The Samaritan of Washington Park

Charlie Johnson was always the type to help people in need. If a friend needed help moving, he could count on Charlie. If a neighbor was ill, Charlie would ride his brand new Snapper mower to their yard and spend the day fixing up their yard. If a driver ran out of gas and was faced with a long walk for fuel, Charlie would cheerfully offer them a ride to the nearest gas station and even buy them a Coke and candy bar for refreshment. “Treat others the same way you want to be treated yourself, only better” was his amended Golden Rule. Thus, it wasn’t a surprise that shortly after 11 p.m. May18th, 2005, Charlie was the one who ended up helping the dying woman in Washington Park.

Living in a small Nebraska town, Charlie didn’t get along in large cities very well. Yet, here he was in San Diego, hot and restless. Oh, he supposed that San Diego was a beautiful enough city, but anywhere the people outnumbered the trees made him feel a bit claustrophobic. At home at this time of year, Charlie would open the windows in his small but comfortable bedroom, throw his arm over his wife, and fall asleep to the sound of chirping crickets and the occasional owl. Here, though, cars rushed by on the street below, delivery trucks backed and beeped while on deliveries at the Hilton where he was staying, and there was too much light. Charlie was used to seeing the wide-open Nebraska night sky, but here you couldn’t see a single star for the glare of the street lamps. So, Charlie, being the outdoor lover that he was, found himself unable to sleep a wink the night before the annual Snapper Mowers dealer convention.

“I need to get some shuteye,” Charlie said to himself, as he tossed and turned on the unfamiliar, too-soft mattress of his bed. It was 10:30 p.m., the convention started at 8:00 a.m. the next day, and it was going to be a busy schedule until the end of the series of meetings, product introductions, and meet and greets. Grunting, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and decided to take a walk. Checking into the hotel, he had glanced across the street and spotted a large, rectangular park with beautifully mown grass, tall trees, and plenty of walking and biking trails. The wooden, arched sign proclaimed it to be “Washington Park”. It never really crossed his mind that it may be a little dangerous to be alone at night in a remote area of a deserted park in a strange city.

Crossing the street, Charlie marveled at how hot it still was. It had to be at least eighty five degrees. “Working up a sweat shouldn’t be a problem,” he thought, as he entered the slightly cooler area under one of the trees bordering the outside of Washington Park. There were a few lamp posts dotting the walking paths, but on the whole the park was dark and peaceful, just the way Charlie liked it. This little haven of greenery was just the right thing to help him relax and walk away some of the stiffness he still felt after the two-day drive (Charlie NEVER flew, it was his one big phobia).

Choosing a walking path that took him towards the southern end of the park, Charlie started walking at a leisurely pace. A few hundred yards led him past a beautiful fountain, the water bursting forth in gushes from the middle of a modern sculpture. Charlie stood and watched for maybe five minutes, sniffing the damp air and feeling the refreshing mist from the fountain land on his face. He could feel his cares slowly being washed away from the fountain’s cleansing tears, and he started getting pleasantly drowsy. A few more minutes of walking would do the trick. He could be relaxed enough to fall asleep once he returned to the hotel room. Charlie turned away from the fountain and saw the woman. Instantly, all hope of sleep was gone and it would be a long, long time before Charlie could sleep well again.

The woman was laying about ten feet off of the walking path, her lower body obscured in shadow, but her tear-streaked face and blood-soaked blouse were bathed in the white light of a park lamp. Even from where he stood, Charlie could see that she was very young, in her early twenties, perhaps, and very beautiful. Her raven hair was long and straight and hung nearly to her waist. Unfortunately, the ends of that lovely hair was matted and soaked with blood. Slits and cuts on her arms and the shredded remains of her blouse were signs that someone had slashed the poor woman several times with a knife.

