The Gumshoe Diaries (4 page)

I waited a couple of minutes until
Lt.
Jack-hole
was out of sight then sprinted around the corner to
see if I could pick up Mr. Nosey Neighbor’s trial. If I was lucky
he would have only taken a short bus ride and I would spot him
strolling up ahead. As for being lucky, I wasn’t, and as for taking
a stroll, he wasn’t, so, it looked like I was going to have to risk
a night in jail. I turned up the collar of my coat against a brisk
wind and headed back in the opposite direction toward Sally
November’s apartment. It was time to gather all the what’s and
where’s to figure out all the who’s. None of which would help Lu
and Jay, the only revelation that would ease their pain would be
why. Who, what and where are only symptoms, bits of factual data,
while why ties it all together and gives you an opportunity to
understand.

****

( “I hear you knocking at my cellar door, I love you
baby can I have some more…”)…”Needle and the Damage Done”…Neil
Young…1972

Chapter Five

13131 West First Street (Little Tokyo),
Monday, Feb 16, 2009…9pm

The front door may have had yellow barrier
tape blocking entry but that wasn’t the case with the kitchen
window, which conveniently overlooked the fire escape. So, after a
short elevator ride and a thirty second delay while I expertly
picked the lock on the door to the roof (when one busts criminals
for a living one learns a thing or two), I climbed down three
flights to Sally’s apartment and peeked in the window. The place
was dark, not even a night light was on. All I could see was my own
reflection back lit by the street light below. If this were a
Stephen King novel a rotting hand would have burst through the
glass and ripped open my throat leaving me to drown in my own blood
while staring into the cold dead eyes of a murdered call girl. But
it’s not so I tried the window and just like I planned when I
exited earlier, the latch was disengaged and I slid the casement
open slowly.

Once inside I closed and latched the window,
no use tempting fate should someone have seen me breaking and
entering. I pulled out my trusty pocket flashlight, the one I got
from the Home Depot dollar bin and swept the room. Not much to see
in the kitchen. In fact it didn’t appear as though Sally spent much
time in here at all. Even the fridge was empty except for an open
box of Arm & Hammer baking soda. If she was worried about odors
there must have been something in there at some time? I’m guessing
that the CSI team must have bagged and tagged all of the contents.
Technically they should have taken the box as well, but one whiff
and I could see why they left it behind! I held my breath, dumped
the nasty stuff out onto the counter and sifted through it. There
wasn’t anything noteworthy so I walked slowly out of the kitchen
and into the small dining room. Sally had good taste, a black
marble table with four matching black teak side chairs. The
centerpiece was a black swan made of what appeared to be ivory? The
table was set for four with fine white bone china set upon on black
ceramic chargers. The utensils were obviously silver and the wine
glasses and water goblets were expensive crystal. My first
observation, they had never been used. So she didn’t eat at home
and she didn’t entertain in this room. Not surprising for someone
in her profession.

Turning 180 degrees I walked toward the
living room. Clearly she and Uncle Lu studied under the same
interior decorator because it was an explosion of white, well,
except for the yellow paint outlining where Sally had expired, and
the faint stains left behind by a corpse. I scanned the room with
the small beam of light from my little flashlight, and came to rest
on the glass coffee table. The table top showed signs of being
dusted for fingerprints but that’s not what caught my eye. I knelt
beside the table and studied it closely. There, underneath the
thick glass, stuck in the frame that held it up was a navy blue
thread about two inches long. Curious, the first thought that
passed through mind was cop? This was a tread from a uniformed
officer from LAPD? Could be, I mean the place was lousy with LAPD
officers and they’re not the tidiest bunch. But still, how did it
get wedged in that way
under
the table? I dunno, perplexing
isn’t it? I debated sharing this evidence right away but thought
better of it. Instead I whipped out one of the sandwich baggies
that I keep handy and slipped the follicle inside. As long as I was
taking risks by just being here, might as well go for broke, right?
Besides,
‘…in for a penny in for a pound…’
my old mother
always said.

