A Taxing Death (Jill Quint, MD, Forensic Pathologist Series Book 5)

  A Taxing Death

  By Alec Peche

  Text Copyright © May 2015 Alec Peche

  Published by GBSW Publishing

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  Acknowledgements…Many thanks to my two first readers and my editor for improving the quality of the story and my writing!

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  Thanks!

  Alec Peche

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author and the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in review.

  About the author:

  Discover “Vials”, “Chocolate Diamonds”, "A Breck Death" and "Death On A Green" also written by Alec Peche.

  A 6th and 7th book are planned for this series.

  Connect with me: Friend me on Facebook http://facebook.com/AlecPeche

  Find me on Twitter @AlecPeche

  www.alecpeche.com

  email: vials@alecpeche.com

  A Taxing Death

  Prologue

  If Manuel had known this was his last hour on earth, it is doubtful that he would have spent it at his desk reviewing Burgundy Mountain Corporation's audit results. All who knew him would have insisted that this was not his last hour, that he deserved many hours more; most of all, they would have insisted that he spend his last hour in the arms of Anna, his beloved wife and the center of his world.

  Chapter One

  People were walking on the sidewalk in front of the Capitol Building. Some had lanyards with government identification hanging down to their chest, while others had the strap of a camera around their neck taking pictures as reminders of their California vacation. The sky looked ominous: dark clouds were filling up with rainwater, ready to unleash fury on those below in a rare summer storm.

  Workers and tourists alike paused at the sound of an approaching siren heralding an ambulance and turned to look. Soon enough it pulled up to the front entrance. Two men jumped out in uniform – a paramedic and an emergency medical technician – and they quickly moved to the back of the van where they extracted a gurney, placing equipment on top of it, and adding gloves to their hands before moving swiftly up a ramp entrance where they disappeared inside the entrance. On the sidewalk outside, those that had paused to gawk at the noise and the vehicle soon resumed their activity as there was nothing left to hold their attention. Too bad the emergency was inside the building; otherwise they could have stood and watched the men care for someone on the sidewalk.

  Inside the large building, the ambulance crew proceeded to the elevators. A California Highway Patrol officer approached and asked, “Where are you going?”

  The first technician pulled a clipboard off the gurney and said, “Third floor, Room 347. 911 dispatch received a call that a man was having a heart attack.”

  “I’ll escort you so you won’t waste time getting lost along the way,” said the officer. “I am surprised that we didn’t receive notification of the emergency so we could assist.”

  “We appreciate your help. We don’t know what happens with the 911 dispatch calls; we just received the order to come here for resuscitation and transport to St. Matthew’s Hospital.”

  By then the elevator doors had opened onto the third floor and the trio exited the car. Moving fast down a long corridor, the officer soon brought them to Room 347. The nameplate on the wall said this was the office of Manuel Valencia, Chief of the Audit Division, Department of Revenue.

  The paramedic said to the officer, "Why don’t you stay out here to answer any questions staff may have?" and he smoothly closed the door in his face.

  Inside, a receptionist looked up with an alarmed look on her face. “May I help you?” she said quickly while standing up, intending to block their entry into the inner office.

  “Ma’am, step aside. We received a call from the man inside that he was having a heart attack.”

  With that, the two men moved into the inner office, this time closing and quietly locking the door in the face of the worried receptionist. The man inside looked up, surprised at the interruption.

  “May I help you? Do you have an appointment with me?”

  Then, taking in the stretcher and the men’s uniforms, he added in a confused voice, “Is someone having an emergency? Can I direct you to the right office?”

  Moving forward, the man dressed in the paramedic uniform said, “Mr. Valencia, you have been reported as having a heart attack. If you would just lie down on the floor, I’ll transmit your heart waves to the base station so they can decide what to do next.”

  “I’m fine. I have a pacemaker and my heart is working just fine; you must have the wrong office. I didn’t call.”

  The paramedic was pulling the chair out and helping Mr. Valencia to the floor while he was putting up baffled resistance.

  “Maybe your pacemaker transmitted a problem with your heart. All I know is 911 dispatch received a call that your heart was having problems. Like I said, we’ll transmit to the base station and if nothing is wrong, they’ll verify that.”

  Reluctantly, Manuel Valencia stretched out on the floor of his office. The paramedic brought a portable defibrillator and cardiac monitor over to his body as he unbuttoned his shirt and placed electrodes on his chest. Soon heart waves could be seen on the monitor; they looked perfectly normal. Suddenly the paramedics declared, "You’re going into ventricular defibrillation – we’re going to have to convert you.”

  “I feel normal; my heart isn’t racing. Let me see your monitor. It must be reading my heart wrong.”