“H-h-h-help m-me,” the woman gasped. As she spoke, a thick glut of blood spilled down one side of her mouth. Her lips were trembling and her shocked eyes were wide in fear. Her normally tan face was pasty and pale and her breaths were coming in quick bursts. Charlie fought to control the initial panic of seeing the woman. He had never been around anyone who had been seriously injured before, and the sight of all the gore was enough to make him weak. What was important to him, though, was that the woman needed help. And, helping others is what Charlie did best.

Rushing to where she was, Charlie knelt in front of the bleeding woman and took in the scene. Her feet were bare, wet from mud and dew, and bleeding from scrapes where she obviously had run across the gravelly ground found on the edges of the walking trail. Stylish jeans covered her thin, shapely hips, but blood stains were all over the front of them, looking like the woman had rolled in red paint. He had known she was hurt badly before, but here up close he could see the numerous deep cuts and a few gaping holes where a long steel blade had done its damage.

“Hang in there, I’m here for you,” said Charlie, trying to sound reassuring and positive, when in reality the woman had a very slim chance of surviving. “Everything will be alright, I’m here, I’m here”. The woman clutched Charlie’s hand as if clinging to him were her last hope. Tearing off his Heartland Lawn and Garden tee shirt (the dealership he owned), he ripped several strips of cloth and placed them over her worst cuts. “There, that should slow some of the bleeding”.

“What’s your name, Miss?” Charlie asked the woman, cradling her head in his arms.

“Maria,” she muttered. “Maria Guittierez”. Charlie could barely hear her, and her weakened voice meant she was close to losing consciousness.

“Well, Maria, I’m Charlie Johnson, and if you just stay awake and keep fighting, we’ll get you to a hospital. Whatever happens, I will be here for you. Now try to stay calm, I’m going to get an ambulance over here right now.”

Laying Maria’s head gently back onto the ground, Charlie jumped to his feet, dug in his pocket and found his cell phone. “Come on, give me a signal here! Yes!” One good thing about being in the middle of San Diego, Charlie’s phone had a full reception. He dialed 911 and hit the send button.

“What’s your emergency?” came the nasally voice from the local dispatch office.

“Yeah, uh…my name is Charles Johnson, I’m here from out of town, and I have a woman here who has been stabbed multiple times! She’s hurt real bad! I need an ambulance and the police over here fast!”

“Where are you at, Sir?”

“I’m in Washington Park, there’s a fountain here just behind me, and the woman is here and she’s bleeding…bleeding bad…please send someone now!” Charlie was barely able to keep from screaming. The urgency of the woman’s plight was starting to set in on him and his whole body seemed electrified. The air had gone cold and his hairs were sticking up all over his arms. He thought he may have been in a little shock himself.

“Is she still alive, Sir? Can you tell?”

“YES, SHE’S STILL ALIVE!” Charlie shouted. “She said her name is Maria Guittierez! Someone…Hang on!” He bent low to the ground, his ear close to Maria’s mouth as she seemed to be trying to tell him something.

“M-m-my husband d-did this to me…” Maria managed to whisper. Her eyes closed, and more blood trickled down her cheek

“She said it was her husband who did this to her! Oh, God, please hurry up!” Charlie cried, tears stinging the edges of his eyes. “She’s DYING!”

“What was her name again?” asked the emergency dispatcher.

“MARIA GUITTIEREZ! What the hell does it matter what her name is, she needs an ambulance! She needs HELP! We’re in Washington Park! PLEASE!”

Her voice slightly shaky, the dispatcher said, “Carol, we’ve got another Washington Park call.” Another voice then came over the phone. In a cold, remote tone the woman said, “I’m sorry, Sir. We cannot do anything for you.” The phone went dead in Charlie’s hands.

Charlie stood in numbed, stunned silence for a minute, not believing that they had ignored his plea for help. Then, bending down to Maria once more, he held her in his arms and held her as if she were his own child instead of a complete stranger. The tears came fast now, as Maria’s breath faded and died. Charlie’s distressed sobs now blended with the background noise of the cars and trucks that passed by on the street outside the park. In the distance, Charlie heard a siren. It’s warbling sound got louder and closer, but then faded as it sped by Washington Park without even slowing down.

