by Philip Cox
‘What time was that?’ Quinn asked.
‘About eleven. Then we went to bed. Wasn’t until six, six-thirty next morning when I looked out of the window and saw it gone. You guys found it, then?’
Leroy ignored the question. ‘So it was taken, then, sometime between eleven and six-thirty. You didn’t hear anything?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’
‘You guys sleep at the front of the house?’
‘We do, yes…’
‘Window open at night?’
‘No way. Not in this neighbourhood.’
‘And of course you locked it, and there was no key in the ignition?’
‘What do you take me for? Of course I locked it, and of course the key wasn’t there.’
‘It’s in the house?’
‘Sure.’
‘You want to get it?’
‘You want the key?’
Leroy nodded.
Johansson looked at the ground. He shuffled his feet slightly. Mumbled something.
‘Sir?’ Leroy prompted.
‘All right, all right. I left the key in the truck. Stupid, I know. I don’t normally.’
‘Did you tell the insurance company that?’
Johansson shook his head and swallowed.
‘I don’t care about them,’ Leroy said. ‘When you filed the police report, what did you tell them about the keys?’
‘Er... I might not have said the keys were in there.’
‘And that’s all you can tell me? You left it there, went to bed, and next morning it was gone?’
‘It’s the truth, I swear. Have you found it?’
‘No, we haven’t found it. And to be truthful, I’m not expecting to.’
‘Hmm?’
Leroy sighed. ‘If it is found, it’ll be lying somewhere torched, seats gone, tyres gone. Any valuables in there?’
Johansson said no.
‘Do you work, sir?’ Quinn asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not at the moment. I used to work in a local store, filling shelves and driving deliveries, but I got laid off.’
‘You’re on welfare, then?’
He shrugged. ‘My girl, she works. I am looking for something, though.’
Leroy nodded. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Johansson.’ As he turned to leave, he asked, ‘Chevrolet Milverado? I’ve heard of a Silverado.’
‘It’s the same, more or less. It was ex-US Army. Military green, but I sprayed it white. It was a good runner.’
‘I’m sure it was a good runner,’ said Leroy as they got back into their car. As Quinn drove away, Leroy looked back at Johansson’s house. ‘What do you think of that guy?’
‘He’s an idiot. Who else would leave their vehicle unlocked, keys in the ignition outside their house overnight? Or anywhere for that matter?’
‘Unless you wanted it taken.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. But why?’
‘Insurance scam, has to be. Nobody can be that dumb.’
‘Do we need to call anyone?’
‘Nothing to do with us. It’s no surprise Kirk’s body was dumped with a stolen vehicle. I’d just like to see what he says to the insurance company when they asked about the keys.’
‘What about the report he filed with us? He said they keys were in the house.’
‘Forget it. How much time are they going to waste looking for it? We need it more than he does.’
‘And like you said, that’s not going to happen.’
‘No, so the truck’s a dead end. Let’s get back to the station. See if there’s any news from them on Mets.’ As Quinn headed away from Van Nuys, Leroy asked, ‘Johansson: have we come across him before?’
Quinn pondered. ‘No; I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know. He just seems familiar, that’s all.’
‘How can he be, Sam?’
‘He can’t. Maybe I’m thinking of another case, someone like him. Even dumber. Maybe it’s just the jetlag talking.’
Chapter 38
Back at the station, there was the inevitable discussion about jurisdiction.
Lieutenant Perez leaned across his desk and flicked one of his silver executive balls. It swung and hit the next, and the click, click, click began. Leroy winced. The lieutenant sat back in his chair.
‘I’ve already spoken to the captain,’ he said, ‘and to the Chief. They’re both agreed, much to the annoyance of Hollywood Division, that you can have first dibs on this one.’ They were talking about Evald Mets.
Leroy stood behind one of the chairs in front of the lieutenant’s desk, both hands on the chair back. ‘Lieutenant, it has to be linked to Kirk’s murder. Otherwise, it’s one mother of a coincidence.’
Perez nodded. ‘One unlucky son of a bitch. What about the COD, though? That was different here.’
‘Yes, William Kirk was shot and decapitated; Evald Mets appears to have been strangled.’
‘Weapon?’
‘From the marks on his neck, a rope. One around an inch or so in circumference. Apparently there are some slighter burn marks on the tips of his fingers, which suggest that he put up a fight. I’m thinking someone got behind him, rope around his neck, pulled it tight, and sayonara Evald Mets.’
‘He was found in a dumpster - a dumpster again - up in Hollywood. Have you been up there yet?’
‘No, not yet. It’s no longer a crime scene now: forensic have already finished there.’
‘Where in Hollywood was it?’
‘Up at the Bowl. There’s a refreshment counter and the Bowl Shop in one building.’
‘Yes, I know it.’
Leroy said, ‘Well, behind that building, there’s a row of dumpsters, apparently. Needed for food trash. He was in there. Two kids found him while they were dumpster diving. Not quite what they were expecting to find.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’ll be dark before we get up there. I don’t know if there’s anything on there tonight, but if forensics are done with the scene, I can’t see any value in racing up there tonight. Ray and I’ll head up there first thing.’
