Match Play (2 page)

Phoenix, Arizona, Tuesday, March 19,
The First Hole

O
fficer Barrios
taps the speaker on his left shoulder, turns to his partner and says, “All right, Jackson, you heard it. Possible breakin on 46th Street. Take East Deer Valley to Tatum and head north and we’ll drop over to 46th. It’s those new buildings west of the Wild Fire Golf Club on Marriott Drive.” He shifts lower into his seat.

“Copy that.” Jackson signals and changes lanes. “Did you watch any of that LPGA Founders Cup Tournament? It was on this weekend.”

Officer Barrios ignores the question. “When you get to Pathfinder, it’s left and then right on 46th.” Barrios points in that direction and reaches around for his notebook and nightstick. “8733 won’t be but a couple of blocks on 46th. Should be on the left side of the street.”

Moments later Jackson turns into the drive at 8733 and in a few seconds they are parked in front of the office. They observe an elderly couple who are holding hands and waving in their direction. Barrios steps from the patrol car and introduces himself and Officer Jackson to the elderly couple, the Farryton’s. They make the basic inquiries and then instruct Mr. Farryton to lead the way. They weave their way down a curving concrete path past the typical desert plants, brown stucco walls and green window boxes that are filled with red trailing bougainvillea.

Barrios glances over in the direction Mr. Farryton is pointing and sees a broken pane in a French door. He notes the break is not adjacent to the lock and directs Jackson to check the door.

“It’s still locked,” says Jackson.

“This is our front door,” says Mr. Farryton, pointing to a solid door. “Here’s the key.”

Jackson asks Mr. Farryton how long they have been gone and he says since the preceding Thursday.

“We don’t like to be here when the LPGA golf tournament is in town. The traffic is impossible and people are so rude they even park up here. We just can’t endure it.” He gestures toward something neither officer can see.

Barrios takes the man’s keys. “We’ll go in and take a quick look around; you and your wife wait here. Which key is it?” He points to the one with the red plastic shield around the edge. Barrios, sensing he is about to hear the purpose of each key, says quickly, “Thank you. We’ll just be a moment.”

He walks to the door, inserts the key, one quick turn, and then turns the knob. He and Jackson enter. The apartment is well furnished, lightly painted and stylish with an open living area. The contents are certainly worth burglarizing. The Farryton’s home is a very well kept space, typical of the style being built all over the Phoenix metropolitan area for retiring couples.

Nothing appears to be disturbed. Barrios moves toward the room with the French door. Jackson offers to check the bedrooms and disappears down the hall. Barrios reaches the door, squats and regards the glass on the carpet. The window had been broken inward.

Jackson emerges from the hallway. “Nothing disturbed back here.”

“Bring the Farryton’s in, Jackson, and let them check the apartment.” He opens his notebook and starts filling in the details.

Jackson returns with the still apprehensive couple. “Please take your time and check if anything is missing or out of place.” Barrios offers calmly. “It doesn’t appear to be a breakin, probably just an accident caused by some kids fooling around.”

Mrs. Farryton walks around the counter that separates the living and dining area from the kitchen, suddenly disappearing. When she stands up, she says, “Oh Art, come look at this, it’s a darn old golf ball. I bet it’s what broke the window. It has a big red 2 on it,” Mrs. Farryton says as she turns it around with her fingers. “Can you imagine why someone would be hitting a golf ball here of all places?”

“Probably someone from that damn tournament,” Art grumbles.

Barrios holds out his hand. “May I see it, ma’am?”

Mrs. Farryton hands the ball to him. “I shouldn’t have touched it. You could have gotten fingerprints.”

“Well, probably not, ma’am. It’s highly unlikely we could get fingerprints from this kind of surface. I’ll take it for evidence, but there isn’t much we can do.” Barrios drops the ball into a plastic evidence bag.

Jackson joins them. “I’m sure no one has been in your house, it’s just one of those unfortunate things that happens,” he says. As Barrios and Jackson move toward the door, Mr. Farryton thanks them and then closes the door behind the officers.

Jackson studies the ball through the plastic of the evidence bag. “You know, Barrios, this ball seems kind of like it’s marked with blood. Did you notice that? Do you mind driving for a while?”

