Last Man's Head (22 page)

FORTY-SEVEN

Leroy adjusted his
headgear; during his descent down the slope, it had moved slightly. He looked over at the houses across the street.  The houses across from which he had parked were single storey; this one directly opposite had a second floor. As did the next. On the other side, the house was of a modern, almost square design, not as the others in the street. Leroy realised what had happened: in his run across the scrubland he had followed a different route to his way to the house. He looked down the street, adjusting the focal length of his binoculars. In the distance, parked on the left hand side of the road, was the shape of a car. There was the Taurus. Breathing a sigh of relief he stepped back into the undergrowth and, at a slow pace, walked towards his car, looking around all the time for any sign of light or movement from the houses opposite. He definitely didn’t want to disturb the dog in the house opposite the car. With much relief he got to his car.

He lifted his hands up to the
Yukon to release the headgear, but out of the corner of one eye he picked up headlights in the distance. Immediately, he dove to the ground, behind the Taurus. Assisted by the NV binoculars, he could make out the lights get brighter and larger as the car approached. A worse case scenario would be for this to be a patrol car: being found by two fellow officers in a situation like this, and having the embarrassment of explaining to the watch commander and Lieutenant Perez what he was up to was the last thing he wanted. If it was a patrol car, it would probably slow down as it got nearer. Otherwise, it would drive straight past.

‘Shit,’ he whispered as the car began to slow down.  He rose slightly to prepare for his encounter with the officers. The patrol car had slowed to a crawl, and by the angle of the headlight beams, he could see it was pulling to the left. It was going to stop behind the Taurus.

He took a deep breath, but then the red lights on the car roof began to flash, and it pulled away. It must have reached Mulholland when he heard the siren start. He sat back down on the grass and breathed out with relief. Pulled off his NV apparatus, and ran his hand through his wet hair. He was quite warm, and sweating profusely.

Leroy climbed into the car, tossed the
Yukon onto the passenger seat. Started the engine, and drove away. A couple of hundred yards up there was a side street, so he turned the car around then, not wishing to set off anybody’s alarm by using their driveway. Within minutes, he was back on Mulholland Drive, heading home.

During the last part of the journey, traffic had started to pick up: the morning’s rush hour was beginning, and as
he walked from the car to his building entrance, he could see the beginning of the sunrise over the city. He checked his watch: it was 6:28. He hadn’t realised how long he had been out. Once in his apartment, he poured the cold coffee from his thermos. He had only drunk a little of it: the adrenalin must have kept him going.

Leroy slowly made his way into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he rubbed his chin; he could hear his hand running over twenty-four hours’ stubble. Lay back, resting his head on his pillow. He slowly closed his eyes. The effect of the adrenalin had worn off.

FORTY-EIGHT

When Leroy awoke
, it was almost two in the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, squinted as he tried to focus on the bedroom wall opposite as the afternoon sun was streaming into his bedroom.  When he had got home the previous night - or early that morning, to be precise - he had not bothered to draw the blinds. He put his hand to his chin, and heard a scratching sound as he did so. He got off the bed and looked in the mirror: his chin was dark with two days’ growth. Lifted one arm and sniffed his pit, then pulled a face. He needed a shower, and quickly.

After twenty minutes in the shower, he stood naked in front of his wash basin and shaved. He had always preferred a wet shave: an electric shaver was fine for everyday use, particularly when he was in a hurry, which he normally was; but whenever he had the time, he would use an old-fashioned razor. Once done, he rubbed his chin again and smiled: as smooth as a baby’s ass. He applied some aftershave and deodorant, and returned to his bedroom. Still naked, he sat back on the bed and picked up his phone. He had three missing calls: two from Julia and one from
Ray Quinn. They had both called just after nine. He had put the phone to silent before he went out the previous night, and was too tired when he got back to remember to change this. In any case, he was probably in too deep a sleep to hear even if it had rung.

He also had one text message, and that was from Julia, received 09:12, just after she had called.
Hey Sam
, it read,
hope ur ok. Call me. J x
. She had rung again at 12:16, this time leaving a voicemail. He listened: she was just getting concerned that she hadn’t heard from him. Please would he call or sms as soon as he got this message. He tabbed down to her name in his contacts list, and was about to dial, then realised she would be teaching, so sent her a quick message:
Hey, yes am ok, was working last nite @ short notice call u 2nite. S x. 
Within seconds, he got a reply:
ok cu x
. While she was in a classroom, she was not allowed personal calls except in an emergency, but could get away with text messages.

The voicemail from
Quinn was of a similar theme. ‘Hey Sam, it’s Ray. I’m back in today, but I see you’re not. You want to give me a call - let me know what’s going on?’ Leroy returned Quinn’s call, only to get voicemail as well. He left a message to the effect that there was a lot to tell him and could he call back.

He got dressed and went into the kitchen to make coffee. It was then he realised how hungry he was: in the last twenty-four hours he had only eaten a mediocre burrito. He looked around his kitchen: he couldn’t be bothered to cook or prepare anything, and it would take too long, anyway.