  The paramedic took a quick look around to make sure that Mr. Valencia’s body was not touching any metal. He then pulled out the defibrillator paddles and said “all clear” to warn his partner to step away from the target.

  Soon Mr. Valencia’s body jumped from the jolt of electricity that had just been delivered, killing his pacemaker, his heart, and electrocuting him from the inside out. And then Manuel really did need the services of a real paramedic as all visible signs of life were quickly departing his body. The door could be heard rattling behind them as they worked on Mr. Valencia.

  A moment later, the paramedic stood up and went to the door, opening it. Affixing a tragic look on his face he said to the receptionist, “I’m sorry, he is gone. We couldn’t restart his heart. The base station has notified the medical examiner and they will be sending someone out to collect Mr. Valencia's remains."

  The receptionist began weeping so loudly that the officer who had escorted the emergency crew opened the door to the hallway and stuck his head inside. The two men from the ambulance had packed up and were exiting the office, pushing the empty stretcher. The officer stepped back, holding the door open. The crew exited the office, heading toward the elevator, and soon di
sappeared from view. The officer turned his attention back to the office, not sure what he should do next. He called for backup and his supervisor soon arrived.

  The ambulance crew reloaded the ambulance and left the scene in a much quieter manner than they had arrived in. As they pulled away, the driver gave the passenger a fist bump and a smile.

  "That went smoothly; it was worth the weeks of planning. That bastard won't be around to screw with anyone else's taxes," said Allen Frost in the driver's seat. Today he was wearing the uniform of a paramedic, complete with a stolen badge from Sacramento County sewn on his sleeve.

  "I got such satisfaction putting the paddles to his chest knowing that he wouldn't be able to mess with anyone else's bank accounts. That's three targets down and three to go." Jerome Taylor smiled in satisfaction.

  "Our work is done for today. Let's drive this ambulance back to the auto auction lot and head home," Frost replied.

  Allen Frost and Jerome Taylor had met online in a chat room devoted to the subject of tax resistance. Both had been active in the chat room for years. Manuel Valencia and five other employees of the Department of Revenue had managed to enrage both men within a month of each other. Once they had discovered their common misfortune, they became united in doing something about it and met in person to discuss their options. They were enjoying the satisfaction that three employees were dead and no one had a clue that they were behind it. With each murder they had listened carefully to the news and monitored the internet, but so far no one had connected the three deaths. Not one of their victims was thought to be a suspicious death.

  Today, the two men left behind puzzled workers and a grieving receptionist. The leader of the Capitol Protection Section had made his way over to the office and notified his supervisor in the Protective Services Division. By this time, the ambulance had departed an hour ago, and still Mr. Valencia's body lay on his office floor. The officer’s supervisor had called Personnel and Mr. Valencia's supervisor. Someone needed to tell the family about his demise and someone needed to remove his body from the premises. It was a question that had never arisen before, because no one had died in their office. Finally someone contacted the Sacramento Police since they could come up with no answers on their own.

  The Sacramento Police arrived and listened to the story of what had transpired that day in the office. They had no reason to be suspicious, but under the law it was clearly a coroner's case. A call to the Coroner's Office resulted in the removal of Mr. Valencia within the hour. It was decided that the police would join Mr. Steward, Mr. Valencia's supervisor, in a visit to meet with his wife. Mr. Steward had never met Mrs. Valencia as she was an agricultural lobbyist and busy with her own work. They located her and departed the Capitol Building to walk to her office. Lobbyists tended to have offices close to the Capitol Building as they were frequent visitors, and hers was just a block away.

  Mr. Steward and the officer were shown into Mrs. Valencia’s office by a receptionist who indicated that her boss was in another office for a meeting. The receptionist then went off to notify Mrs. Valencia of their presence.

  A small, smartly dressed Hispanic woman in her fifties soon appeared in the office doorway. She looked at her visitors with worry, as it was never good to be greeted by a policeman under any circumstances.

  "Hello, I am Anna Valencia. What's this about?" she asked, puzzled by the two men standing in her office.

  "Hello, Mrs. Valencia, I am John Steward, your husband's supervisor at the Department of Revenue, and this is Officer Greg Gould. I regret to inform you that your husband passed away in his office today."

  She looked confused and sank down into her visitor chair. "What? Um…how?" she managed to get out as the tears began flowing down her cheeks.

  Officer Gould had been scanning her office; he retrieved both a box of tissue and a glass filled with water and put them within her reach.

  "Mrs. Valencia, it's rather a confusing story at the moment, but let me tell you what we know. Your husband experienced a malfunction of his pacemaker this morning and either called 911 or whatever monitors the pacemaker called 911 for him. According to Amanda, your husband's assistant, the paramedics arrived and she heard him say that he was feeling okay. They laid him down on the floor of his office and connected him to the base station at the hospital. They said he was having an irregular heartbeat and he needed to be converted by the defibrillator paddles, which the paramedics did, but then his heart never started again. He is with the Coroner's Office at the moment as they are required to do an autopsy since he died outside of a hospital. Mr. Steward and I arrived on the scene after your husband was pronounced, so that is why we have so little information for you," explained Officer Gould.

