She spoke about spending the 149th day of pregnancy helping her younger sister, also pregnant but further along, and followed up by talking about the Chinatown nursery around the corner where she volunteered.
She said, “I got a call from the Chùa Từ Quan Temple. The Vietnamese Buddhist Association has called several times and asked for you, but you are always busy. The service and meeting are for this coming Sunday.”
“I think I can go.”
“You said that last time, and then something came up. Larry’s Catholic and avoids work on Sunday.”
“Not always. I’ll…tell him we have a celebration this Sunday. He will understand.”
“Good. Then I can say ‘yes’?”
“Sure.”
He flopped on the sofa and sat back, forgetting to remove his shoulder holster, and pictured the Duboce Avenue Victorian with dragons atop the roof. The last time they were at the aging house, which was months ago, it was a regular gathering of confusion, jubilation, and fine down-home cuisine. Everyone wore masks.
Hanh cuddled up next to him and said, “The first time I met you, there were lots of children running around. It reminded me that I should get married soon to end parental nagging, and in you walked, my shining knight in a stylish silvery-gray suit, all buff and tan.”
Hieu was so tired he could hardly say, “When you learned I was a police officer, your apparatus revved up, and you got closer and closer by the minute.”
He recalled that her eyes had that “look”, but he knew she was a good girl. She lived a few blocks away, but he had never really noticed her before.
I love her so much.
“After dinner, let’s read in bed,” she said.
“After dinner, let me make a phone call, then you can do whatever you want with me.”
She lifted herself from the sofa and lowered the neck of her dress a touch and raised the edge of the bottom a touch.
Hieu wanted to skip the phone call, but he was a disciplined 31-year-old, and his calm robustness was a counterweight to the wiles of a woman who had a few years to go before she even reached her peak.
She leaned back from her erect-as-possible position.
Hieu threw out his arms, causing him to sit straight up. “You’re pregnant, Hanh!”
Her head turned slightly, flashing him her smiling face.
Dinner for two filled his belly, the surest way to his heart.
While she cleaned the dishes, Hieu made a phone call.
“Hello, Ms. Hart. My name is Hieu Trang, and I’m an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. Your assistant told me I could call at eight o’clock because you would be back in your office.”
“Good evening, Inspector Trang. How can I help you?”
“I’m investigating a murder. We have a letter from an inmate. It came out of a computer printer, so there is no handwriting. We want to know if the inmate wrote the letter. We need it authenticated.”
“Great. I can help you with that. Do you have any other letters?”
“No.”
“Please try to obtain at least one other letter. It doesn’t matter if it’s handwritten or produced from a computer printer. I will be looking at style and content. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do my best. What happens next and how long does your analysis take?”
“A couple of days. I will need the letters sent to me via FedEx. Do you have my address?”
Hieu flipped through his notepad. “700 Sutter?”
“Yes. Thank you. I look forward to receiving the envelope, and I will contact you immediately when I have the results.”
Sort of officious...but she’s done this before.
“I will deliver the letters myself when I get them, Ms. Hart.”
“Whatever you like. Good-bye.”
Hanh, who was standing a foot away, asked, “Is that another girlfriend? Is she your candy heart?”
“You won’t believe it. Her name is Candy Hart.”
“As long as I don’t find you calling her at three in the morning, all is well, bestie.”
“Let’s go to bed...right now,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
Tomorrow can wait, but I wonder what it will bring?
He’s weighing the interview with Big Red, a blow-hard, and Larry suffers little with that kind. What kind of woman was this Madeline?
“Thank you very much.”
Hieu pocketed his phone.
“Larry, Madeline Mingst and Edward Hill have no criminal record, but Jacob Hill, aka Jake, does, and you’ll remember the case. You directed Inspector Murphy. Jake is sitting on death row for murdering his wife, Jocelyn Hill, on June 10, 2015.”
“Yep. You know, Big Red reminds me of other Irishmen on Geary row, bloated bellies, bloated faces, bloated fists.”
“Maybe we should go there for a drink one of these days?”
“No. We’ll go to a Vietnamese restaurant next time.”
“No, next week we’ll go to my parents’ house for dinner.”
“After we’ve solved this damn case.”
Fifteen minutes later, Larry walked into his office at Central Station with Hieu right behind him. On his desk was a large envelope.
“It’s from Captain Dempsey. Wonder what we have here?”
Larry opened the envelope to find a type-written letter and began to read it aloud.
To whom it may concern:
I had an affair with Madeline and I killed my wife to get her out of the way. I was put in a trance by Madeline. She bewitched me! What a fool I was! I was loved by my father and tricked by a woman who ruined me forever. Forgive me.
Jake Hill
“It came out of a printer,” Larry said.
“I heard inmates have access to a computer in the prison library.”
“Crazy California giving access to murderers. Nothing new there.”
“They want to work on their appeals, Larry, that’s all.”
“Why shouldn’t they? The poor lambs.”
“How do we know Jake actually wrote the letter?” Hieu asked.
Larry said, “We need to interview Jake but not until we get a bite to eat.”
After lunch, Hieu and Larry walked through a set of gates that protect the world’s real lambs from 750 death row inmates.
Jake Hill shot hoops unattended in a cage with a basketball court; he was missing a lot of baskets. Fawn-color skin stretched over the hardened face of the muscle man.
Jake turned as Larry and Hieu approached. “Who are you?” he asked. He was clad in an orange jumpsuit and pushed thick brown hair back out of gray eyes. Thick glass and metal separated Jake from Hieu and Larry.
Jake removed his orange top and wife-beater, giving the officers a full view of his large muscles. Hieu immediately recognized them to be the result of anabolic steroids.
“I’m Inspector Trang, and this is Inspector Leahy. You should recognize Leahy.”
“Oh, yeah. Now I do. What brings you to the bucket?”
“I have a letter.” Hieu pulled it out.
“Who from?”
“You.”
“I sent you nothing. I don’t know you.”
“It was addressed to Inspector Leahy. I’ll read it to you.”
“With a better introduction of yourself, this little tête-à-tête might have continued.”
Larry asked, “Who sent the letter?”
“Probably one of my friends in here, if you can call them friends.”
“Which one?”
“Which one? You know my answer, Leahy. With a lot of snitches here, I have to be on guard.”
Larry sighed. “I thought prison might have helped you learn to do the right thing.”
“The only thing it has taught me is to look out for myself. On the outside, if I saw you on the street, Leahy, I’d skin you alive and wear your pretty face.”
