Swinging in the Breeze

My name is Alma Rossi, and I am the senior homicide detective from the Hillsford Police Department (HPD). I work the night shift and am on duty from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. Hillsford is in San Diego County in southern California.

Dispatch notified me around midnight. They informed me about a new murder. I headed over to the crime scene. As I pulled up, the scene was horrific. A man was hanging from an I-15 freeway overpass. He was swinging in the breeze.

Patrol officers Nolan and Shi were the first ones on the scene. Detective Cooke had taken charge of the scene. I signed the sign-in sheet, and Shi let me enter the scene.

“Cooke, what do we know?”

“Hi, Rossi. A motorist coming home from work called it in. They thought they were seeing an illusion. They pulled their car over to the curb and took a picture of the man. That is when they realized it was real. Nolan and Shi were notified a few minutes later.”

“Are there any CCTV cameras in this area?”

“We are checking on that. I doubt there are any that show the overpass. That’s what we need to know who did this.”

“Maybe we can find a driver or two traveling south on the I-15 that witnessed it.”

“Outstanding idea. I will call Lieutenant Sofia Calderon and ask her if she can set up a search for drivers. We call the Lieutenant LT for short.”

“Even if someone only saw a vehicle by the side of the freeway, that might help us, too.”

“I’ll add that to my conversation with LT.”

“If nothing else, I will head back to the station.”

“I will let you know when I return.”

Cooke would be there a long time. The medical examiner hasn’t arrived yet. Shi wrote down my leave time, and I returned to the station.

On returning to the station, I stopped at a coffee shop to pick up some iced coffee. I would be happy to take iced coffee via an intravenous drip. As I entered the floor where my desk was, I passed LT's office. I knocked on her door.

“Rossi. Take a seat.”

“Thanks, LT. I just got back from the crime scene.”

“Cooke called me. Is he in charge of the scene?”

“Yes. I hate sitting around for a long time, so I prefer that he oversees the scenes. That way, I can come and go.”

“You are our most senior detective, so I have no problem with that. Has Cooke pushed back on that?

“No. He likes that task. He is sociable and lets him chat with the medical examiner, the patrol officers, and the crime scene investigation team.”

“I was told this crime presents an image that is hard to forget. True?”

“I found it horrific. Hanging is hard to visualize, but it was a windy night, so the body was swinging back and forth. It felt like a scene from a horror movie.”

“Based on my conversation with Cooke, I set up a tip line for any drivers who witnessed the crime. Can you monitor that?”

“Yes. At this time of night, I am sure we will get some crazy people calling in.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks, LT.”

I returned to my desk and waited for the tip line phone number to light up.

A tip line call came in.

“This is Detective Rossi. How can I help you?”

“I was on the I-15 going south a little before midnight and witnessed a blue Ford 150 pull to the side of the road. I presumed they were having car troubles.”

The following calls were from crazy people until I got a worthy one.

“I was on the I-15 around midnight and saw a Blue Ford pickup and a big dude leaning over the guard rail like he was pulling something up.”

“Can you give me a better description of the man?”

“My guess was he was six feet five. He was Hispanic, had black hair, and had black, Python-skinned cowboy boots.”

The next call was from someone who didn’t get the message.

“I was on the I-5 going south at midnight looking for an F150 with no luck.”

“That’s because the crime was on the I-15 south.”

“Oops.”

The boots were a specific detail we could use. I was hoping someone would tell me what he was wearing. The next call provided more information.

“I witnessed a man getting out of a blue Ford F150. He was Hispanic, had black hair, jeans, and a short-sleeved shirt with snaps instead of buttons.”

We now had a ton of information. A blue Ford F150 would be hard to find because so many are on the road. Hair color and boots were specific things we could look for. Jeans and a shirt with snaps would help, too. If the killer had one on tonight, there were probably more of them in his wardrobe. The only thing left was someone to give us information about his license plate. I asked the next caller if he knew.

“I passed through the area after midnight, and a blue Ford 150 cut me off. He seemed to be in a hurry. He didn't have a rear license plate on the vehicle.”

“How old was the F150?”

“I would say within the past five years.”

I searched the California DMV for blue F150s on the road since 2000. I wanted to filter by zip codes in San Diego County, but I couldn’t be sure where they were registered. With no license plates, they might have brought them over from a neighboring state.

The list I got back from the DMV included more than 750 trucks. This is no surprise since the F150 has been the best-selling vehicle for the past decade. I printed the list and highlighted the ones registered in San Diego County.