‘What are you expecting to find up there?’ Perez asked.
‘I’ll let you know when I find it. Then my focus is going to have to be following up on what I learned in Birmingham.’
‘I was wondering when you were going to get around to that. Sam, you know how much that trip of yours cost the Department?’
‘Money well spent, Lieutenant. I think I’ve finally figured out what’s been going on.’
‘Quinn told me it started as some kind of scam, yes?’
Leroy nodded.
‘So fill in the blanks for me.’ Perez flicked another silver ball and leaned back. His phone chirped: he checked the screen and put it back down again, looking at Leroy.
‘It all seems to centre around the Stocker Hotel. It’s Downtown, across the street from Union Station, but more importantly, it’s used by folks - mainly men - attending events at the Convention Center.’
‘Men away from home, away from the wife and kids.’
‘Correct. We only know of two - Kirk and Hightower - but you can bet your ass there have been others.
‘The way I figure it, the guy’s alone in the hotel, he gets approached by one or both of those girls in the photographs.’
‘You guessing they’re hookers?’
‘Possibly, possibly not. While I was away, Ray let Vice take a look, but came up with nothing. Their faces aren’t that clear on the pictures.’
‘Probably deliberate.’
‘Right. So I’m figuring the girls start flirting with the guys, getting them merry, although apparently Hightower didn’t drink. I’m figuring then the girls somehow, maybe while he was distracted with the other, slipped something in a drink. Not sure if it was Rohypnol itself – Hightower said he was on mineral water and would have noticed if his Evian turned blue.’
‘Anything in Kirk’s system?’
‘I asked Hobson to check, but he tells me it will be a few days
, and there’s no guarantee anything’s still there. So once the guy’s under the influence, they hit his hotel room and do what they do. Ray and I are convinced the pictures are staged: on one of them it looks as if one of the girls is holding Kirk up.’
‘If they’re not hookers, they might also be reluctant to get intimate with the guy,’ Perez observed.
‘Possibly, yes. Or they’re wearing crotch pads; you know, like they do in the movies. You can’t see anything in the shots.
‘The next morning, the guy wakes up, can’t remember what happened the night before, and gets a tap on the door. The guy at the door - Hightower says maybe Chinese in his thirties – shows him the pictures and demands a couple of grand that day, and the same every month.’
‘So how did Kirk end up dead?’
‘Hightower is big in his local church. He went to his pastor to ask for forgiveness for fornicating - his words - and the pastor hired a private eye - William Kirk - to retrace his steps and confront them.’
‘Which got him killed. Why cut his head off?’
Leroy shook his head, stifled a yawn. ‘No idea yet. Maybe they were planning on dismembering the whole body to make it easier to hide. From what a witness up by the sign said, the killers were out looking for a place to dump the body.’
Perez rubbed his chin. ‘How is he supposed to pay the next month? Mail a cheque?’
‘No, mail the cash to a box number, here in LA.’
‘Are you going to stake that out?’
‘Yes, but in time. I want first to get someone into the hotel, pretending to be a business traveller, and hoping the girls will make contact.’
‘That’s risky, Sam. For one thing, there’s the question of entrapment; and whoever you put in will end up being drugged.’
‘I know. As far as the entrapment is concerned, I’m not looking to book anyone on the strength of maybe drugging our man; I just want to get a hold of the two girls. And as far as the drugging is concerned: yes, there is that risk.’ Leroy walked round the front of the chair and sat down. ‘The thing is, Lieutenant, if somebody at the hotel is involved - identifying likely guests, I mean – then if either Ray or I pose as a guest, then we’re going to be spotted. It has to be another officer.’
‘I’m not happy about that, Sam. The drug could have all kinds of side-effects.’
‘I’m aware of that. I know there’s a risk, but when isn’t there?’
Perez closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. ‘I’ll give it some thought, Sam. I’ll have a word with downstairs, see if anyone’s prepared to volunteer.’
‘Swell, thanks.’ Leroy got up. ‘I’m going to call it a day here now. First thing tomorrow, Ray and I’ll head up to the Bowl, take a look at the scene. Then we’ll come back here and set things up for the hotel.’ He paused on the way out of the Lieutenant’s office. ‘It just won’t work if Ray or I do it. We’ll be recognised.’
‘I get that, Sam. But as you yourself said, whoever volunteers, and whatever they volunteer for, there’s always a risk.’
Chapter 39
They arrived at the Bowl just after 9am. The parking lot was almost deserted: Leroy parked in the nearest set of spaces to the pathway leading up to the amphitheatre, next to three other cars. As they got out and looked around, another car drew up next to theirs. A man in a green tee got out, gave Leroy and Quinn a glance, and then walked over to the building containing the men’s room. Sunglasses on, Leroy and Quinn walked in the same direction. As they passed the men’s room, the man came out, and headed over to the box office. They could hear the sound of a hand drier coming from the restroom. A white van was parked on the corner, and a man in grey overalls was carrying out some work on an electrical junction box.
‘Where is it?’ Leroy asked.
Quinn pointed up the inclined path. ‘Up there, behind the concession stand.’