  "Are you sure he is dead? Did you see him before he was moved? Maybe it wasn't my husband," said a hopeful Anna.

  "I am sorry, but his receptionist was there during all of this activity this morning and she positively identified your husband," Mr. Steward replied.

  "What do I do now?" Anna sobbed.

  "Is there someone I can call for you, a friend perhaps, or one of your children?" Mr. Steward offered.

  "Oh my God, what do I say to my children? They loved their father. What do I say to them?"

  "Why don't you give me their names and numbers and I'll call them," offered Officer Gould. "Is there someone from this office that will take you home and stay with you until your children arrive? Is there someone you would like me to call?"

  "Please have my assistant call my sister, Leticia. She has the number. She'll meet me at my house. My assistant will take me home and stay with me until my sister and children arrive."

  "Mrs. Valencia, on behalf of the Department of Revenue and I am sure the Governor, we are so sorry for your loss. When you're ready to talk, give me a call and we'll talk about benefits," said Mr. Steward handing her his card.

  Officer Gould stepped out to an empty conference room and after getting the number from Mrs. Valencia's assistant, made the calls to her children. Their son was an attorney in New York City, and a daughter was a pediatrician in the El Dorado Hills. The son would make arrangements to be there in the evening and the daughter would meet her mother at her home within the hour. Both children were devastated by the news.

  Mr. Steward and Officer Gould were soon departing the lobbyist building to return to Mr. Valencia's office. Officer Gould's partner had chatted with Capitol Police while awaiting his partner's return.

  "How is Mrs. Valencia?" asked Officer Gould's partner, Kenny Olsen.

  "About what you would imagine - she was shocked by the suddenness, devastated by her loss. I also notified her children and they are on their way home at the moment. This was a strange case as there seemed not to be a hint by those closest to Mr. Valencia that he was having heart problems or even feeling sick."

  "None of his co-workers thought that Mr. Valencia was feeling poorly here either. They all thought he looked healthy and well. I guess this proves to you that life is short," Olsen observed.

  The two officers headed out to their patrol car to write up their report and head back out on assignment.

  The Capitol Police department was also somewhat mystified. They couldn't remember when the 9-1-1 dispatcher had ever failed to notify them of an emergency. Maybe it was a new operator who didn't understand that this was one of the most important buildings in the city. What if it had been the Governor that had taken ill? It had been strange that the paramedics had left the dead body for the coroner, and then when they called the Coroner's office they had no record of being contacted by the paramedics. It was rare that you had both dispatch and the paramedics failing to do proper notification.

  They had an intern in their department and she would be assigned the job of running down those answers when she worked next. Both men returned to work with their thoughts split between what else was waiting to be done and the tragedy of Mr. Valencia.

  Chapter Two

  Anna Valencia sat on a sofa bewildered by the u
nexpected death of her husband. Her sister Leticia was there as well as her daughter, Christina. Her son, Michael, would be arriving in a few hours. More family members were expected as well. There was confusion, denial, and anger in the living room. There was a funeral to plan. Mostly though, mother and daughter wanted answers.

  "Mom, are you sure that dad was not having heart problems? You didn't notice that he was short of breath, tired, or felt his heart racing?" asked Christina, her physician's brain at work in the background.

  "No, he was feeling good. He was looking forward to our annual visit to Yosemite next month. He purchased new hiking shoes that he was walking around the house in so they would be broken in for the hike. The fact that you and Michael could join us this year was even better. We love the Ahwahnee Lodge in Yosemite Valley. Now I have to remember to cancel that reservation."

  "Mom, don't cancel it yet. I'm sure that dad would love for us to hike the falls and remember his joy of the park. Maybe we could bring his favorite single malt scotch and toast him. You have time to change your plans, but I am sure Michael and I will still plan to be here even if you don't want to go to the park."

  "Yes, you're right. Your father loved that park," Anna agreed as she reached for more tissue while contemplating a life without Manuel.

  "Do you remember what dad's assistant's name was? I would really like to talk to her. This whole situation is weird and I would like to speak with her to understand what happened this morning."

  "Oh honey, it won't change anything. It's not going to bring back your father."

  "I know Mom. It won't bring Dad back, but what happened this morning doesn't make sense from a medical perspective and I am sure if I know more details, I'll understand this better."

  "Well okay. Your father's assistant is Amanda Hopkins. I'm sure you can call his number and she'll pick up if she hasn't gone home for the day."