Anyway, next came the queer part for me,
nosing around in Sally’s drawers. Snooping through people’s private
areas always makes me blush, especially women, and the fact that I
knew Sally and her family just made the experience all the more
exasperating. I left her chalk outline behind me and wandered down
the short hall to her dark bedroom. It smelled like you’d expect a
young ladies room to smell, fresh and clean, with a hint of
whatever body lotion she was fond of; in Sally’s case it was
definitely jasmine. However, I have to admit that I was surprised
at the stark contrast between her bedroom and the rest of the
apartment. Let’s put it this way, if this were an episode of “The
Odd Couple” her bedroom could only belong to Oscar Madison. It was
like ground zero, clothes strewn everywhere, mixed here and there
with a couple dozen pairs of shoes, a colorful assortment of hair
scrunchies, an impressive collection of lace, and satin
undergarments, at least two brands of feminine hygiene products,
some odd pairings of this and that accessories, and, what appeared
to be the remains of a PB & J sandwich? Strange things went on
in here but none of it had anything to do with her murder.
Apparently the girl was just a textbook P-I-G pig!

Ignoring the mess I continued on with my
careful and professional sweep of the premises. If this truly had
been her actual residence and not just a place to meet her
johns
, it would have something to tell me. People are
laziest at home when it comes to keeping secrets; at least that’s
been my experience over 25 years as a detective, with and without a
shield. Slowly I swept the room with my trusty two dollar
flashlight from Home Depot, and looked for signs of Sally’s killer.
Methodically I snooped through each drawer of the black lacquer
dresser that rested against the wall opposite the foot of her king
sized bed. Actually, I’d seen one exactly like it at IKEA a week or
so ago on one of my rare shopping excursions. I had been looking
for an armoire to supplement the lack of closet space in my small
flat, but settled on a wicker hamper when I discovered there was
assembly required on the trendy over priced furniture. Removing the
drawers one at a time, I emptied contents and sifted through each
of them carefully and then checked underneath for any surprises. I
did the same with the night stands that flanked the bed and then
the vanity table in the corner of the room near the master bath.
Nothing! There was
literally
nothing obvious to question or
to build a theory upon? I had to assume that the CSI team had
already collected everything they thought relevant, so I was left
with what was left behind and the pile of stuff on the bedroom
floor,
nice!

The bathroom was even emptier than the
refrigerator, not even a toothbrush, so that meant this was likely
just a place to conduct business, monkey business perhaps, but
business nonetheless. Still, I studied every square inch of the
small bathroom on the off chance that the crew before me had been
rushed or sloppy and had left behind something helpful. As luck
would have it, they might have as I pulled another blue thread from
the bottom of the shower curtain. The corner of the curtain had
been folded over and apparently nobody took the time to peel it
back and find the prize. That was a break for the good guys, namely
yours truly. It didn’t mean much now, but it might. For now it just
meant that someone wearing blue cotton material had been in both
the living room and the master bathroom. The living room was no
blaring siren but the master bathroom insinuated either a trusted
or maybe an intimate relationship with Sally. In any event it was
curious enough to study further. I placed the new thread into a new
baggie and got up to exit the room. I took a step and paused for a
ten count. The shower curtain had been wet, ergo; someone had
either used the shower or utilized it? I walked over and slid open
the curtain slowly, shining my light along the top and bottom just
in case anything dropped down or popped up.

When nothing appeared I knelt down and cast
the light onto the tub itself and swept it in quadrants with my
peepers. There was wax residue on inside ledge of the tub which
meant that someone was fond of bubble baths by candlelight. There
was a damp washcloth with a faintly red circular stain indicating
that whoever enjoyed the candlelight also enjoyed a little Merlot
or Cab with the experience. Technically this was another oversight
by CSI; apparently the LAPD had turned this investigation over to
the “B” team. I wasn’t surprised though, Lt. Celaya like cases
closed quickly. Even in police work it was quantity that brought
promotions and accolades, quality was a pleasant surprise but not
exactly necessary. If you produced headline numbers that benefited
the suits at City Hall your career path was gold plated. So what if
an unfortunate few went to the big house undeservedly, they were
the exception to the rule as far as ladder climbers like Oscar were
concerned. Oh well, that was ancient history for me now, I don’t
know why I still let it bother me. Chalk it up to a raging case of
social conscience I guess. In any event their sloppy detective work
might help me piece together Sally’s puzzle sooner than later, and
I had an uncomfortable hunch that it was going to be a necessity
where Lu Rong was concerned. He and Jay were “tootsie rolls,” hard
on the outside and soft in the middle. I’d noted the look on his
face as I left his apartment earlier. His face told me that he
would take this hard, and I was determined to find him closure and
keep him from anything rash or extreme!

