The Friday Night Club

At 10:30 I got the phone call, patched through from CHP, that Walsh’s car had been spotted near Truckee on I-80,

heading west. As there was only one highway directly into Riverton from that direction, Highway 4, I decided to put the

access point fro m that highway under immediate surveillance and asked CHP to take care of that chore.

We set up a series of code words that we would use to inform others on surveillance what Walsh was doing, in case he

had a police radio and could monitor us. I called Galen and provided him with the code and arranged for him to be stationed

at one of the highway exits from highway 4 while I would be at another further west. I also called headquarters and asked for

backup to be available at other strategic points. I kissed Alex and hugged her for a couple of minutes before heading out.

* * *

We were all in position by 11:15, knowing we would have almost a two hour wait before Walsh arrived in the area. At

1:10 I got a coded signal from a CHP vehicle that Walsh had passed him and he would follow at a discreet distance, keeping

us informed of Walsh’s progress. At 1:15 I got the signal, “On two,” which told me CHP was passing Galen’s location. A few

minutes later Galen passed me.

When Galen came up behind him, CHP pulled of the highway to take parallel roads and catch up later. Walsh took the

downtown exit before I caught up. Galen followed him to a house a half-mile from the highway, reported the address and

continued on by. I parked several houses away from the house while Galen circled back and parked an equal distance on

the other side, facing in the opposite direction from me.

I took the first shift of the overnight watch; Galen would relieve me at 6 and a backup team would take over at 10 A.M.

We would then meet with Jason at head-quarters at 2. If Walsh left his house, the person on duty would call headquarters and

follow, keeping headquarters posted as to his whereabouts. One other unmarked car would be dispatched to help keep tabs

at that point.

It was a long, boring night; I had difficulty staying awake. Nothing happened and I was happy to see Galen arrive shortly

after 6. I arrived home just as Alex was returning from her morning run. After a quick breakfast I slept until noon.

I called the team on duty and got the report that the suspect had not stirred. At 2 I met with Galen and Jason and we

reviewed what we knew. We had no doubt that there were two perps and that Walsh was one of them. Finding proof and

locating the second perp was another matter. There also seemed to be no real motive, although we were sure the two

victims had been involved with Walsh in the commune.

No report came in from the 2 to 6 watch so we assumed Walsh was temporarily inactive. We had a quick meal at a fast

food takeout place and had no sooner returned to our car at 6:30 when a coded call came advising us the suspect was on

the move. The stakeout car followed Walsh to a fast food place and then back to his house. We were kept informed of his

every street and every turn Walsh took. What seemed strange to us was that no one else had entered or left the house.

* * *

At 8 o’clock things began to happen. Walsh had a visitor, a heavy-set man of medium height wearing a baseball cap.

Following instructions the surveillance team took infra-red photos of the visitor and of his car, an almost new, red Bronco.

The visitor left at 8:20 and immediately Walsh came out of the house, headed for his car and drove off. We were

informed at once that he appeared to be heading toward highway 4, with the surveillance team again following. Galen and I

headed for different access roads to highway 4; Jason took over the stakeout at the house in case there was activity there

also.

Headquarters was informed of the license plate number of the Bronco and sent out two teams to try to locate Walsh’s

visitor. Walsh reached the highway and headed east at a high rate of speed. “I think he’s on to us,” I advised the others.

“Let’s see if we can catch up.”

Walsh continued east on highway 4 when it turned right a half-mile before a toll booth. If anything, his speed picked up

even though there was a treacherous, winding stretch of highway ahead. Somewhere in that stretch he turned off his lights,

making it difficult for us to see him. This turned out to be a fatal mistake; as he started across a narrow bridge he apparently

forgot there was a blind 90 degree turn at the far end. A large, 18-wheeler came around the turn and rammed into him, head

on, demolishing Walsh’s car before screeching to a stop.

I was extremely lucky; I brought my car to a brake slamming halt about ten feet from the mass of wreckage. Galen wasn’t

as lucky; he blew a tire just short of the bridge and went over the banking down to the edge of the river. Our stakeout buddy,

Noel French, managed to stop a few feet behind me.

I immediately called in the details of the accident and went to check the wreckage while Noel went to help Galen. One

quick look was all that was needed to be certain there was no way Walsh could have survived.

As I turned toward the truck the driver stumbled out of the cab, blood streaming down his face; he looked as if he was in a

state of shock. I had him sit down on the road while I ran to get my first aid kit. A butterfly bandage on his forehead helped to

temporarily staunch the flow of blood from a deep cut there. He also had a nose-bleed from a possible broken nose which I

was not able to stop. I had him sit still until help arrived.

