The Castaway - Chapter 13

I spent the entire month of June 2007, checking any and all locations around Oceanside where I thought I might find Angel Martinez. No luck. A couple of weeks into my search, the parole officer called me and told me that Angel's arrest warrant had been recalled and cancelled. I argued with him and asked why Angel's parole couldn't be violated for not checking in with his parole officer. He told me that the prisons are just too full to send people back for non-violent offenses. Our parole system is a joke.

One of the houses I went to during my search for Angel was an old address he used in the early 90's. I didn't hold out much hope that I would find him there but I tried anyway. It was a gang neighborhood in a bad part of Oceanside. My standard-issue detective car stood out like a sore thumb. I heard the usual whistles and calls of warning as I cruised down the street looking for the address. Everyone within ear-shot knew the cops were here.

I parked in front of the house and noticed a little girl playing in the front yard. She was a pretty little dark-haired girl, maybe six or seven years old. I walked up to the gate and said hello. She looked at me suspiciously and didn't respond.

"Is Angel here?" I asked. No response.

A large Hispanic man in a wife-beater t-shirt came out of the house and onto the porch.

"You want something?"

The little girl turned to him before I could speak.

"He's looking for Tio." She told him.

"Isabella, go inside." He told her. She quickly obeyed and ran into the house.

"Hi," I said, as I flashed my badge. "I'm with the Sheriff's Department. I'm looking for Angel Martinez."

"He don't live here." Said the large man with the bad attitude. I noticed the curtains in the front window pulled back. I knew somebody in the house was watching but I couldn't see through the glass.

"Do you know where I can find him?" I asked. "He's not in any trouble, I just need to ask him a few questions."

I felt like an idiot even saying the words. There was no way in Hell this guy was going to tell the cops where to find Angel. All I was doing was giving him a stage for his machismo.

"You got a warrant?" He said loud enough for the neighborhood to hear.

Now, why do people ask that question? I never understood that. They must be watching old reruns of Dragnet on Nick-at-Night or something. The cop walks up and knocks on the door and produces a folded piece of paper. "Hello sir, we have a warrant to search your premises, please step aside." Give me a break. If I had a warrant I'd be asking him these questions with his face shoved into the carpet after crashing through his door with a battering ram.

"No sir, I'm not trying to arrest him, I just want to ask him some questions."

"Well he ain't here and I ain't seen him since he got out of Chino." Came the bullshit response.

"Okay, thank you."

The big angry Hispanic man went back inside. It seemed like a waste of time but now I had a location to watch. I knew Angel had been here and I knew he would be back. Hell, he was probably inside watching me through the curtain as I turned and walked back to my car.

I heard the front door open again and little Isabella came running out to the fence. I stopped at my car door and smiled at her.

"Are you taking my Tio back to jail again?" She asked.

"No sweetie, I just want to ask him a question."

She stood there with a sad look on her face. I opened my car door and started to get in.

"He's supposed to take me to the zoo," she said. "He promised he would take me to see the monkeys when he got out of jail."

I stopped and listened. She was so sweet.

"If you take him back to jail I won't get to see the monkeys."

Oh man, big lump in my throat.

"I'm not taking him to jail Isabella, I promise. When I see him I'll tell him he owes you a trip to the zoo."

She smiled. Then the front door swung open.

"Bella! Get your ass back in this house!" Yelled angry, wife-beater guy.

Her smile quickly vanished and she ran inside the house. As I climbed into the car I locked eyes with the big Hispanic guy on the porch.

"Another day, another time, asshole."

I drove back to Riverside and made up a Wanted poster for Angel Martinez with his most recent photograph. I wrote that Angel was wanted for "questioning" in a 187 PC Murder and I included the statement that he was not subject to arrest on this case. I sent the Wanted poster to Oceanside Police Department and made sure someone posted copies all over the station for the patrol officers to see. Oceanside was Angel's town and he was well known by the patrol officers. If he was still around, somebody would spot him.

