by J. L. Abramo
They had transported the corpse from the Santa Monica morgue to Bando’s Funeral Home on Main Street and moved it down to the large basement workspace where the remains of the dearly departed were made ready for public viewing. A task which often required great artistry.
“Jesus, Nate,” said Bando, “they hurt Lenny bad.”
“Yes they did, Sal,” said Archer.
Bando and the Archer brothers went back a long time. The three ran around town together when Nathan and Lenny shared the PI office on Fourth Street. Though Salvatore had not heard from Nate in more than a year, when his old friend called for help, Bando came running. It had been nearly four years since Nathan had seen Lenny. Nate had tried many times to patch things up with his brother, to work it out, but Lenny wouldn’t have it. Nate had always held on to hopes for a reunion. But not this, never this.
Lenny, I hardly know you.
“Nate, are you okay?”
“Yes, Sal. Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime, Nate, anything at all, you know that.”
“I know, Sal.”
“I’ll be upstairs,” Bando said, sensing that Archer wanted to be alone with his brother. “You need something, just yell.”
“I will.”
When Bando was gone, Nate slipped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up the Coroner’s report. He stood over Lenny’s body, going through the report, comparing what he read with what he saw on the stainless steel table.
Words could not describe it.
At three, Frank Raft climbed out of his car and walked over to the phone booth. From where he stood, the entrance to Sherman Oaks High School was in clear view. Raft called the LASD Malibu Station and asked to speak with Bob Tully.
“Detectives’ Division, Tully.”
“Hey partner.”
“Frank, where are you?”
“I’m running late, hold the fort, I’ll be in no later than four,” said Raft. “Don’t forget we have business in Woodland Hills later today, and keep it under your hat.”
“The PI has been trying to reach you. Jimmy Pigeon. He was told you would be in by three.”
“Fuck Pigeon.”
“What if he calls?”
“Just deal with him, Bob. Be very helpful and polite. Give him anything he needs within reason,” said Raft. “And pay attention to what he’s asking.”
Raft looked across to the high school and spotted the boy walking out through the front doors.
“I have to run, Bob, see you in an hour.”
Raft went back to his vehicle. The detective watched from the driver’s seat as Kevin Tully broke away from a group of students and started up the street alone. Raft drove away from the curb and he followed the boy at a close distance. Two blocks from the school he pulled up alongside the boy.
“Kevin.”
The boy stopped and looked over to the car. When he realized who it was he moved to the passenger window.
“Uncle Frank,” he said.
“Hop in champ. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Kevin climbed into the passenger seat. The laptop from the basement of Tony’s Barber Shop sat on the seat between them.
“What’s this?” asked Kevin.
“It’s a spanking new notebook computer to replace that prehistoric laptop your father gave you,” said Frank. “It became available today. We wanted to get it to you before you got too attached to the dinosaur.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He got tied up at the station, so he asked me to drop this off to you on my way over there.”
“Wow, this is great,” Kevin said as they pulled up in front of the house. “I’m going to call Dad and thank him as soon as I get in.”
“Let it wait, champ, your father is very busy right now. I’ll let him know how pleased you are. Take it in and check it out. Your dad will call you up later and you can tell him all about it.”
“Thanks, Uncle Frank,” Kevin said, picking up the box.
“Leave the other one, Kevin,” Raft said.
Kevin placed the old notebook on the seat and climbed out of the car with the new one. He moved toward the front door of the house, floating on air. Raft couldn’t help but smile over the boy’s excitement.
When Kevin reached the door, he remembered the compact disc Peter Quince had made, the backup copy of all the files on the computer. Quince had told Kevin he would hold onto the disc. Kevin realized Raft might want to know about it.
“Oh, Uncle Frank, wait,” Kevin called, turning back.
Detective Raft had already driven off.
After lunch, Jimmy had gone to his office. The new message indicator was blinking on the telephone answering machine. He sat at his desk, lost in thought, hypnotized by the steady flashing of the small red light. Just past three, he telephoned Raft again at the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Station and was put through to Tully.
According to Detective Tully, the bullets removed from the bodies of Lenny Archer and Edward Richards were clearly fired from the same weapon. The results had been passed on to the Santa Monica Police Department. SMPD was now fully in charge of the ongoing investigation. The suspicion that the homicides had been drug related was still on the top of the list. Tully recommended Pigeon direct any further inquiries to Detective Barnum at SMPD. After he passed the buck, Tully apologized for needing to get off the telephone to take another call.
Jimmy placed the handset down and saw the flashing red light beckoning. He decided to get it over with and he hit the play button on the answering machine.
Frank Raft ran over to his house in Malibu. Down in the basement he placed the reporter’s laptop into a large metal basin and he beat it to death with a framing hammer.
He dumped the small pieces into a heavy black plastic bag.
Then he phoned Jackson Masters.
“Give me some good news, Frank,” Masters said. “The old man will be back Saturday.”
“It should be over by tomorrow, all of the loose ends should be tied up tonight.”