“Your father’s girlfriend died this morning,” Larry said.
Jake’s mouth fell open.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She had a knife stuck in her throat.”
Jake shifted in his seat.
“Was she suicidal...to your knowledge?” Hieu asked.
“No, never.”
“How well did you know her?” Hieu asked.
“I...can’t say more.”
Larry said, “Why not, Jake?”
“I’m done talking.”
“We’ll be back. I have a funny feeling about that,” Larry said.
Larry’s relying on his instincts, but now we know Jake is lying.
Hieu asked, “Are you allowed to use the stress box, Mr. Hill?”
“No, man, I can’t make a phone call to anyone. On death row it’s not allowed.”
“What about the prison library? Can you use it?”
“No.”
Knowing Jake was untruthful, but unable to walk around him and apply the techniques he’d learned under Larry’s tutelage, Hieu said, “All right, thanks.”
On their way out, Hieu and Larry asked the record keeper if anyone had visited Jake during his imprisonment at San Quentin, and they were told he had one visitor, one time: Edward Hill.
Hieu and Larry hopped back into the former’s personal tank, the highly polished black 2018 4-Runner with black rims.
“I think he’s protecting his father. Sons will do that, you know.”
“Uh-huh, you would,” Larry said.
Hieu looked the other way briefly, saying nothing.
So would your son, Larry. I don’t care if the troubles you have with him have come up again.
“What next, Larry? An inspector in another case mentioned the name of a forensic linguist. She did some work for him.”
“You think she can tell us if Jake wrote the letter?” In the passenger seat, Larry rubbed his face with both hands. “Do you?”
Knowing full well he had led Larry to drink at the trough, Hieu smiled and said, “We’ll find out.”
Larry rubbed his face again.
“Read this.” Hieu quickly pulled out his notepad and passed it to Larry.
Larry read aloud: “Candace Hart earned a BA from UC Berkeley in English, then for her MA she switched to Criminology or Forensic Science and learned about ALIAS in her classes. She has worked with law enforcement agencies.”
Larry said, “What is ALIAS?”
Just then, Larry received a phone call. “All right, yes, sir.”
He hung up, and Hieu looked at him with eyebrows raised, “Captain Dempsey said he got a tip saying Jake Hill sent out a hit on Madeline…from prison. All right, back to SQ.”
When they got back to the prison . . .
“Do you mind if Eddie sits in?” Jake asked.
“No, if you’re good with that, we’re good,” Larry said.
Jake’s oversized buttocks overlapped a slick round stool. An extra-large blue plastic cup looked like a barbell in his hand. He and his ally were eating sloppy joes and the tomatoey smell filled the dining room of San Quentin’s North-Seg.
Eddie took a mouthful.
Hieu began. “So, Jake, we’re here to talk about a tip.”
“A tip?”
“The tipster said you sent out a hit on Madeline Mingst.”
Jake looked at Eddie. “Well, what about it?”
“I didn’t do nothing," said Eddie.
“Yes, you did.”
Jake crushed the plastic cup in his hand while looking up at the crumbling ceiling as if it had answers, and then tossed the cup into a garbage barrel. “You’re a stupid liar, Eddie.”
Jake did not wait for an answer; he got up and threw Eddie over onto another table. Dishes and utensils went flying. Larry and Hieu stood up and backed away from the fracas while the guards immediately jumped in and subdued Jake, but not without difficulty.
Outside the gates of San Quentin, Larry remarked, “Evil is in a race with us every day, and we have choices to make.”
“I think it’s Jake,” Hieu said.
Larry shook his head. “I’m not sure. Why would he write the letter about their affair if he had her murdered? He wouldn’t want anyone to know he had a motive.”
“But maybe he didn’t write the letter.”
“Well, then, we have to find out who did,” Larry said.
At five o’clock, Hieu went home, his work done for another COVID-19 day.
Hanh greeted Hieu at the front door. She wore a knee-length, red and white polka-dot wrap dress, making her look sweet, vulnerable, and grabbable, which he loved. She spoke about spending the 149th day of pregnancy helping her younger sister, also pregnant but further along, and followed up by talking about the Chinatown nursery around the corner where she volunteered.
She said, “I got a call from the Chùa Từ Quan Temple. The Vietnamese Buddhist Association has called several times and asked for you, but you are always busy. The service and meeting are for this coming Sunday.”
“I think I can go.”
“You said that last time, and then something came up. Larry’s Catholic and avoids work on Sunday.”
“Not always. I’ll…tell him we have a celebration this Sunday. He will understand.”
“Good. Then I can say ‘yes’?”
“Sure.”
He flopped on the sofa and sat back, forgetting to remove his shoulder holster, and pictured the Duboce Avenue Victorian with dragons atop the roof. The last time they were at the aging house, which was months ago, it was a regular gathering of confusion, jubilation, and fine down-home cuisine. Everyone wore masks.
Hanh cuddled up next to him and said, “The first time I met you, there were lots of children running around. It reminded me that I should get married soon to end parental nagging, and in you walked, my shining knight in a stylish silvery-gray suit, all buff and tan.”
Hieu was so tired he could hardly say, “When you learned I was a police officer, your apparatus revved up, and you got closer and closer by the minute.”
He recalled that her eyes had that “look”, but he knew she was a good girl. She lived a few blocks away, but he had never really noticed her before.
I love her so much.
“After dinner, let’s read in bed,” she said.
“After dinner, let me make a phone call, then you can do whatever you want with me.”
She lifted herself from the sofa and lowered the neck of her dress a touch and raised the edge of the bottom a touch.
Hieu wanted to skip the phone call, but he was a disciplined 31-year-old, and his calm robustness was a counterweight to the wiles of a woman who had a few years to go before she even reached her peak.
She leaned back from her erect-as-possible position.
Hieu threw out his arms, causing him to sit straight up. “You’re pregnant, Hanh!”
Her head turned slightly, flashing him her smiling face.
Dinner for two filled his belly, the surest way to his heart.
While she cleaned the dishes, Hieu made a phone call.
“Hello, Ms. Hart. My name is Hieu Trang, and I’m an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. Your assistant told me I could call at eight o’clock because you would be back in your office.”
“Good evening, Inspector Trang. How can I help you?”
“I’m investigating a murder. We have a letter from an inmate. It came out of a computer printer, so there is no handwriting. We want to know if the inmate wrote the letter. We need it authenticated.”
“Great. I can help you with that. Do you have any other letters?”
“No.”