My light ended its sweep of the tub at the
drain. It was one of those designs that had a cheap metal screen
covering the inch and three quarter opening over the drain. There
weren’t any hairs tangled up in the screen so at least CSI was
thorough enough to catch the obvious. But given their performance
thus far I leaned over the side and pried the screen out of the
drain opening. The screen was squeaky clean but when I fished
around the opening with my finger I pulled out a long string of
black hair and what appeared to be yet another dark blue thread.
Scoreboard! In detective speak if a clue knocks three times open
the goddamned door! I whipped out another baggie and placed the
whole mucky stream inside. Thanking my lucky stars and the LAPD I
got up to leave the apartment. I wiped down everything as I
backtracked toward the kitchen. I had been wearing gloves the
entire time, but one can never be too cautious. I turned off my
flash light when I reached the kitchen and was about to exit
through the window when phone on the wall began to ring off the
hook.

“
WHAT THE F…,”
I exclaimed,
startled more than I should have been. Before my heart stopped
racing and my blood pressure stabilized I reached for the
telephone. I knew instinctively who would be on the other line.

“Hello Lt. Kill-joy,” I said
sarcastically.

“Hi-ya Roode, find anything interesting,
replied an unpleasant but familiar voice?

“Nothing worth sharing Oscar,” I answered
smugly.

“I can always count on you to be you Whitey.
You make it too easy for me,” he continued.

“What can I say, like the song says,
I
gotta be me
,” I replied, trying to sound more bored than
pissed.

“Why don’t you skip the fire escape and take
the elevator down. No use all of us working up a sweat chasing you
all over town. While you’re at it bring down whatever you’ve found
in there and we can exchange theories while you’re being
fingerprinted and processed.”

I cursed under my breath before answering.
“Ah come on Oscar, can’t we work together on this one? I’m doing a
little snooping around for Lu and Jay, you know, the mahu couple
who own your favorite deli. The dead girl was Lu’s niece,” I
answered, hating myself for pleading with the rat bastard.

I hoped his silence meant that he was
considering my plea. I didn’t have to wait long. “Come on down
Whitey, we’ll talk about it.”

I smiled a relieved smile and headed for the
front door. Maybe the years had softened his naturally nasty
demeanor? That was a revolting thought; I might actually have to be
nice to the big lug one day! Just the same, I don’t want to trust
him too soon, leopard spots may fade but they don’t fall off. I
pulled out the baggies and placed the contents into three different
pockets and then scooped up dust and whatnot to replace the
threads. Oscar wanted me to share what I found, but he didn’t need
to know everything I found. As I walked into the elevator I had one
thought running through my mind
…”I wonder if they’re still
serving for supper in the tank, I’m starving.”

****

( “…Breakin rocks in the hot sun, I fought the law
and the law won…”)…Sonny Curtis & The Crickets…1959

Chapter Six

LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Monday, Feb
16, 2009…11pm

In case you’re wondering, the really prime
real estate at the city lock up, specifically, the holding tank
where the drunk and disorderly sleep it off, is the corner spot
near the cell door or topside if there are bunks available.
Unfortunately, I had neither to choose from due to the late hour of
my arrival courtesy my old pal and former boss,
Lt.
Dill-hole
. Of course I knew he would renege on our little truce
right after he shook me down for what he thought I’d found at
Sally’s place. Fortunately for me, I managed to keep my cool and
resisted cracking wise when his goon squad arrived to cuff me and
scuff me. That wee bit of respect earned me a downtown sleepover
instead of a long weekend on Terminal Island, high incentive for my
cooperative attitude as most of the Sherriff Deputies assigned to
the City facility were friends of mine from way back in the day.
What that meant to me was that I wouldn’t be subjected to the
standard
shakedown from hell
before checking into my
semi-private room in the tank for the night. That little perk would
allow my pocket full of stolen evidence to go safely unnoticed, at
least until my release in the morning. I tapped my thigh lightly to
make sure everything was where it belonged and then surveyed the
cell for signs of curious eyes.