“Sure,” says Barrios. They toss their nightsticks on the seat, hats off, notebook on the console and settle in. “Clear us,” he instructs.

A
lmost immediately,
the officers’ shoulder mikes beep in with the dispatcher asking their location. After stating where they are, they are instructed to proceed immediately to another scene, a possible homicide in the same vicinity.

Barrios makes a quick U-turn at the next intersection and accelerates the engine. They reach the new address in a few minutes and pull into a small lot identical to the one they have just left. An elderly man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt is waving frantically. He is stocky, balding and his glasses are in his right hand. Jackson is first out of the vehicle.

“Oh my God! It’s terrible! It’s terrible!” the man says over and over again. Jackson notices immediately that the man smells like he has been vomiting. “It’s terrible, terrible, who would do something like this?” The man is gasping and trembling and tears are running down his cheeks.

Barrios hurriedly walks around the vehicle and firmly takes the man’s arm. “Show us the way, please, sir.” The man begins to half run down the curved path, Barrios and Jackson following on the walkway between more stucco and cactus. They turn the corner two buildings later, and the man points.

“There! There!”

Two women are sitting on the steps of an upper unit of the complex. Barrios notes the door above is partially open. One of the women is crying hysterically and convulsing at the same time. The other woman, older and not as well-dressed, seems to be trying to comfort her with little success.

Barrios grabs the man’s arm and stops him. “All right, what is going on here?”

The man, his shirt still damp with vomit, says, “The woman upstairs is…is…is…oh my God, it’s so terrible. She’s dead! She’s up there.” The man points to the upstairs apartment.

“Did you go inside?”

“I just peeked in the door.” His red face crumples and Barrios is sure the man will be sick again.

“Who went in?” Barrios barks.

“
She
did!” The man points at the well-dressed woman sitting on the stairs. “She was crying and throwing up when I got back here, and then when I went up the stairs, I got sick too.” He wipes his shirt with his hand, only amplifying the odor of the vomit.

Barrios motions his intent to go upstairs. Jackson acknowledges and Barrios motions at him to follow. They don’t hesitate while climbing the stairs except to avoid stepping in the vomit. They draw their weapons and pause before exposing themselves to the door, slightly open with a key in the lock.

The smell of death and blood permeate the air. Barrios cautiously peers in, his eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark. He can hear Jackson breathing heavily behind him. He sees the counter between the living and dining area and stares at a large yellow bowl on the counter. Blood has oozed over the top of the bowl and has spread over the counter like a still lake. A woman’s head is half submerged in the bowl, her face gray and expressionless. Her hair is matted and tangled and her lifeless eyes are staring back at him. He feels his own stomach convulse.

“Jackson, Jackson!” He reaches for his partner’s arm. “Go call this in,
now
. We need homicide detectives, the coroner and the crime unit. Bring back some tape to mark off the crime scene.” Jackson steps backward; he has seen the head. “Jackson! Do it!”

“Copy that, right away.” Jackson double jumps his way down the stairs and disappears around the corner of the building.

Barrios cautiously steps into the room, his fingers tense around his weapon. In the dim light he sees a torso lying on the floor and subconsciously rubs the back of his neck. “What the hell happened here?”

He moves down the hallway, pushes open the first door and clicks on the light with his left elbow, careful not to touch anything. Arms and legs are lying in the bathtub. He backs out of the bathroom, pauses for a moment, and then carefully inspects the bedrooms, which along with the master bath are undisturbed. He stays vigilant, his senses heightened as he moves back into the living area. He notes masses of flesh on the floor, and that the dining table has been moved. Double French doors opening onto the balcony are wide open. The balcony is empty except for potted plants and a patio set.

Barrios backs toward the door, careful not to trip over the torso. He avoids the stare of the victim. When he reaches the door, he uses his sleeve to push the light switch on to illuminate the stairs and the foyer, and he uses the site on his pistol to pull the door closed.

He stands on the landing and waits for Jackson. Under his breath, he whispers a prayer and crosses himself.

Jackson returns with a roll of yellow crime scene tape, and is followed by several people.

Barrios grimaces. “Here come the looky loos,” he mumbles under his breath. “Jackson, get that tape up ASAP.”

O
fficer Barrios
descends the stairs and stops near the two women. “Let’s get you away from here, ma’am. I need to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.” The woman nods. Barrios starts slowly. “May I have your name for the record?”