“Please try to obtain at least one other letter. It doesn’t matter if it’s handwritten or produced from a computer printer. I will be looking at style and content. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do my best. What happens next and how long does your analysis take?”
“A couple of days. I will need the letters sent to me via FedEx. Do you have my address?”
Hieu flipped through his notepad. “700 Sutter?”
“Yes. Thank you. I look forward to receiving the envelope, and I will contact you immediately when I have the results.”
Sort of officious...but she’s done this before.
“I will deliver the letters myself when I get them, Ms. Hart.”
“Whatever you like. Good-bye.”
Hanh, who was standing a foot away, asked, “Is that another girlfriend? Is she your candy heart?”
“You won’t believe it. Her name is Candy Hart.”
“As long as I don’t find you calling her at three in the morning, all is well, bestie.”
“Let’s go to bed...right now,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
Tomorrow can wait, but I wonder what it will bring?
San Quentin
Chapter 2
In her usual bubbly way, Hanh had made him feel secure, and once he had entered Central and had surveyed all the other aides, officers, and inspectors in their respective places and offices, he had gathered stamina.
He prepared himself for the first call of the day and looked up at the city calendar: August 5.
“Mr. Hill, Inspector Trang here. Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you? Sorry for my behavior yesterday.”
“You’re grieving; I completely understand. I’d like to know if you’ve received any letters from your son.”
Hieu breathed in deeply, keeping the cell phone some inches away so as not to be heard inhaling, then said, “And what was Jake’s relationship like with Madeline?”
He’s quiet. Wonder what he’s thinking?
“He knew her.”
“Was he on friendly terms with her?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me a little more about her?”
“Divorced when she was young. Extremely pretty. Long black hair. I once asked if she was part Asian, and she laughed. Oh, uh, sorry about talking about Asians...you know.”
Hieu rolled his eyes.
“She taught first grade at Garfield. Good family…you know…high class, educated at the Convent. Real nice.”
“How did you meet?” Hieu asked.
“Fizzee's. She didn’t drink. She was nursing a Sprite.”
Big Red laughed.
“Did the age difference bother her?”
“Hell no. I can be charming when I need to be. Anyways, she wanted to try me out…you know, after a divorce, things can get pretty lonely.”
She’s Catholic.
“Didn’t the living arrangements upset her parents?”
“None of your business!”
Hieu responded too quickly, “We received a letter from Jake saying he had an affair with Madeline.”
Big Red’s voice sounded like a spinning tornado, “What makes you think he did, what makes you think I would give you any of his letters now, what makes you think you can call me up and push me around, you damn chink?”
Larry’s always right. Big Red speaks with four fists when drunk, and his courage is liquid.
“I need them, so I’ll stop by. I can be in there in 15 minutes.”
“No can do.”
He hung up on Hieu.
Hieu called Larry.
“Larry, I asked Big Red for letters Jake wrote him so we can get them analyzed, and he refused to cooperate.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him we have a letter from Jake about the affair.”
“What did you do that for? Now, he won’t give you anything.”
Damn, I goofed again.
“Sorry, Larry.”
“Let me think of a way to get around it. Come to my office, Hieu.”
Larry shut the door behind them.
“I know what to do.” Larry said. “I’ll call Big Red and say the DA is thinking about a subpoena for the letters, which is baloney, and then I’ll say you want to avoid that and just want to see the letters and hold them and say you saw them. Once they’re in your hands, use your radio to signal me. A minute later I will call you. You tell him you have to respond to another emergency call and walk out with the letters. Hopefully, he’s tipsy. I have a suspicion he gets cooked in the middle of the day.”
Larry called Big Red and put his cell phone on speaker.
Big Red answered. He said, “Don’t bring that mucker,” and hung up.
Larry exclaimed, “He thought it was you calling! He’s tipsy.”
As Hieu got close, he saw Big Red very deliberately guiding his Mercedes between the frame of the building’s garage door. The building was a fine, three-floor structure painted a light brown. Hieu knew Big Red was tipsy, like Larry said. However, after watching the vehicle pass out of view, he feared it was bouncing around off one parked car to the next and the next and the next. He wanted Big Red’s fullest possible attention, and that meant not having any of the building’s cohabitants interrupting their conversation because of some wreckage.
He slipped into the garage before the roll-up door closed and could see Big Red had exited through an interior door. Hieu ascended the stairs and knocked on Big Red’s front door.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Hieu said.
“No skin off my nose. Here’re the letters. What do you want with them?”
“Where were you when I called?”
“My favorite haunt on Geary. Fizzee’s.”
“Everything’s closed on account of COVID-19.”
“I was playing pool with the owner, okay?”
“What’s his name?”
“Jack.”
“Your son takes after you.”
Big Red lazily looked around the foyer and said, “What do you mean?”
“He’s a man of few words.” Hieu saw the letters in his hands. “What made you change your mind about giving me the letters?”
“My son is where he belongs – prison.”
“You testified at his trial that steroids caused his anger. Have you changed your mind about that?”
“Nope.”
“What do you think happened to Madeline?”
“She killed herself.”
“Why would she stab herself in the neck?”
“Maybe she needed to relieve her high blood pressure.”
“She was 31 and didn’t have high blood pressure.”
“How do you know? You talk to her doctor?”
“Yes.” Hieu had lied. “Why don’t we sit down? Let me just look over the letters.”
After handing Hieu the letters, Big Red turned and headed for the sofa, and Hieu reached for his radio button and signaled Larry.
Half a second passed and Hieu answered his phone call. “Hello?”
He watched Big Red listening from the sofa.
“All right. I can be there in 15 minutes.”
Hieu disconnected.
“Sorry man, I’ve got another call.”
“Hey. No problem. I’m going to spend the rest of afternoon back at Fizzee’s anyway, contemplating life’s pleasures.”
Hieu left as quickly as he could, two letters in hand.
He laid them out in Larry’s car, which was parked across the street. They read them. Nothing important jumped out.
“Was he soused?” Larry asked.
“You bet.”
“All right, we’re going back in.”
Huh?
“I want to give him a bad time. I happen to know he has a COVID-19 shelter-in-place violation.”
“When did you find out?”
“Before you got to work this morning, I was thinking we must have something on this guy, so I did some investigating. A few phone calls gave me the information I wanted. I’ve still got some years on you, China Boy, and I’m in the mood.”
“Yes, sir, Snowball.”
Larry chuckled at the nickname Hieu had recently given him. Hieu used to call him ‘Red Hen’.
“How’s your wife, Larry?”
“The battleax?”
“But you’re the tough guy.”