Café 50s on Santa Monica Boulevard was probably Leroy’s favourite local eating place, somewhere he had regularly frequented for many years. Located on the historic Route 66, it was popular with locals and tourists, selling merchandise like vintage postcards and Route 66 pins. When Leroy first moved to LA, he collected all the merchandise, but once it was no longer a novelty, he gave it to his nephew back in New York for a Christmas present.

There were plenty of empty tables when he arrived, so, after purchasing a newspaper outside, he made his way to a booth, and studied the menu. As it was his first meal of the day, he opted for a breakfast, served all day; a
3+3+3
: eggs, pancakes and link sausage. He added potatoes and coffee.

As he munched through the breakfast, he scanned the newspaper to see if there were any reports on the John Does. There were none; after all, they were now closed cases, but there was always the chance that it had happened again. Not finding anything, Leroy turned to the Politics section. Not a section he normally went to, but he noticed there was a report of a speech
Secretary of Defence Davison had made, this time about the need to curb healthcare costs. Leroy failed to understand how that came within Davison’s portfolio, and merely grunted and turned the page.

On the next page he found an article about how
Texas, the nation’s most active death penalty state, was running out of pentobarbital, its execution drug. The problem had arisen, the article said, because some drug suppliers, especially those based in Europe, had barred the use of their drugs for executions either, as a spokesman for one of the companies said, ‘we manufacture drugs to prolong life, not to end it’, or were now refusing to sell or manufacture drugs for use in executions on account of pressure from death-penalty opponents. Leroy skimmed through the entire article, drank more coffee, then turned to the cartoons.

Being a regular, he normally got an extra refill of coffee and as the server poured more coffee into his Café 50s mug, he sat back and began to ponder on what his next move should be.

First would be to make sure he and Julia got hold of each other.

Second, speak to
Quinn. Update him on the story so far and see if there had been any developments while he had been off. In particular, he would get Quinn to check those licence plate numbers. He was particularly interested in those with DC plates.

He also wanted to visit the site where Domingo was murdered, not out of a morbid desire to pay his respects where she died, but he was convinced her murder was connected somehow with the John Does. If he was investigating the case himself, the first port of call would be the crime scene, even though now it would have been cleaned up. That was just the way he worked.

He settled his bill, walked round to the parking lot, then headed off to Erwin Street. Erwin Street was a residential street, filled with a mixture of houses and condominiums. Beginning a few hundred yards from the
Arroyo Calabasas
, the Calabasas Creek, a seven mile tributary of the Los Angeles River, the street pointed eastwards. After passing under State Route 27, the residential buildings slowly gave way to light industry, a couple of gas stations and car dealers, and a church. Enadia Street, the place where the shooting occurred, was some ten blocks further on from the 27 overpass.

Leroy briefly waited for a gap in traffic, then turned the Taurus left to go into Enadia. On one corner of this dead-end street was a small factory building, long since derelict. A small store stood on the other corner, its windows plastered with posters advertising discounts off its various items.

The street itself was only a hundred yards or so long. The factory building stretched down the entire length; at the end of the street was the back wall of the building facing the next street. There was a small window about ten feet above the pavement, barred and filthy. On the other side of the street, there was a wall, six feet high, a roll of barbed wire on the top. Next was a shop premises, closed and boarded up, then the store on the corner.

Leroy turned the car round so it was facing
Erwin Street, needing to reverse and forward five times, owing to narrowness of the street, and on one kerb were the smashed remains of a brown beer bottle. He parked the car outside the derelict shop, and looked around. There, right under that small skylight, was where Domingo and her partner were gunned down. But how? Why?

He walked up to the corner store; a tinny bell rang as he opened the door. The shop was empty of customers; a small Hispanic looking woman stood behind the counter. ‘
Hola
,’ she said.

‘Hello,’ replied Leroy, looking around.  She appeared nervous. Even though he was a private citizen at this time, he showed her his identification. Seeing this, she appeared more relaxed. Smiling he stepped over to the counter. ‘I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.’

‘
Sí
.’

‘Are you in here every day?’

‘
Qué
?’

Leroy paused a moment, then asked, ‘
Trabajas aquí todos los días?
’

She nodded eagerly. ‘
Sí, señor
.’

Leroy spoke slowly, searching for the right words. ‘
Dos agentes de policía fueron asesinados por ahí por otro día.
’

She shrugged and shook her head. ‘
No, no lo sé
.’

Leroy tutted, then, ‘
Fuera di aquí, un tiroteo
.’

‘
No, lo siento, señor
.’

This was a waste of time. ‘
Muy bien, gracias
,’ Leroy said, and left the shop. Went back to the Taurus, leaned on the hood and scratched his head. Maybe he should come back with an officer who could speak Spanish better than he could.

Like Domingo.

He was sure, though, that the officers from the Major Crimes Division would arrange for a translator; they probably had already.