Over the next few weeks I received about a half-dozen phone calls from Oceanside PD. Every phone call was the same - Angel had been spotted at various locations by patrol officers but they wanted to know why there wasn't a warrant for his arrest in the computer system. It was always a different person calling me and each one asked the same questions. They wanted to know the circumstances of the murder case and what Angel's involvement was. I was getting so frustrated. "Just bring him in and call me, please!" For God's sake, why was this so difficult to accomplish? The guy was on parole, they could bring him in without any probable cause.

In July my luck finally changed. One of the female forensic technicians at the Oceanside Police Department was walking through the booking area and recognized a man sitting in a chair. A police officer was sitting next to him writing out a citation. The forensic tech stared at the man for a moment and then asked the officer, "Is that Angel Martinez?" The officer looked up at her and said, "Yeah, do you know him?"

The forensic tech walked over and pulled the Wanted poster off the wall above the officer's head and handed it to him. Angel's shoulders dropped and he looked at the floor in defeat. He had been sitting in his chair facing the Wanted poster on the opposite wall and most likely saw it. "Oh shit," said the officer, "I was just about to let him go with a citation."

The forensic tech informed the officer that the Riverside County Sheriff's Department had been looking for Angel and those posters had been posted all over the station for about a month. The officer had pulled Angel over on a traffic stop and ultimately towed his car for driving on a suspended license. When the officer searched the car, he found a methamphetamine pipe and arrested Angel for the misdemeanor. Since Angel didn't have any identification, the officer transported him to the police station to get his photograph and fingerprints before releasing him with a citation. Another five minutes in the booking area and Angel would have been out the door.

I got the call at 5am on my cell phone. By 5:15am I was out the door and on the road to Oceanside. When I walked into the police station, Angel had already been placed in an interview room in handcuffs as I had requested. I thanked the forensic technician for her "heads up" observations and then I made arrangements to have the interview recorded by the hidden cameras in the interview room. I asked the original arresting officer to take Angel to use the restroom so that I could have the interview room to myself for a moment. The young officer jumped up and quickly complied. I took a playful jab at him as he walked down the hallway away from me. "Try not to let him go when you're done, okay?"

I was smiling in case he turned around to look at me, but his head just lowered in shame and he kept walking down the hallway.

While Angel was out of the interview room, I went in and rearranged the furniture. It was a standard 8' x 8' square interview room with one table and three chairs. One chair on one side of the table for the suspect, properly placed so the hidden camera had an unobstructed view. The other two chairs were on the other side of the table, one for each officer playing the good-cop / bad-cop roles. This was a standard interview set up. But it wasn't my style.

I looked around the room for the hidden camera and spotted it quickly, then I pushed the table out of the center of the room and into the corner. I took one of the chairs out of the room and put it in the hallway. I pushed Angel's chair up against the wall. Then I moved my chair directly in front of Angel's with about 3' of space between us. I left the interview room and went to the monitoring room down the hall where the recording equipment was kept. I made sure everything was working and the date/time-stamp was correct. As I watched the monitor, I saw the officer bring Angel back into the room. The officer stopped and looked around at the remodeling job that occurred in his absense but he didn't say anything. He sat Angel down in the correct chair and left the room.

I picked up my notebook and a can of Coke that I just purchased from the break-room vending machine and I headed for the interview room.

Angel was not happy to meet me. Carlton was right, Angel hated cops. He sat in his chair with his hands cuffed behind his back. He just glared at me when I walked in and introduced myself. Angel's tattoos were a little startling at first and added to his level of intimidation. In addition to his arms, Angel also had tattoos on his forhead, chin, and neck.

Angel's no dummy. He's most likely committed dozens of crimes that he's never been caught for but he certainly wasn't about to start talking about it with me. He knew I was going to try and strong-arm him into confessing to something. He knew I would threaten him with a parole violation and another term in prison if he didn't cooperate with me. The truth was, a parole violation caries a sentence of one year maximum and most violators were getting out in about 3 months. Angel could do 3 months standing on his head.

I didn't know about any of Angel's past crimes that he got away with and I didn't care. I wasn't here for that, but Angel didn't know it yet. I wanted Angel to snitch on somebody and that was much worse than getting arrested for any crime. Every convicted felon knows there's no lower scum than a snitch. Except for a child molester. In prison, the child molesters and the snitches are kept seperated from the rest of the general population. Those prisoners are regular targets for assault and they require extra protection. A prisoner obtains instant celebrity status for killing a child molester or a snitch.