“No, she is.”
Larry reads history and biography. I need to start. He never talks about, or looks at, another woman. Like dad, Hieu thought.
Larry rang the doorbell at the entrance to the building.
Big Red spoke over the intercom, and Hieu asked to see him again to return the letters.
When he opened the door, the officers could see that Big Red’s face was redder than ever, and his throat, too.
“Mr. Big Red Face,” Larry said. “You have a COVID-19 violation notice. You own a telemarketing company in Laurel Village. You were caught violating the shelter-in-place rules. The business is lucrative.”
Big Red shrugged and guffawed.
Hieu was irritated over his nonchalant attitude toward COVID-19.
Larry continued. “The employees wear face masks, but city rules state that business offices can be open only for essential staff who cannot work from home. Most of your employees could work from home, but you have refused to pay for the phone equipment to be installed in their homes. The rule states…”
“I know what the rules state.”
“The rule states that offices with 20 or more staff can operate at no more than 20% of normal maximum occupancy, and if that number of staff cannot fit safely, only the amount of people who can maintain 6 feet of distance from each other are allowed. You have over 50 employees sitting at long, counter-style tables with barriers keeping the employees only three feet apart.” Larry looked up from the citation. “Well, Mr. Big Red?”
“Are you the new code enforcement officer?”
“No. Just keeping you on your toes during ‘trying times’. Good-bye.”
Outside on the street, Hieu and Larry laughed uncontrollably, so hard Larry started crying.
In the 4Runner, Hieu said, “I’ll call Candy Hart and see when I can get these letters to her.”
“Yeah, call Candy Hart. Then drop me off at Central. I have some other cases that need my delicate attention.”
Hieu called.
“Ms. Hart, I have three letters. Can I stop by?”
Hieu dropped off Larry and arrived at 700 Sutter, proceeded up to the third floor, and handed them over. Candy was standing there in a dark, burnt-sienna colored suit and an all-business white blouse, a real looker, even better than her name let on. She had brazen lapis lazuli eyes and delicate eyelids overlaid with blue eyeshadow…and black, spiky hair. Country music love songs played in the background. A green bowl with floating gardenias was set on a blond coffee table and scented the air around a pleasant young girl sitting behind the greeter’s desk, and out the unadorned window the Bohemian Club’s ivy-covered brick exterior could be seen.
The leafy wall across the street would make nice wallpaper.
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said.
Hieu looked at his watch. “How long will your analysis take?”
Off came her eyeglasses and suddenly she was anything but a schoolmarm. She had eyebrows thickly penciled in black and arched high on a pear-shaped, pinky-pearl forehead, but because she had little eyeliner, she resembled a middle-aged coquette. With thicker eyeliner she could have been goth.
She removed herself to the window and said, “If you can wait 24 hours, I’m sure I can give you what you desire,” her pointy chin looking like a dagger requiring evasive action, her cuspidate nose resembling a mosquito requiring some Deet, her dazzling teeth mirroring lightning bolts requiring proactive sheltering.
“Yes, ma’am.”
An entire day and night passed, and Hieu alternated between excitement and frustration.
At half past eight the next morning, Candy Hart called.
“Inspector Trang, here is my report. To analyze three letters, I relied on what I learned about ALIAS, the Automated Linguistic Identification & Assessment System. I started by selecting the type of analysis. I looked at the syntactic authorship identification "SynAID" module because the way we put our words into phrases is unconscious behavior. The module taught me how to access the document database, analyze the document by extracting and counting specific linguistic patterns, and implement a statistical analysis of the pattern counts.
“In particular, the numerical profile of these three letters shows a high ratio of first to third person pronouns, complex verb phrases, and simple prepositional phrases. These three features cluster these questioned documents together and differentiate them from seven other authors in an authorial lineup.
“There’s a .98 chance that this letter was authored by Jake, based on typicality probability output by the statistical analysis, and I can say that all three letters were written by the same person. It is immaterial that they were produced using a word processor or three different computer printers. In particular, the numerical profile of these three letters shows a high ratio of the second to first person pronouns, complex verb phrases, and simple prepositional phrases in all three letters.”
She paused, seeming to alter her usual procedures, but it gave Hieu time to digest a complex, scientific explanation.
That sounds awesome. She’s obviously dedicated to her work.
“Would you like to pick up the report or have me send it to you by FedEx?” she asked.
“Thank you. Please fax the report and the letters to me. I appreciate that information. Anytime you need my help, just call.”
“You know I will.”
His excitement nearly uncontainable, Hieu dashed past another inspector in the hallway on the way to Larry’s office with the faxed report and letters in hand.
“Jake wrote that letter. Big Red knows about the letter because I…well...I stupidly told him. Now we can make an arrest.”
“No, Hieu. Somehow, Big Red already knew about the affair. He had to have known. Either she told him, or his son did, because that’s what made him kill Madeline, but the rest you have right. Lead the way, Hieu.”
Big Red opened the front door and said, “I went out of my way to meet you.” He looked around Hieu and said, “Why did you bring him again?”
“Back your way into the living room and sit down,” Larry said.
Big Red did.
“First, here are the letters.” Larry threw them at Big Red, and before Big Red could answer, Larry yelled, “Your son had an affair with your girlfriend, and now she’s dead. You killed her. So, how did you find out about the affair?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never saw any letter, and you’re crazy.” Big Red picked up the letters lying on the soft white sofa and neatly folded them together. "I'll put these in my safe deposit box to keep them away from you and everyone else.”
“Snakes don’t walk, drunk or sober. They slither. Now, let’s get the truth.”
Hieu sat down next to Big Red. “We know the letter from Jake is authentic. A forensic linguist confirmed the letter was Jake’s. I can understand the anger you felt when you found out about your son and Madeline. Let it out now?”
Big Red looked as if he was going to pass out.
Larry said, “Do you want some water?”
Big Red went limp and slumped over. They checked him and determined he might be suffering from alcohol poisoning.
Hieu called 9-1-1.
When the paramedics arrived, Hieu and Larry left.
“Let’s head to the office, Hieu. We can go back when he’s able-minded.”
“We were getting so close to a confession.”
At Central, Captain Dempsey asked Larry and Hieu to come to his office.
Dempsey spoke in his commanding voice. “How’s the Mingst case going, and I better get the answer I’m looking for. The Mingst family is calling me from all over the United States, even Florida, and, oh yes, I got a call from Candy Hart wanting to compliment you, Trang. What did you say?”
Hieu felt Dempsey’s telescopic stare.