My filter reduced the list to less than 200 trucks. I was happy we weren’t searching for black, white, or silver pickups, but that was still a long list of trucks to check on. I needed a way to drill down on the list.

Another tip line call came in after 2:00 a.m.

“I took a picture of the driver of the blue F150. He was walking around the back of the truck when I snapped it. Do you have an email address I can send it to?”

“Yes. You can send it to tipline@hpd.gov. Can I ask why you are awake at this time of night?”

“I am the father of a newborn. I take the night shifts, so my wife is rested for the day shift when I am working.”

“Sounds like a good deal. I just received your picture.”

“I am sorry about the quality of the picture. I slowed my vehicle down as much as possible to take the picture.”

“We will run it against our facial recognition system and hope we get a result.”

I uploaded the picture to our facial recognition system, targeting California and Federal databases. I hoped this person had been arrested in the past. Otherwise, we would not get any search results.

I walked around the building to keep me awake until the results returned. At 3:37 a.m., the search finished. No results were found. That meant this person was not arrested. We could check other states, but that would be a needle-in-a-haystack check. I wish the DMV would let us match the pictures against their system.

I added the photo to our case system so a patrol team would see it if they pulled him over. The tip line had been quiet since the last call.

Detective Cooke was finally back from the crime scene.

“Long day, Cooke.”

“The medical examiner was quick with the body. However, the crime scene investigation team showed up late and took forever to do their stuff.”

“Now you know I don’t like to oversee crime scenes. They slow me down too much.”

“I can’t wait to have your experience level and have someone junior under me.”

“Don’t worry. It will happen someday.”

I decided to run the picture against the Texas database in our facial recognition system because we found many suspects who moved between California and Texas. The results came up at 5:00 a.m. We found him! He had a drunk driving arrest three years ago. Now we had a name—Diego Juarez.

I ran the name against the DMV system; he owned a blue F150. It looked like we had the right suspect. I pulled his address from the DMV and passed it to dispatch. I told dispatch to send it to Nolan and Shi and let them know I was headed to the address.

I filed an affidavit with Judge Chabra for an arrest warrant. I signed the affidavit and mentioned the Texas and California DMV information. I also included the picture from the tip line. I wondered whether Judge Chabra was awake and would do this before she went to work. So that you know- I received my answer quickly. Ten minutes later, Judge Chabra approved it.

I took the elevator to the parking garage underneath our station and jumped into my unmarked car. Diego Juarez's address was in the school district, less than two miles from my house. I figured I could get to it in under ten minutes at this time of night. When I exited the parking garage, it was 5:25 a.m.

I arrived at the address, and Nolan and Shi were parked in front of it. They were patrolling the school district when the call came in.

“HPD: We are here to serve an arrest warrant for Diego Juarez,” I said as Nolan banged on the front door.

We heard people moving around in the house before the door opened a crack.

“Why is Diego in trouble,” his wife asked.

“If you open the door to let us in, I will hand you the arrest warrant, and you can read it to see why we are here.”

She opened the door to let us in, and I handed her the warrant.

“Where is your husband?”

“He just got out of the shower. He should be getting dressed. Our bedroom is the one at the top of the stairs.”

Nolan and Shi took the stairs up and knocked on the bedroom door.

“Mr. Juarez, this is HPD. We are here to arrest you. Please open the door,” Nolan said.

“One minute. I am tying my shoes.”

Nolan and Shi waited, and the door opened 90 seconds later.

“Turn around and put your arms behind you,” Shi said.

Diego complied, and Shi handcuffed him. Shi walked him downstairs and put him in the back seat of their patrol car.

“Mam. You can come to the station if you like,” I said.

“Thank you. I will follow you.”

Nolan came down the stairs.

“Detective. Are we OK?”

“Yes, let’s head back to the station.”

We both walked out of the house and jumped in our respective cars. It was a short drive back to the station.

Nolan and Shi needed to take care of his booking. He was fingerprinted, photographed, and asked to sign a Waiver of Rights form. That form covered the Miranda warnings, and once it was signed, we could interrogate him.

Once that was done, Shi placed him in a holding cell. He would need to stay there until his court appearance. ADA Gomes shows up around 8:30 a.m. Gomes would schedule the court appearance once he had the case information.

It was past the end of my shift, and there wasn’t much to do. I emailed ADA Gomes and told him to call me if he wanted me to attend the court appearance. I planned to stay awake long enough to see if he called me.

This was an excellent ending to my shift. Thirteen hours after I was notified about the crime, we had the suspect in custody.

(This story is a work of fiction. Some of these characters will appear in my next novel – The Chameleon Killer.)