“You used the word should twice in the same sentence, Frank. I’m not pleased with your vocabulary.”
“It’s fucking Jimmy Pigeon. He’s been nosing into the reporter’s business. He’s been to the newspaper and might have dug something up at the library.”
“I warned you about Pigeon, Frank.”
“I’m watching him and I’ve got help. If he keeps sniffing around he’s going to lose his nose.”
“I need guarantees, Raft, not fucking movie clichés.”
“He won’t be a problem.”
“I sincerely hope not,” said Masters before he hung up the telephone.
Nathan Archer moved the stainless steel table into the walk-in cooler. He dropped the plastic gloves into a waste can and walked upstairs. He found Sal Bando at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
“There’s roast beef in the refrigerator, if you want to make a sandwich,” Sal said.
“I think I’ll just have some of that coffee,” Archer said. He poured a cup and joined Sal at the table.
“So?” asked Sal. “Did you find anything?”
“The Coroner’s report seems pretty thorough. But I may have found something missing.”
“Oh?”
Archer pulled a sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket.
“I picked up Lenny’s personal belongings at the police station early this morning. His wallet, wristwatch, a few other things. I was also given a list of everything being held back as evidence. His clothing, his handgun and two teeth.”
“I’d love to get my hands on the cocksucker who did that to Lenny,” said Bando.
“You and me both, Sal. Here’s the thing. According to the medical report and what I could see as I examined the body, there were three teeth missing. Where is the third tooth?”
“Could Lenny have lost it earlier?”
“I don’t think so. If you look into his mouth I think you would agree they were all knocked
out at the same time.”
“He could have swallowed the tooth.”
“Could have, but didn’t. It doesn’t show up in the autopsy report.”
“And you didn’t find it in Lenny’s office?”
“No. I found a few other things that may answer some questions, but no teeth.”
“Where are you staying?” asked Sal. “There’s plenty of room here.”
“Thanks, I’m going to stay at Lenny’s apartment. I saw his landlady yesterday when I got into town. I told her I was Lenny’s brother and she asked to see ID. The old lady is quite a character. I told her I planned to use the place for a while and that I would take care of moving his things. She seemed okay with it, but said she would need to start showing the place after the middle of the month, to make certain she could have it rented by the beginning of July. If I’m still down here next week, I’ll give her the rent for July to keep her from bringing people in. I’m not leaving until I find out who murdered my brother.”
“Have you found anything at Lenny’s apartment?”
“I haven’t had much time to look. It’s been at least four years since I was in the place, I’d have no idea if anything was missing. The old lady said a police detective had been up there and Lenny’s partner, Jimmy.”
“Have you spoken with Pigeon?”
“Not yet,” said Archer, “but I think it may be time to meet him.”
Nate rose from the table and went for the coffee pot. He refilled Sal’s cup and his own.
“Have you seen today’s paper?” Sal asked.
“No,” said Archer, taking a seat.
“The night Lenny was murdered a local reporter was killed also. According to this article, the police have reason to believe the two deaths could be related. They suspect the reporter, Ed Richards, was investigating illegal drug trade and your brother was working with him.”
“Based on what?”
“Not much. The way they were both executed.”
“No. Unless Lenny had changed drastically in the past four years, he wouldn’t go near it,” said Archer. “Do you know where Richards lived?”
“We could find out. Why?”
“I’d like to take a look around his place.”
“I’m sure you would have no trouble breaking in,” Sal Bando said.
BOB TULLY
Raft drove around to the row of trash dumpsters behind a large shopping center on Wilshire Boulevard. He dropped the black plastic bag containing the shattered remnants of the dead reporter’s laptop into one of the large bins.
On his way to the Malibu Station, Raft stopped again to call Ricky Diaz from a street corner public phone.
“We’ll be there at eight,” Raft said.
“I’m all set,” said Diaz. “Don’t forget the cash.”
“Are you sure you’ve got it straight, Ricky?”
“I’m a felon, Raft, not a fucking moron.”
“Humor me, Diaz.”
“I open the door, pull the trigger, drop the gun, take the money and disappear into the bowels of Old Mexico.”
“Very good, Ricky. I’m proud of you.”
“Save the flattery, Frankie. Don’t be late.”
When Raft walked into the Detectives’ Division office at the Malibu Station, Tully was touting his son’s hitting abilities to Detectives Landers and Mallory.
“The kid is batting .348 with fourteen homeruns, best in the county. He hasn’t made an error all season. Stanford and UCLA are courting him for a baseball scholarship and Kevin is still a Junior.”
“Not to mention the six runs batted-in last Saturday at the semi-finals,” Raft added. “Sherman Oaks is a lock to take the State Championship this weekend.”
“What’s the line on the championship game?” asked Bill Landers.
“You would gamble on a high school baseball game?” said Tully.
“Bill would bet on a fourth grade dodge ball game if he liked the spread,” said Mallory. “You’re a lucky guy, Tully. You should be very proud and you should let the boy know about it every chance you get.”