“Oh, uh, she’s just a flirt.”
“Leahy, tell your boyfriend to keep his pants on and get this solved fast.”
They answered, “Yes, sir,” and with downturned tails dragged themselves back to Larry’s office.
Larry left the door open.
“Larry? He sounds angry.”
“He’s always angry, but what he said was pretty funny.”
“Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong now?” Larry asked. He looked at Hieu questioningly.
“What Dempsey said about being more careful makes me think of Candy. When you threw the letters at Big Red, a note to me with Candy’s name and address on it was in with the letters. That could put her in danger. Shouldn’t we do something?”
“God. All right. Okay. Let’s figure out what to do next.”
He prepared himself for the first call of the day and looked up at the city calendar: August 5.
“Mr. Hill, Inspector Trang here. Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you? Sorry for my behavior yesterday.”
“You’re grieving; I completely understand. I’d like to know if you’ve received any letters from your son.”
Hieu breathed in deeply, keeping the cell phone some inches away so as not to be heard inhaling, then said, “And what was Jake’s relationship like with Madeline?”
He’s quiet. Wonder what he’s thinking?
“He knew her.”
“Was he on friendly terms with her?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me a little more about her?”
“Divorced when she was young. Extremely pretty. Long black hair. I once asked if she was part Asian, and she laughed. Oh, uh, sorry about talking about Asians...you know.”
Hieu rolled his eyes.
“She taught first grade at Garfield. Good family…you know…high class, educated at the Convent. Real nice.”
“How did you meet?” Hieu asked.
“Fizzee's. She didn’t drink. She was nursing a Sprite.”
Big Red laughed.
“Did the age difference bother her?”
“Hell no. I can be charming when I need to be. Anyways, she wanted to try me out…you know, after a divorce, things can get pretty lonely.”
She’s Catholic.
“Didn’t the living arrangements upset her parents?”
“None of your business!”
Hieu responded too quickly, “We received a letter from Jake saying he had an affair with Madeline.”
Big Red’s voice sounded like a spinning tornado, “What makes you think he did, what makes you think I would give you any of his letters now, what makes you think you can call me up and push me around, you damn chink?”
Larry’s always right. Big Red speaks with four fists when drunk, and his courage is liquid.
“I need them, so I’ll stop by. I can be in there in 15 minutes.”
“No can do.”
He hung up on Hieu.
Hieu called Larry.
“Larry, I asked Big Red for letters Jake wrote him so we can get them analyzed, and he refused to cooperate.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him we have a letter from Jake about the affair.”
“What did you do that for? Now, he won’t give you anything.”
Damn, I goofed again.
“Sorry, Larry.”
“Let me think of a way to get around it. Come to my office, Hieu.”
Larry shut the door behind them.
“I know what to do.” Larry said. “I’ll call Big Red and say the DA is thinking about a subpoena for the letters, which is baloney, and then I’ll say you want to avoid that and just want to see the letters and hold them and say you saw them. Once they’re in your hands, use your radio to signal me. A minute later I will call you. You tell him you have to respond to another emergency call and walk out with the letters. Hopefully, he’s tipsy. I have a suspicion he gets cooked in the middle of the day.”
Larry called Big Red and put his cell phone on speaker.
Big Red answered. He said, “Don’t bring that mucker,” and hung up.
Larry exclaimed, “He thought it was you calling! He’s tipsy.”
As Hieu got close, he saw Big Red very deliberately guiding his Mercedes between the frame of the building’s garage door. The building was a fine, three-floor structure painted a light brown. Hieu knew Big Red was tipsy, like Larry said. However, after watching the vehicle pass out of view, he feared it was bouncing around off one parked car to the next and the next and the next. He wanted Big Red’s fullest possible attention, and that meant not having any of the building’s cohabitants interrupting their conversation because of some wreckage.
He slipped into the garage before the roll-up door closed and could see Big Red had exited through an interior door. Hieu ascended the stairs and knocked on Big Red’s front door.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Hieu said.
“No skin off my nose. Here’re the letters. What do you want with them?”
“Where were you when I called?”
“My favorite haunt on Geary. Fizzee’s.”
“Everything’s closed on account of COVID-19.”
“I was playing pool with the owner, okay?”
“What’s his name?”
“Jack.”
“Your son takes after you.”
Big Red lazily looked around the foyer and said, “What do you mean?”
“He’s a man of few words.” Hieu saw the letters in his hands. “What made you change your mind about giving me the letters?”
“My son is where he belongs – prison.”
“You testified at his trial that steroids caused his anger. Have you changed your mind about that?”
“Nope.”
“What do you think happened to Madeline?”
“She killed herself.”
“Why would she stab herself in the neck?”
“Maybe she needed to relieve her high blood pressure.”
“She was 31 and didn’t have high blood pressure.”
“How do you know? You talk to her doctor?”
“Yes.” Hieu had lied. “Why don’t we sit down? Let me just look over the letters.”
After handing Hieu the letters, Big Red turned and headed for the sofa, and Hieu reached for his radio button and signaled Larry.
Half a second passed and Hieu answered his phone call. “Hello?”
He watched Big Red listening from the sofa.
“All right. I can be there in 15 minutes.”
Hieu disconnected.
“Sorry man, I’ve got another call.”
“Hey. No problem. I’m going to spend the rest of afternoon back at Fizzee’s anyway, contemplating life’s pleasures.”
Hieu left as quickly as he could, two letters in hand.
He laid them out in Larry’s car, which was parked across the street. They read them. Nothing important jumped out.
“Was he soused?” Larry asked.
“You bet.”
“All right, we’re going back in.”
Huh?
“I want to give him a bad time. I happen to know he has a COVID-19 shelter-in-place violation.”
“When did you find out?”
“Before you got to work this morning, I was thinking we must have something on this guy, so I did some investigating. A few phone calls gave me the information I wanted. I’ve still got some years on you, China Boy, and I’m in the mood.”
“Yes, sir, Snowball.”
Larry chuckled at the nickname Hieu had recently given him. Hieu used to call him ‘Red Hen’.
“How’s your wife, Larry?”
“The battleax?”
“But you’re the tough guy.”
“No, she is.”
Larry reads history and biography. I need to start. He never talks about, or looks at, another woman. Like dad, Hieu thought.
Larry rang the doorbell at the entrance to the building.
Big Red spoke over the intercom, and Hieu asked to see him again to return the letters.
When he opened the door, the officers could see that Big Red’s face was redder than ever, and his throat, too.