In the meantime, Noel had scrambled down the banking to Galen’s car to find Galen leaning out the window, conscious

but looking as if he also was in shock. “I think my leg is broken,” he said as soon as Noel reached him. “If there’s help on the

way I’d better sit tight until they arrive.”

By the time Noel worked his way back to the bridge two emergency vehicles and two tow trucks arrived on the scene.

One of the emergency teams went to tend to Galen while the other gave proper first aid to the trucker and left with him in their

ambulance.

Two highway patrol cars arrived and set flares out at each end of the wreckage while the tow trucks went to work cleaning

up the mess. It was a grizzly scene; Walsh’s body was crushed between the seat and the dash, which had imploded on him.

The steering column had struck him in the neck, almost decapitating him.

* * *

After making sure there was nothing else we could do Noel and I returned to our cars, each feeling very queezy in our

stomach. By that time it was almost 11 P.M. I reported to headquarters and was about to switch off when the dispatcher cut

in with a message for me. “There’s been another stabbing,” was the succinct message, followed by the location details.

My reaction was not the calm one I try to maintain during stressful times; I blew up and used language not characteristic

of me, I sat there at least ten minutes while I regained control.

Noel had already left the accident scene so I called him and asked him to relieve Jason at the stakeout. I then called

Jason, explained the situation, and asked him to meet me at the bar when Noel relieved him.

The bar was another dive in a different part of town from the first two. To my surprise Doc Morrissey was already there

examining the body, which was again in a booth some distance from the bar. The crime team arrived a few minutes after I

did; Jason a few minutes later.

The proprietor was sitting in a chair behind the bar looking deathly ill. He looked so bad I had Doc Morrissey leave his

examination of the corpse and take a look at him.

“Call an ambulance,” Doc Morrissey said. “This man appears to have had a heart attack.”

While I took care of that, Jason questioned one of the patrons, a short, heavy Hispanic man. Jason introduced the man

as Vincent Siguerra and said, “We have a witness, Sarge. This man got a good look at the man in the booth and saw him

leave.”

The man proved to be quite voluble. “I read about the other two murders and remembered that each time it happened in

a booth. When I saw this couple come in I thought I would keep an eye on him; you never know when something might

happen. I didn’t see him stab the girl, I think I was ordering a beer. But I did see him get up and leave.”

“Can you describe him?” I asked.

“Sure, he was a couple inches taller than me; maybe 5’10” or 5’11”. He was kinda stocky and was wearing a dark blue

windbreaker and dark blue baseball cap.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Definitely.”

“Good, thanks. You’ve been a big help. Please give your address and phone number to Detective LaFleur and then you

can leave.”

None of the other patrons could add any information to what Siguerra had provided. No one saw anything, I was told.

After getting their names and addresses we sent them home also.

While we were questioning the patrons the ambulance arrived to transport the bartender to the hospital and Doc

Morrissey was back with the victim. “She was also stabbed in the neck with a long, pointy knife or dagger,” he said. “Looks

like the same perp.”

I filled him in on my evening and the accident, then added, “This one is a different person. We have an eyewitness who

described him as medium height and heavy set. We’re sure the man who was killed in the accident was the first perp, and

description of last week’s perp indicated a tall, muscular man.”

I commiserated with Doc Morrissey for having to give up another Friday night and called headquarters. One piece of

information headquarters provided was that the Bronco seen at the house where Walsh had been staying was registered to a

Joseph Boggs with an address in Riverton. I requested an APB be put out for Boggs and his car, and for his house top be

put under surveillance.

For the first time in our investigation we got a real break when at 2 A.M. Boggs was apprehended. A police cruiser saw

the Bronco parked near another bar on the opposite side of town from the site of the last stabbing. They called their location

in and then one of the officers entered the front door of the bar as his partner went to the rear. Boggs, who was sitting at the

bar, saw the officer enter the front and made a beeline for the back only to be confronted by the other officer with a drawn

handgun.

His rights were read to him and he was taken to headquarters, booked and placed in a holding cell. When I was advised

of his capture I was still at the stabbing scene talking to members of the crime team. My answer to headquarters was, “Let

him cool his heels for the night; I’m bushed and so is my partner. We’ll interrogate him in the morning.” Jason and I went

home and to bed. Alex heard me come in, at 3 A. M., and cuddled up with me until I went to sleep.