It was several minutes before Charlie could move. He cried for Maria, for her painful death, and the end of her too young life. And, he cried because all of his life he had helped people, but he was unable to help her. Eventually, Charlie wiped his eyes with his arm, laid Maria gently back on the ground, and got up. He staggered back toward the fountain, back to the entrance to Washington Park, back into the cold reality of an uncaring San Diego. He hailed a passing cab, and the driver screeched to a stop.

“Jesus, man, are you alright? You look terrible!” the driver said when Charlie got in. “Where’s your shirt?”

“I need to go to the nearest police station,” was all Charlie said in reply, as he laid his head against the warm rear window pane of the taxi.

The sixth precinct of the San Diego Police Department was calm and quiet when Charlie walked in.

“Can I help you, Sir?” a woman’s voice asked from behind a counter.

“I need to report a murder,” Charlie said, dazedly. “A woman named Maria Guittierez was murdered in Washington Park. She said her husband did it. I came across her as she lay there dying…” Charlie choked up and couldn’t continue as the tears came yet again.

“Did you say her name was Maria Guittierez?” asked the woman, glancing up in surprise.

“Yes, Maria Guittierez! Why?! I tried to call 911 and the lady there hung up on me when I told her the name. For God’s sake, what difference does it make? The woman died in my arms!”

The desk clerk looked at Charlie sympathetically for a moment, then said, “Wait right here. Detective Michaels with be with you shortly.”

Detective Michaels was a stocky built man in his late thirties with huge hands and a warm smile. “Come in to my office, Mr…”

“Johnson, Charlie Johnson,” Charlie replied. He followed the detective behind the desk and into his cluttered office. Detective Michaels closed the door behind them.

“Now, tell me what you saw,” said the Detective, clasping his hands behind his head and propping his feet up on his desk.

Charlie explained everything, from why he was in San Diego, to why he was in the park, and everything about Maria’s last moments. When he was finished speaking, Detective Michaels was quiet for several moments. Finally, he looked at Charlie.

“Mr. Johnson, I have no reason to doubt everything you just told me, but its just a little bit unbelievable…”

“Please, I told the truth! I didn’t have anything to do with her murder! I told you, I found her there in the park! I didn’t do it!” Charlie said, at the point of panic.

“Oh, no, its not that I think you did the murder, Mr. Johnson,” Detective Michaels said. “No, it’s not that at all! You see…” He got up, went to a file case, opened a drawer, and after a moment pulled out a file and placed it on his desk. He opened the file, looked at it briefly, and continued. “Four years ago tonight, Maria Guittierez was found murdered in Washington Park, just off the walking path beside the fountain. I was the first on the scene, I remember her clearly. Look at these pictures, Mr. Johnson.”

Charlie looked at the grisly pictures taken at the murder scene, and it was exactly as he had found Maria’s body. The lower half of her body lay in shadow, the top bloody half in the stark light of the lamp. Charlie suddenly felt sick to his stomach and had to concentrate hard to keep from retching. “But…but…I talked to her! She said her husband did it! Damnit, I held her in my arms while she died!”

“Where’s the blood, Mr. Johnson?” Detective Michaels asked quietly. “If she was bleeding that bad, her blood would be all over you.”

Charlie realized that was true. He should have been covered in Maria’s blood. Instead, his bare chest was just that…bare.

“Mr. Johnson,” Detective Michaels continued, “Maria’s husband was arrested for her murder the next day and is now serving life in prison without parole. The reason they didn’t respond when you called for help was because we’ve got a call every year on this exact night for the past three years. You’ve seen the ghost of Washington Park, Mr. Johnson.”

The next morning, Charlie Johnson checked out of the Hilton Hotel after canceling his spot at the dealer convention and booking an early flight back to Nebraska. Before he left, though, he took one more stroll through Washington Park. There, where it had all seemed to happen, were the ripped shreds of his Heartland Lawn and Garden tee shirt and nothing more.