Getting a hardened ex-con like Angel to roll over on someone takes a special touch.
I didn't have any real ammunition to threaten Angel with so I had to go about this another way. The first thing I did was look at his handcuffs with a surprised expression.

"Why the Hell are you in handcuffs?" I said as I pulled out my handcuff key. "I told these morons you were not under arrest."

Angel's expression changed from pissed-off to confused as I took his handcuffs off. He was trying to figure me out.

"I don't know," he said, "I told them I didn't do shit. I didn't kill nobody."

I over-played my disappointment as I rolled my head and tossed my notebook on the nearby table.

"Jesus," I said, "is it really that difficult for these guys to follow simple directions? I'm sorry Angel, you're not in any trouble and I know you didn't kill anybody. I appologize for the way these jerks have treated you. That was never supposed to happen."

Angel was really confused now. He was squirming in his chair like a little kid and looking me up and down like I was an alien. He didn't know what the Hell to make of me.

"Who the Hell are you?" He asked.

I quickly offered a handshake and introduced myself as a Riverside County Sheriff's Detective, definitely not from Oceanside.

Angel locked eyes with me and I stood there with my hand extended between us, waiting for that handshake to come. I could see the wheels spinning in Angel's head. He was trying hard to think of any crimes he might have committed in Riverside County, 30 miles away. I already knew the answer to that. I did my homework.

After a brief mental review, he must have realized he was clean from any felonies in Riverside County because a smile slowly rose in the corner of his mouth and he extended his hand to meet mine. His posture relaxed and he sat back in his chair. He grabbed the Coke from the table and cracked it open like he was celebrating with champagne. Angel took a sip, placed the Coke back on the table and clasped his arms behind his head like he was on a beach somewhere.

There it was. The perfect "come-on-in" posture I was hoping for. Angel knew that if I was there to talk about crimes in Riverside County, then he was free man. I would ask a few questions and Angel would look me in the eye and tell me he didn't know shit. Angel was confident he would win this battle. Let the games begin.

I sat down in the chair across from Angel. I pulled out the 1986 high school yearbook photo of Becky and held it straight out in front of me. As Angel looked at the picture, I was looking directly over the top of it at Angel's eyes. I wanted to see that instant, split-second reaction in his eyes when he looked at Rebecca's face.

Angel stared at the picture for a moment and then slowly shook his head. I didn't catch anything in his eyes.

"Don't know, who is she?" He asked.

"Her name is Becky Novell." I said, "She was reported missing back in 1986 and she's never returned."

I placed the picture on the nearby table and then I lied.

"She's probably just a runaway but we have to follow these things up anyway. The sooner I can find somebody who knows something, the sooner I can close this case out and move onto the next."

Angel looked at the picture again and then looked at me in disbelief.

"You want me to help you find a runaway kid?"

Angel laughed and I sensed a little more relief in his voice.

"Why would I help you find some girl I never even met? Besides, you said 1986? Isn't she like 40 now? And you're still looking for her? Man, you fucking cops get more incompetent every damn day! This is seriously like some Reno-911 shit!"

I laughed with him and discretely moved my chair a couple of inches closer to his. He didn't notice.

"Yeah, I know." I said. "My job sucks. But the computer won't let me take her out of the missing person system until we know she's okay. That's just the way the system works."

Angel got serious again and sat forward with his tough-guy approach.

"So what the fuck's this got to do with me? I told you I don't know her. I don't know where she is. Why the fuck you got Wanted Posters up with my picture on it?"

I watched Angel's eyes and posture very closely as I fed him some information.

"Becky used to date a friend of yours named Miguel. The last time anyone saw her she was with Miguel at a party. I'm trying to find Miguel so I can ask him where Becky went - if she ran away from home or what."

Angel stared at me, trying to read me.

"Miguel who?"

"I don't know his last name." I said, "That's why I wanted to talk to you. If I can get his last name I might be able to find him and ask him about Becky."