He stepped away from his car and walked down to the end of the street. Stood where Domingo’s patrol car would have been. He stood and tried to visualise the scene. Domingo would probably have been driving, so she would have been sitting on the left. They both died from one shot to the head, so the shooter must
have been standing further to the left. He had not had sight of the official report, so had no idea of the range involved, or whether any gunshot residue had been found. If there had, then the shooter would have been up close; if not, then further away, but the factory wall was fifteen, twenty feet away. If he was that far away, then he must have been a skilled marksman, as two shots of that accuracy would have been difficult. And if he was closer, why did Domingo and Connor let him get that close?

He took two steps back, and looked around again, scratching his smooth chin. Then his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

FORTY-NINE

Leroy spun round
.  ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, taking off his sunglasses. He went up and shook Ray Quinn’s hand. ‘I might ask you the same question. Where’s your car, by the way?’

His partner inclined his head towards the store. ‘Just around the corner. I wanted to surprise you.’

‘You certainly did that. When did you get back to work?’

‘First day back today. I got in start of shift, expecting to find you. Then I heard you had taken vacation time suddenly, away for a week, just like that. The station house is buzzing with speculation as to what’s going on. So I rang you straightaway.’

‘Yeah, I saw you’d rung. Had my cell on silent.’

‘So what is going on, Sam?
Are
you on vacation? If you are, what are you doing here? This is where Domingo and Connor were killed isn’t it?’

‘To answer those questions in order,’ Leroy said, walking back down to the end of the street, ‘yes, I am on vacation.’ He paused. ‘You remember, at your wedding, I had to go to a crime scene?’

‘Er – yes, just about.’

‘Well, I’ll give you the short version now. If you’re free for a drink later,’ -
Quinn nodded - ‘I’ll give you the full picture. But for now: that night, there were three John Does brought in. All with the same COD.’

‘Which was?’

‘A massive ingestion of drugs. Recreational drugs.’

‘All the same?’

‘You got it. Domingo had a similar case, so we kind of partnered up. You were away, and Connor had something on - I forget what it was. But after a day or so, we got word from Perez that the cases were considered death by misadventure, and the cases were closed.’

Quinn
looked puzzled. ‘But even if that was the case, somebody had supplied the stuff.’

Leroy shrugged. ‘All about priorities, apparently. Would cost too much, and to quote the lieutenant, or Captain Patterson, I suspect, there are more pressing matters to investigate.’

‘Sam, that’s bullshit.’

‘I know that. You know that. Domingo knew that.’

‘Is that why the lieutenant put you on vacation?’

‘I don’t know. You know how difficult he is to read. I kept banging on about it, so it might have been a case of fuck off for a week, I’m sick of listening to you, or go on vacation, Sam, what you do in your own time is your affair, wink, wink.’ He paused a second. ‘How did you know I’d be here, anyway?’

Quinn laughed. ‘The lieutenant told me you’d gone on vacation, I’d heard talk of your views on the John Does.  I kind of guessed what you’d be up to. And yes, it seems likely that it wasn’t a coincidence that Domingo gets killed – lucky you weren’t the first. Perez put me on some admin for the next few days, so as you didn’t answer my call, I thought I’d come and find you. I had a look outside
Whiteleaf
but there was no sign.’

‘
Whiteleaf
?’ queried Leroy.

‘The house on Mulholland you visited with Domingo.’

‘Oh. Never knew it had a name.’

‘Hm. So anyway, I know how you work, so I tried here, in the absence of a call back from you.’
Quinn looked around the dead-end street. ‘So you think the two of you were on to something, and that’s what got her killed?’

Leroy looked around too, and then up at the sky as an airplane flew overhead. ‘I’d take book on it.’

‘Sam, if you’re right, you could be next,’ said Quinn.

‘The thought had occurred to me. Look,’ Leroy said, turning to face his partner, who was standing just where Domingo’s car would have been. ‘Her car was there, right where you are. Both she and Connor took one bullet here,’ - he put his forefinger on his forehead – ‘so I figure the shooter was either right up cl
ose, or fired from around here.’

‘But must have been some shot,’ added
Quinn, ‘to fire from over there with that accuracy.’

‘And in such a short space of time,’ Leroy said. ‘It would have taken two seconds for one of them to draw their weapon.’

‘So our marksman would have had to have gotten off two rounds in less than that time. Sam, our best guys couldn’t do that.’

‘I don’t know of anybody who could. So that means the shooter was up close. But there was no way Domingo and Connor would have let an armed man - let’s assume it was a man
, one man, for now - get that close. They were both sitting in the front of their car.’

‘Unless they knew the shooter,’ said
Quinn.

‘Mm?’

‘They would let him get that close if they knew him. Had no reason to be concerned, even if he was armed.’

Leroy took a step back and scratched the back of his head. ‘Yeah, guess so.’  Then something hit him. He looked up
Quinn. ‘My God, Ray; you realise what that means?’

Quinn
returned Leroy’s stare, then finished his partner’s sentence. ‘Sam, they were shot by another cop.’