“Mr. Big Red Face,” Larry said. “You have a COVID-19 violation notice. You own a telemarketing company in Laurel Village. You were caught violating the shelter-in-place rules. The business is lucrative.”
Big Red shrugged and guffawed.
Hieu was irritated over his nonchalant attitude toward COVID-19.
Larry continued. “The employees wear face masks, but city rules state that business offices can be open only for essential staff who cannot work from home. Most of your employees could work from home, but you have refused to pay for the phone equipment to be installed in their homes. The rule states…”
“I know what the rules state.”
“The rule states that offices with 20 or more staff can operate at no more than 20% of normal maximum occupancy, and if that number of staff cannot fit safely, only the amount of people who can maintain 6 feet of distance from each other are allowed. You have over 50 employees sitting at long, counter-style tables with barriers keeping the employees only three feet apart.” Larry looked up from the citation. “Well, Mr. Big Red?”
“Are you the new code enforcement officer?”
“No. Just keeping you on your toes during ‘trying times’. Good-bye.”
Outside on the street, Hieu and Larry laughed uncontrollably, so hard Larry started crying.
In the 4Runner, Hieu said, “I’ll call Candy Hart and see when I can get these letters to her.”
“Yeah, call Candy Hart. Then drop me off at Central. I have some other cases that need my delicate attention.”
Hieu called.
“Ms. Hart, I have three letters. Can I stop by?”
Hieu dropped off Larry and arrived at 700 Sutter, proceeded up to the third floor, and handed them over. Candy was standing there in a dark, burnt-sienna colored suit and an all-business white blouse, a real looker, even better than her name let on. She had brazen lapis lazuli eyes and delicate eyelids overlaid with blue eyeshadow…and black, spiky hair. Country music love songs played in the background. A green bowl with floating gardenias was set on a blond coffee table and scented the air around a pleasant young girl sitting behind the greeter’s desk, and out the unadorned window the Bohemian Club’s ivy-covered brick exterior could be seen.
The leafy wall across the street would make nice wallpaper.
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said.
Hieu looked at his watch. “How long will your analysis take?”
Off came her eyeglasses and suddenly she was anything but a schoolmarm. She had eyebrows thickly penciled in black and arched high on a pear-shaped, pinky-pearl forehead, but because she had little eyeliner, she resembled a middle-aged coquette. With thicker eyeliner she could have been goth.
She removed herself to the window and said, “If you can wait 24 hours, I’m sure I can give you what you desire,” her pointy chin looking like a dagger requiring evasive action, her cuspidate nose resembling a mosquito requiring some Deet, her dazzling teeth mirroring lightning bolts requiring proactive sheltering.
“Yes, ma’am.”
An entire day and night passed, and Hieu alternated between excitement and frustration.
At half past eight the next morning, Candy Hart called.
“Inspector Trang, here is my report. To analyze three letters, I relied on what I learned about ALIAS, the Automated Linguistic Identification & Assessment System. I started by selecting the type of analysis. I looked at the syntactic authorship identification "SynAID" module because the way we put our words into phrases is unconscious behavior. The module taught me how to access the document database, analyze the document by extracting and counting specific linguistic patterns, and implement a statistical analysis of the pattern counts.
“In particular, the numerical profile of these three letters shows a high ratio of first to third person pronouns, complex verb phrases, and simple prepositional phrases. These three features cluster these questioned documents together and differentiate them from seven other authors in an authorial lineup.
“There’s a .98 chance that this letter was authored by Jake, based on typicality probability output by the statistical analysis, and I can say that all three letters were written by the same person. It is immaterial that they were produced using a word processor or three different computer printers. In particular, the numerical profile of these three letters shows a high ratio of the second to first person pronouns, complex verb phrases, and simple prepositional phrases in all three letters.”
She paused, seeming to alter her usual procedures, but it gave Hieu time to digest a complex, scientific explanation.
That sounds awesome. She’s obviously dedicated to her work.
“Would you like to pick up the report or have me send it to you by FedEx?” she asked.
“Thank you. Please fax the report and the letters to me. I appreciate that information. Anytime you need my help, just call.”
“You know I will.”
His excitement nearly uncontainable, Hieu dashed past another inspector in the hallway on the way to Larry’s office with the faxed report and letters in hand.
“Jake wrote that letter. Big Red knows about the letter because I…well...I stupidly told him. Now we can make an arrest.”
“No, Hieu. Somehow, Big Red already knew about the affair. He had to have known. Either she told him, or his son did, because that’s what made him kill Madeline, but the rest you have right. Lead the way, Hieu.”
Big Red opened the front door and said, “I went out of my way to meet you.” He looked around Hieu and said, “Why did you bring him again?”
“Back your way into the living room and sit down,” Larry said.
Big Red did.
“First, here are the letters.” Larry threw them at Big Red, and before Big Red could answer, Larry yelled, “Your son had an affair with your girlfriend, and now she’s dead. You killed her. So, how did you find out about the affair?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never saw any letter, and you’re crazy.” Big Red picked up the letters lying on the soft white sofa and neatly folded them together. "I'll put these in my safe deposit box to keep them away from you and everyone else.”
“Snakes don’t walk, drunk or sober. They slither. Now, let’s get the truth.”
Hieu sat down next to Big Red. “We know the letter from Jake is authentic. A forensic linguist confirmed the letter was Jake’s. I can understand the anger you felt when you found out about your son and Madeline. Let it out now?”
Big Red looked as if he was going to pass out.
Larry said, “Do you want some water?”
Big Red went limp and slumped over. They checked him and determined he might be suffering from alcohol poisoning.
Hieu called 9-1-1.
When the paramedics arrived, Hieu and Larry left.
“Let’s head to the office, Hieu. We can go back when he’s able-minded.”
“We were getting so close to a confession.”
At Central, Captain Dempsey asked Larry and Hieu to come to his office.
Dempsey spoke in his commanding voice. “How’s the Mingst case going, and I better get the answer I’m looking for. The Mingst family is calling me from all over the United States, even Florida, and, oh yes, I got a call from Candy Hart wanting to compliment you, Trang. What did you say?”
Hieu felt Dempsey’s telescopic stare.
“Oh, uh, she’s just a flirt.”
“Leahy, tell your boyfriend to keep his pants on and get this solved fast.”
They answered, “Yes, sir,” and with downturned tails dragged themselves back to Larry’s office.
Larry left the door open.
“Larry? He sounds angry.”
“He’s always angry, but what he said was pretty funny.”
“Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong now?” Larry asked. He looked at Hieu questioningly.
“What Dempsey said about being more careful makes me think of Candy. When you threw the letters at Big Red, a note to me with Candy’s name and address on it was in with the letters. That could put her in danger. Shouldn’t we do something?”
“God. All right. Okay. Let’s figure out what to do next.”
700 Sutter, Office Building
Chapter 3
Hieu cut through traffic just in time to see Big Red hustling Candy into his Mercedes. Hieu blasted his horn at Sutter and Taylor, pressed the gas pedal, and slapped the flashing light on the roof.
Now, let’s see this Toyota make some tracks.
“Get in front of him, Hieu.” Larry picked up the hand-held attached to the dash and calmly said, “Code 33. Code 33. 207 in progress. 207 in progress. Suspect driver Edward Hill, WMA, 52, California License Plate XOXOXOX, newer model white Mercedes, white hair, husky, over 6 feet 200 pounds. Victim passenger in front seat, Candace Hart, WFA, 52, brunette, medium to slender build. Heading west on Sutter, crossing Jones. Request assistance.”
Larry had cleared the air waves.
Hieu was behind Big Red. They lurched over Leavenworth, barely slowed at Van Ness, and flattened hilly Sutter. At Divisadero, he narrowly missed a woman pushing a baby carriage. The tires screeched. The engine thrashed. Hieu scarcely felt the bead of sweat plunging down the side of his face and out of the corner of his eye saw his partner holding on. He applied a few extra pumps after turning right at the Presidio Avenue corner and a few more after turning left onto California. The Mercedes side-swiped a parked car somewhere on the way, every other object vanishing in the sprint. Hieu kicked it at Arguello, and now they were tearing through the numbered avenues.
It was just after four in the afternoon, but COVID-19 had lessened traffic at Park Presidio, the run-up to the Golden Gate Bridge. Big Red vaulted through with Hieu nipping at his fender. Hieu was exploding with exhilaration.
No retreating now.
Another crazy wild turn at 32nd Avenue led them to Geary Boulevard.
A roadblock – contract workers replacing a sewer line – narrowed Geary to one lane. Traffic gave Hieu a good look at the back of Big Red’s head, but no sign of Candy Hart.
She must have slipped down in her seat.
Big Red ran over an orange cone and the flat center median and opted for Point Lobos Avenue. After a short charge, he suddenly turned into the parking lot, ran around the Mercedes, and dragged Candy out of the passenger side.
Before Hieu exited the Toyota, Larry spoke into the hand-held, “207 suspect 1020 600 Point Lobos Avenue parking lot. Foot chase in progress.”
Hieu could hear more sirens.
At the end of the parking lot, Big Red dragged Candy down the wooden steps to Sutro Baths Upper Trail. She seemed to skim over each step.
Hieu and Larry shouted at him to stop.
At the bottom of the steps, they sprinted on the gravely trail to its flat terminus.
A rock wall was all there was between Big Red, Candy, and the Pacific.
Big Red stood on the wall.
Hieu yelled, “Let her go.”
Candy resisted mightily.
Salt and wind filled Hieu’s nose and grazed his tongue.
Seals could be heard in the distance.
Larry circled to the left, Hieu to the right.
More officers began to show up.
Candy was hoisted on the wall.
Hieu took aim when he saw the pistol in Big Red’s hand.
Larry shouted to get Big Red’s attention.
He lost control of Candy.
A single shot was fired.
It hit the target, and Big Red tumbled off the wall onto the stone pavement.
Larry rushed forward and placed his knee on the back of Big Red’s neck.
Hieu grabbed Candy and pushed her out of the way.
The chase was over.
Now, let’s see this Toyota make some tracks.
“Get in front of him, Hieu.” Larry picked up the hand-held attached to the dash and calmly said, “Code 33. Code 33. 207 in progress. 207 in progress. Suspect driver Edward Hill, WMA, 52, California License Plate XOXOXOX, newer model white Mercedes, white hair, husky, over 6 feet 200 pounds. Victim passenger in front seat, Candace Hart, WFA, 52, brunette, medium to slender build. Heading west on Sutter, crossing Jones. Request assistance.”
Larry had cleared the air waves.
Hieu was behind Big Red. They lurched over Leavenworth, barely slowed at Van Ness, and flattened hilly Sutter. At Divisadero, he narrowly missed a woman pushing a baby carriage. The tires screeched. The engine thrashed. Hieu scarcely felt the bead of sweat plunging down the side of his face and out of the corner of his eye saw his partner holding on. He applied a few extra pumps after turning right at the Presidio Avenue corner and a few more after turning left onto California. The Mercedes side-swiped a parked car somewhere on the way, every other object vanishing in the sprint. Hieu kicked it at Arguello, and now they were tearing through the numbered avenues.
It was just after four in the afternoon, but COVID-19 had lessened traffic at Park Presidio, the run-up to the Golden Gate Bridge. Big Red vaulted through with Hieu nipping at his fender. Hieu was exploding with exhilaration.
No retreating now.
Another crazy wild turn at 32nd Avenue led them to Geary Boulevard.
A roadblock – contract workers replacing a sewer line – narrowed Geary to one lane. Traffic gave Hieu a good look at the back of Big Red’s head, but no sign of Candy Hart.
She must have slipped down in her seat.
Big Red ran over an orange cone and the flat center median and opted for Point Lobos Avenue. After a short charge, he suddenly turned into the parking lot, ran around the Mercedes, and dragged Candy out of the passenger side.
Before Hieu exited the Toyota, Larry spoke into the hand-held, “207 suspect 1020 600 Point Lobos Avenue parking lot. Foot chase in progress.”
Hieu could hear more sirens.
At the end of the parking lot, Big Red dragged Candy down the wooden steps to Sutro Baths Upper Trail. She seemed to skim over each step.
Hieu and Larry shouted at him to stop.
At the bottom of the steps, they sprinted on the gravely trail to its flat terminus.
A rock wall was all there was between Big Red, Candy, and the Pacific.
Big Red stood on the wall.
Hieu yelled, “Let her go.”
Candy resisted mightily.
Salt and wind filled Hieu’s nose and grazed his tongue.
Seals could be heard in the distance.
Larry circled to the left, Hieu to the right.
More officers began to show up.
Candy was hoisted on the wall.
Hieu took aim when he saw the pistol in Big Red’s hand.
Larry shouted to get Big Red’s attention.
He lost control of Candy.
A single shot was fired.
It hit the target, and Big Red tumbled off the wall onto the stone pavement.