Angel looked away with a smirk on his face. He wasn't buying it. I slid my chair another couple of inches closer while he was looking away.

"Man, who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" He said. "I don't know nobody named Miguel and if I did I sure as fuck wouldn't rat him out to the cops."

I immediately responded, "Rat him out? I don't want you to rat anybody out Angel. I didn't say Miguel did anything wrong, I just want to ask him if he knows where Becky is."

Angel stared at me for a long, silent minute.

"She's dead, isn't she?" He finally asked.

Like I said, Angel's no dummy. This was too much effort for a missing 40-year-old. I didn't want to lose the momentum by getting caught in a lie so I immediately came clean. I was prepared for this phase of the interview. I reached into the folder and pulled out another picture. A pile of bones under a sage bush at the crime scene. I put the picture on the table next to Angel and he looked at it.

"Becky's body was found a few years ago. Somebody killed her back in 1986 when she was thirteen years old. Somebody raped her, murdered her, stuffed her naked body into a bag and threw her over a cliff to rot."

The words were sharp and to the point. Angel stared at the picture and visualized the actions that preceded the photo. He didn't speak. I moved my chair a little closer.

"I know Miguel was a friend of yours and I know you have no reason to trust me. I don't plan on writing down anything you say or naming you in any police reports. I just need to know who Miguel is so I can ask him about Becky. If he tells me he doesn't know anything, then I'm done and I move on."

Angel kept looking back and forth at the two photos. The pretty little blonde-haired girl posing for her school picture, and the aftermath of a twisted child killer. He still didn't speak. I was getting to him.

"Becky was just a kid," I continued." 13-year-old girls don't know shit about the real world. They still trust men and think a smile is always genuine. Somebody took advantage of that innocence and hurt this little girl. Shoving her body into a bag when he was finished and tossing her over a cliff just goes to show what kind of sick person he really is. And most of his friends and family probably had no idea there was an evil side to him."

I slid my chair another couple of inches. The space between us was nearly closed and I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. It was time for the kill shot.

"This isn't about somebody getting drunk and trying to get laid. This is about raping a little girl who couldn't defend herself. What if this was somebody you knew? What if this was your own daughter?

I leaned forward and put my hand on Angel's knee.

"What if this was Isabella?"

Angel shot me a look of instand anger and disgust. I sat up and opened the space between us a little. If he snapped he could easily hurt me, there wouldn't be time to react. I had to put myself in a vulnerable position for a moment in order to get close enough for the touch. It's an interrogation technique that has worked for me well in the past.

Angel stared at me and for a moment I thought I saw his eyes going a little glassy. He turned his head and looked at the wall.

"Fuck it," he said. That piece of shit was always a pervert."

Angel looked back at me and said with full conviction, "His name is Miguel Sandoval. We used to hang out together after we dropped out of high school. We even worked together for about a year cleaning carpets at people's houses. But I haven't seen Miguel in like 20 years. I don't know where he is now."

I quickly jotted down notes of everything Angel had to offer. The street Miguel lived on, where he went to school, the name of a girlfriend, his little brother's name. I took the information and left the interview room for a few minutes.

I used Oceanside's computer and located Miguel rather quickly. I printed out a driver's license photo and went back into the room with Angel. I handed him Miguel's photo. He stared at it for a moment.

"No, that's not... wait... oh, shit, that's Miguel! Damn, he got fat!"

Miguel was 37-years-old, about 6' tall and 250 lbs. He probably looked a lot different than he did as a teenager in the 80's. I know I do. But Angel was certain this was Miguel.

Angel got serious again and handed the picture back to me.

"This mother-fucker better hope you find him before I do."

I thanked Angel and escorted him to the exit door. No handshake, no hug. Just an exchange of looks as he walked out the door that said, "Thanks for the respect."

I started to close the door behind him and I stopped.

"Hey!" I yelled.

Angel turned and looked back.

"You owe Isabella a trip to the zoo."

I'm pretty sure I saw a little bit of a smile. Angel shook his head and walked away.

I closed the door and looked at the DMV photograph I was still holding of Miguel Sandoval.

"I got you now you son-of-a-bitch."