“Sarah McClane. She’s my sister, Debbie.” She starts to sob again.

Barrios writes in his notebook. “You’re doing fine, just take your time. What brought you to your sister’s house?”

“I called her at her office and they said she hadn’t come in today. They said there was no answer at her home and they had not heard from her. That isn’t like Deb, so I called on and off until I was off work and then decided to check on her myself.” Her voice wavers and is muffled by her tear-soaked tissues as she wipes her face.

The other woman interrupts. “My husband and I are the managers and we were outside when we heard Sarah scream. We came as fast as we could. My husband called the police and we’ve been right here ever since. I’m Mrs. Bloomfield, Betty Bloomfield, and my husband is Don.” She wheezes as she finishes her story, out of breath from the excitement. Barrios adds her information to his notebook.

Barrios turns his attention back to Sarah McClane. “When did you last speak to your sister?”

“Friday evening after work. She was home and said she did not have plans except to play golf on Saturday. She’s a good golfer; sometimes plays at Wild Fire.” She pauses momentarily, and then starts to cry again. “I mean, she did play…oh my God!”

While Barrios waits for Sarah to calm herself, he motions to Jackson to keep the spectators back. He turns his attention back to Sarah McClane. She is an attractive, middle-aged woman, even though her face is red and swollen from the crying. “Please, Ms. McClane, tell me about your sister.”

“Her full name…Deborah Susan Beatty. She’s forty-three, divorced, Beatty is her husband’s name. She is a paralegal for Hubert, Sexton and Brant, a law firm on Scottsdale Road. She’s worked there for about ten years, I think. She’s my only sister.” Her shoulders droop and she starts shaking.

Barrios turns to Mrs. Bloomfield. “Do you think we could move Ms. McClane to your apartment and give her a glass of water?” Jackson has just about taped off the area; this would be a good time to get Ms. McClane some privacy.

“Oh, sure.” Mrs. Bloomfield helps Sarah to her feet. “Come with me, dear.”

Jackson pulls the yellow tape up over their heads so they can pass. Barrios stops momentarily to give him instructions. “Keep this area clear. I’m going to try to get more information from the victim’s sister. We’ll be in the manager’s apartment, 111. Do not talk to anyone. Wait here for the detectives.” He follows the women.

Inside the Bloomfield’s apartment, Ms. McClane appears more composed after water and a change of scenery.

“Can you tell me how you discovered Ms. Beatty, and the approximate time?” Barrios wants to have the preliminary information in his notebook when the detectives arrive.

She glances up at him. “As I said, I came after work. Her car wasn’t in the carport, but I thought she would return shortly. Since she wasn’t answering her phone, I assumed she was ill and had gone to the pharmacy or grocery. Still, it did not make any sense, because I had left several messages on her machine…” She takes a deep breath. “Normally, she would have called me. I went up the steps, rang the bell and when she didn’t answer, I used my key. I only took a couple of steps into the room before…before…I saw her. Oh God!”

Mrs. Bloomfield is attempting to comfort her. Barrios waits until the convulsive sobbing subsides. After a few minutes, he tries again. “Then what happened, what did you do?” he asks softly.

“I jumped back when I saw her head. I think I grabbed the railing because I felt like I was going to faint.” She inspects the front of her suit and says, “I think that’s when I threw up.”

“It’s when she screamed too,” states Mrs. Bloomfield. “She was on the landing when my husband and I came around the building.”

“Mr. Bloomfield helped me down the stairs and then he went back up. I think he went and called you, the police.” She places her face in her hands.

“Do either of you remember the time this all occurred?” asks Barrios. He will check the 911 call but still needed verification from the witnesses.

Mrs. Bloomfield offers, “It was nearing six-thirty because Don said he would miss the news.”

“I guess that’s probably right. It takes about an hour for me to get here from my office in Scottsdale, especially in rush hour.” Ms. McClane’s demeanor indicates she won’t be able to answer many more questions. Her downcast eyes are filling with tears.

“May we call someone to come and pick you up?” Barrios asks. “Is there anyone here in town?” She looks at him blankly for a moment. “Oh, yes, my brother. He will need to know.” She covers her face, then drops her hands and says, “I’ll call him right away.”