“You know, you’re right for a change, Mallory,” Tully said. “I should call him right now and do just that.”
“Save it, Bobby, I need you right now,” said Raft.
Raft headed out of the office and Tully followed.
“Later, gents,” Tully said as he left.
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Bob,” Mallory called after him.
Ray Boyle was just about to leave for the day when his Captain stopped him in the hall.
“Ray, I need you to stick around for a while.”
“Are you kidding? It’s fucking half past six; I’ve been in this fucking asylum since eight this morning.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ray, but it can’t be helped. Where’s Stephens?”
“Sam ran out at six, when I should have.”
“You missed the boat, Ray.”
“Where the fuck is everyone else? Who has the four to midnight?”
“Vannater and Lange.”
“So?”
“They caught an armed robbery in Century City, liquor store. It looks like they’ll be tied up there for a couple of hours. And I have two detectives out sick. I need you here in case we catch a call, Ray. I’ll cut you loose the minute Phil and Ron get back. I’ll owe you one.”
“Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Ray.”
“You’re fucking welcome, Captain, sir.”
Jimmy had intended to see Meg, to learn what she might have picked up at Richards’ funeral while he grabbed dinner at the café.
He changed his mind.
Instead, Jimmy decided on Angelo’s Ristorante. He sat alone at a small table in the far corner of the dining room over a large kettle of steamed mussels in marinara.
“How was the cozzi a zuppo?”
Jimmy dropped the last empty shell into a side bowl and looked up at his host.
“Perfect as always, Angelo.”
“Mind if I sit for a minute?”
“Not at all,” Jimmy said.
“Lenny loved that dish,” said Angelo, taking a seat.
“Yes he did,” said Jimmy, grateful that Angelo Ricci had allowed him to finish his meal and had kindly forgone voicing his sympathy over Lenny’s death. Jimmy pushed his plate aside and looked at Angelo. Ricci sat uncomfortably, as if trying to decide how to begin.
“What’s on your mind, Angelo?” said Jimmy, hoping to help.
“Stop me anytime,” Angelo said.
“Go ahead.”
“Look, Jimmy. I don’t know what’s happening with the murder investigation, it’s really none of my business. But if anyone was interested in my opinion, I would have to say the police are barking up the wrong tree. I knew Lenny a long time, and his brother. If there was one thing Lenny and Nathan agreed on, it was to steer clear of any case dealing with drugs; and if they found that a case in progress was pointed that way, they dropped it cold.”
“Thanks, Angelo.”
“For what?”
“For letting me know I’m not the only one who believes the police investigation is way off base.”
“I’m sure of it, Jimmy. One more thing and I’ll be out of your hair. I have certain acquaintances I can reach out to, I won’t name names. I just want you to know if you’re not happy with how it plays out, I will see what I can do to get you some satisfaction.”
Angelo Ricci waited for a response. Jimmy could think of nothing to say.
“Finito,” Ricci said, rising from the table.
“Angelo?”
“Yes?”
“What can you tell me about Lenny’s brother?”
“A brilliant investigator. He studied forensic sciences. He could tell you when a victim had his last haircut. And there isn’t a lock Nate couldn’t pick.”
“What happened between the brothers?”
“I wouldn’t feel right talking about it,” Ricci said. “I need to get b
ack to work, Jimmy. Should I send over an espresso?”
“Sure, Angelo. An espresso would be good.”
“Why are we stopping?” Tully asked as Raft pulled the car into the parking area of a small convenience store.
“I need smokes. Can I get you anything?”
“Diet Coke,” said Tully.
“Sit tight.”
Ricardo Diaz sat in his kitchen, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, staring at the thirty-eight. He looked up at the wall clock. Seven forty-five. His suitcase was packed and ready at the foot of the sliding glass door that opened out to the fenced patio. Ricky rose and he slid the door open. The tall cedar patio gate out to the parking lot behind his condo was latched from the inside. He paced nervously, his eyes darting back and forth between the clock and the gun.
Raft called the Malibu Station from a pay phone in the convenience store and asked for Commander Jefferson.
“Yes, Frank?”
“Tully got a tip on someone who may help us on those two homicides last Sunday; we’re going to check it out.”
“That’s Santa Monica’s headache now, Frank.”
“We’re right here, Chief. And this cat isn’t going to hang around. He could be gone by the time SMPD can get out here.”
“Where?”
“Woodland Hills.”
“That’s the city, Frank. Maybe you should call LAPD.”
“Jesus, you know the fucking wait time, I just want to get to this guy before he vanishes, a few simple questions. I think we can handle it without the fucking marines.”
“What’s the address? I’ll send a unit.”
Raft gave Jefferson the location of the condo, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a Diet Coke and went back out to the car.
“Remind me again why we’re going to see Diaz,” Tully said as they pulled away from the parking lot. “Isn’t he supposed to blow town?”
“Ricky called, said that he wanted to see us before he leaves. Maybe he wants to kiss us goodbye.”
Diaz nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. He picked up the .38 and moved to the front door.