* * *

Boggs was a tough nut so Jason and I used the good guy - bad guy routine. I wasn’t in a good guy mood but I gave it my

best shot. “Hey Joe,” I began, as the good guy, “the report I’m reading says you’re charged with first degree murder. I find

that hard to believe; you don’t look like a person who would murder someone. Want to tell us about it?”

“I didn’t murder nobody; whoever says so is a liar. I want to see my lawyer,” he answered in a surly tone.

Jason came on strong. “You’re as guilty as sin; we have an eyewitness who saw you. Now, let’s cut the crap and answer

the questions.”

At this point, as part of our routine, I held my hand up as if to tell Jason he was coming on too strong.

“Can you tell us where you were between ten and midnight last night?” I asked

“I was at home all evening watching TV,” he replied.

“You’re lying through your teeth,” Jason threw at him. “You were seen visiting your friend, Franklin Walsh, at 8 o’clock.

Where did you go from his house?”

Before Boggs could reply I threw in a less aggressive question. “How well did you know Franklin Walsh?”

“Who?” Boggs replied.

“Franklin Walsh,” I repeated. “We know you know him. Why don’t you make it easier on yourself and tell us the truth for a

change?”

“I don’t know any Franklin Walsh, or whatever name you said,” he persisted.

“Leave him with me for a few minutes, Sarge. I’ll get some answers from him.” Jason looked very angry as he said this.

“If it comes to that, I will, Detective LaFleur, but I think Mr. Boggs is smart enough to realize we already know the answers

and will cooperate. Do you want to change your last answer?” I said, turning back to Boggs.

“Okay, I know him, so what?” Boggs replied, beginning to look a little apprehensive when he glanced at Jason.

“Then it might interest you to know that Walsh was killed in an accident last night before we could arrest him.”

At this Boggs blanched but continued to be uncooperative. “I think you’re lying,” he said.

I handed him a copy of the morning edition of the local newspaper, which carried details of the accident, and watched as

he turned even paler.

“Okay,” I said, “Walsh did the first one and you did the third. Who did the second?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Again, I’d like to remind you that your cooperation will make it easier on you. If we don’t get that cooperation we’ll

recommend that the judge throw the book at you. And the book, in your case, could be a death sentence. Think about it.”

After saying this I motioned to Jason and we left.

* * *

I checked in at headquarters and was told there was a message for me from Antonia Pivetta. I called the number she left

and made an appointment to see her at 2 P.M. The rooming house didn’t look any better this time than the last time I saw it.

After introductions Antonia offered us folding chairs to sit on while she sat on a kitchen chair.

Antonia was a plump, dark-haired, unattractive woman in her early twenties who seemed very nervous about being

questioned by policemen. She continually clasped and unclasped her hands during the interview.

“I’ve been out of town for more than a week visiting my parents in San Jose,” she explained. “That’s why I didn’t call you

earlier.”

“Your landlady said you were a friend of Karen Dunston,” I began. “Is that correct?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends,” Antonia replied. “We talked together some. As we were both about the same

age we naturally got to know each other better than some of the old people who live here.” At this reference to ‘old people’ I

couldn’t help smiling.

“What did you talk about, in general terms?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” she replied. “She kept pushing me to go to a party at a house where some of her friends lived.

I finally gave in and went with her one night; but once was enough.”

“Tell us about the house you went to. And what made you decide not to go back?”

“It wasn’t my kind of thing. They were smoking pot and doing a lot of drinking. I like a drink once in a while but not the

way they were drinking. And they tried to get me to have sex but I refused. They were not very nice about it.” At this last

statement she turned red in the face.

“Do you remember any of the people who were there?”

“Karen introduced me but I don’t remember any of them. Oh, wait a minute, there was one guy who came on real strong.

I think his name was Joe; we never got around to last names.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He was medium height, maybe 5’8” or 5’(‘ and was kind of fat. I don’t remember what he was wearing; I just know I

didn’t like him.”

‘Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I think so.”

“Good; we won’t take up any more of your time now, but we have someone in custody you might identify. Are you willing

to try to pick him out of a lineup, tomorrow perhaps?” When she gave us a positive answer we left.

What a relief to drag myself home at 4 o’clock in the afternoon for a change. I was so weary it seemed I had not slept in

weeks. At Alex’s insistence I took a two hour nap before we went out to dinner, this time at a posh restaurant. We ate

leisurely before going home to a much needed night of love making.

* * *

Continue on Page 5 ...