Larry rushed forward and placed his knee on the back of Big Red’s neck.
Hieu grabbed Candy and pushed her out of the way.
The chase was over.
Sutro Baths Upper Trail
***
On August 7, 2020, the following day, Hieu and Larry visited Jake Hill, who had agreed to a follow-up interview.
Hieu began. “So, Jake, we’re here to talk about what happened yesterday and whatever you’d like to say about it. It’s up to you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. What do you want?”
“You know by now that it was your dad who killed Madeline. What you don’t know is that the letter Leahy got was authenticated by a forensic linguist. It came from you. All we want is for you to confirm you wrote the letter. It will help us out a lot.”
“Why?”
“Forensic linguistics is rock-solid science, but not everyone thinks so, and a confession will take care of it. So.…”
Jake closed his eyes for a minute.
“I can still see the southern slice of the city I reigned over from the 19th floor of The Hamilton, and here I am, occupying a seat in a gray auditorium. She wore Miss Dior perfume and fixed my favorite meal - pot roast smothered by spaghetti. Madeline’s skin, soft like cashmere. When I was having problems with my wife, Mdeline’s soulful voice comforted me. The first time I ever saw her, I said, ‘What a dish!’ So, I have no problem saying I wrote the letter. My dad will get what he deserves, like I did.”
Back in the 4-Runner, Hieu said, “You were right. Big Red knew about the affair and killed Madeline out of jealousy.”
“Big Red was probably sauced when he did it.”
Hieu began. “So, Jake, we’re here to talk about what happened yesterday and whatever you’d like to say about it. It’s up to you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. What do you want?”
“You know by now that it was your dad who killed Madeline. What you don’t know is that the letter Leahy got was authenticated by a forensic linguist. It came from you. All we want is for you to confirm you wrote the letter. It will help us out a lot.”
“Why?”
“Forensic linguistics is rock-solid science, but not everyone thinks so, and a confession will take care of it. So.…”
Jake closed his eyes for a minute.
“I can still see the southern slice of the city I reigned over from the 19th floor of The Hamilton, and here I am, occupying a seat in a gray auditorium. She wore Miss Dior perfume and fixed my favorite meal - pot roast smothered by spaghetti. Madeline’s skin, soft like cashmere. When I was having problems with my wife, Mdeline’s soulful voice comforted me. The first time I ever saw her, I said, ‘What a dish!’ So, I have no problem saying I wrote the letter. My dad will get what he deserves, like I did.”
Back in the 4-Runner, Hieu said, “You were right. Big Red knew about the affair and killed Madeline out of jealousy.”
“Big Red was probably sauced when he did it.”
***
When they returned to Central, an envelope lay on Larry’s desk.
“Another one. This time it is from…the medical examiner. Looks like a copy of a medical report. Old skeleton attached a note.”
“Good my pocket recorder was running, but Jake was cooperative. After the event at event at Sutro Baths, Candy told me Big Red destroyed the letters, but she has copies in her safe, which is unimportant now, isn’t it?”
“Well, the letters will be introduced in court, so it’s good she has copies.”
Larry read the coroner’s note aloud.
Inside is a copy of the final autopsy report and a medical report I requested after the autopsy – standard procedure. I think you will find the report from Madeline Mingst’s doctor interesting.
Larry read the autopsy report aloud.
Madeline Mingst was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer one year ago and was given two years to live. She never informed her boyfriend, Edward Hill, and Mingst was four months along in her pregnancy.
Hieu felt his face flush.
My wife’s pregnant. How could Big Red have done what he did to Madeline? I could kill him.
“I know what you’re thinking, Hieu, and I see your purple face, and I’m thinking the same thing. My son and I may have our differences, but his wife is pregnant, too, and I love him more than life itself.”
“Another one. This time it is from…the medical examiner. Looks like a copy of a medical report. Old skeleton attached a note.”
“Good my pocket recorder was running, but Jake was cooperative. After the event at event at Sutro Baths, Candy told me Big Red destroyed the letters, but she has copies in her safe, which is unimportant now, isn’t it?”
“Well, the letters will be introduced in court, so it’s good she has copies.”
Larry read the coroner’s note aloud.
Inside is a copy of the final autopsy report and a medical report I requested after the autopsy – standard procedure. I think you will find the report from Madeline Mingst’s doctor interesting.
Larry read the autopsy report aloud.
Madeline Mingst was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer one year ago and was given two years to live. She never informed her boyfriend, Edward Hill, and Mingst was four months along in her pregnancy.
Hieu felt his face flush.
My wife’s pregnant. How could Big Red have done what he did to Madeline? I could kill him.
“I know what you’re thinking, Hieu, and I see your purple face, and I’m thinking the same thing. My son and I may have our differences, but his wife is pregnant, too, and I love him more than life itself.”
***
Back at home, Hanh showered Hieu with kisses.
“What happened? You look beat.”
“Just another day at work.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure. We made a little trip to the San Quentin.”
Hanh held both of his hands and warmed them up.
Darkness had settled over the street, and the fog had returned.
Hieu rubbed his eyes. “Can you turn the lights down?”
“Sure, hon. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just tired, and the light hurts my eyes. On my way home I almost conked out.”
“I have dinner on the table.”
Hieu rubbed her belly and gave her a long, long kiss, then fell back onto the sofa.
She pulled him forward, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and squeezed the holster out.
“Ugh, my shoulder hurts.”
“Did you fall down, baby?”
“Yesterday,” he said, hoping to gain some sympathy.
He got it.
Note: a big thank you to Carole Chaski, the real-life forensic linguist who allowed my fictional character, Candy Hart, to use ALIAS, Carole's system of analyzing letters.
“What happened? You look beat.”
“Just another day at work.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure. We made a little trip to the San Quentin.”
Hanh held both of his hands and warmed them up.
Darkness had settled over the street, and the fog had returned.
Hieu rubbed his eyes. “Can you turn the lights down?”
“Sure, hon. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just tired, and the light hurts my eyes. On my way home I almost conked out.”
“I have dinner on the table.”
Hieu rubbed her belly and gave her a long, long kiss, then fell back onto the sofa.
She pulled him forward, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and squeezed the holster out.
“Ugh, my shoulder hurts.”
“Did you fall down, baby?”
“Yesterday,” he said, hoping to gain some sympathy.
He got it.
Note: a big thank you to Carole Chaski, the real-life forensic linguist who allowed my fictional character, Candy Hart, to use ALIAS, Carole's system of analyzing letters.