They walked up the slope, past the still closed Bowl Store; Leroy glanced over to the flyer hanging from the streetlamp advertising a Diana Krall concert the following Sunday. A white Johnston CN101 street cleaning truck with the Hollywood Bowl logo on its doors trundled down the slope, its twin brushes at the front spinning round, collecting the trash from the previous night. At the top of the slope, just before the concession stand, the road bends round to the left and on the bend a man this time in green overalls and matching baseball cap was tending the bushes.
‘Behind here?’ Leroy pointed to the stand, which was a long structure, painted olive green and with white shutters which were closed at that time of the morning.
‘Yeah, round the back.’
As they walked round the back of the stand, a woman in grey shirt and darker grey pants came out of one of the doors in the adjacent building. ‘Can I help?’
Leroy and Quinn flashed their badges. ‘Just following up on the other day,’ Quinn told her.
‘Oh, sure,’ she said, holding the clipboard she was carrying to her chest. ‘I wasn’t on duty then, but they told me about the other day.’
With Quinn following, Leroy stepped round the rear of the stand. Sure enough, there were dumpsters, one green with a black lid and one black with a white lid. The green one had food trash stencilled in white onto the front. Leroy lifted the lid, sniffed and pulled a face.
‘Food trash?’ Quinn asked. Leroy nodded. He peered inside the black container and wandered up and down the back of the stand.
‘It’s a bit narrow back here,’ he said. ‘How would whoever dumped Mets in there know the dumpsters were here?’
‘It says refreshments out front. Maybe they guessed. They didn’t have to actually put him in one of those: they could have just left him back here.’
‘Mm.’ Leroy rubbed his eye, taking out a fleck of dirt.
‘Maybe he was killed here,’ Quinn suggested. Somehow lured here, strangled and dumped.’
Leroy sniffed and shook his head. ‘I don’t buy that. For one thing, are you saying Mets voluntarily came back here with somebody else? And why was he at the Hollywood Bowl? Just to hang around the back of the concession stand? And the other thing: the ME says he had been dead around twelve hours.’ As Leroy spoke, they made their way back to the front of the stand. ‘Something just doesn’t feel right, Ray. And if he was killed somewhere else, like Kirk was, how would they get the body there without somebody noticing?’
Quinn gestured back down the slope to the parking lot. ‘You wouldn’t get a car up here. Unless they used the pick-up, and everybody guessed it was a Bowl vehicle.’
‘You got it, Ray. No, you couldn’t get a car up here, could you? And you certainly couldn’t get a garbage truck up here.’ Leroy looked around. Down by the box office there was a figure in the grey uniform the woman earlier was wearing. He ran down to the man. Holding out his badge, he asked where the garbage is collected.
‘Three times a week, sir,’ came the reply. The guy appeared Hispanic, no more than five feet tall, with black hair long but in a ponytail. He wore a matching grey baseball cap. ‘Around one, maybe two in the am.’
‘And how are the dumpsters up there collected? Does the truck make it up the hill?’
The man laughed. ‘Oh no, sir. It would never fit up there. The road’s too narrow.’
‘So how’s the trash collected?’
He pushed his baseball cap back an inch. ‘Those nights, once we’re done here, which is about twelve, we have to wheel the larger containers down the hill to over there.’ He pointed to a corner of the parking lot, where two containers were still standing. ‘The garbage truck empties them down there. Then next morning, we wheel them back up the hill. ’Course, they’re not heavy then, on account them being emptied already.’
‘So, you’re telling me that, between midnight and…?’
‘Around 8am.’
‘Midnight and 8am, the dumpsters would be standing over there. Is that right?’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
By now, Quinn had caught up and had heard the conversation. ‘What about
CCTV?’ he asked. Is the parking lot covered by CCTV?’
‘Er, no. I don’t believe it is,’ the man said apologetically.
‘No problem,’ Leroy told him. ‘Thanks for your time.’
Quinn was already walking down to the lot. He turned round and called out, ‘No cameras.’
Leroy joined him. ‘Pity, but I’ll bet you a pound of sugar to a bag of shit that it was the same pick-up that dropped Kirk off.’
‘Which was stolen?’
‘Apparently so.’ Leroy’s phone bleeped: he quickly checked the message and turned back to Quinn. ‘I think we’re done here.’
‘That would figure,’ Quinn said. ‘Mets’s body was found by some kids dumpster diving, remember? They wouldn’t have been able to get up there, behind the concession stand, would they?’
‘No,’ said Leroy who was wandering over to a Forthcoming Events board. ‘They’d have the pick of the lot over there.’
Quinn joined his partner as they both read the board. Events for that summer began with fireworks second week of June, followed by more fireworks on the July 4th weekend. Coming soon was Smooth Summer Jazz, and a New Kids on the Block concert, neither of which they found appealing.
Then Quinn spotted something. ‘Hey – the Rolling Stones in September. I might see if Holly wants to go. Why don’t you take Julia to something here? You know, make a real effort.’
Leroy glared at him.
‘You guys still not…?’
‘No. Come on.’ Leroy walked quickly back to the car, Quinn saying nothing. Once back in the car, Leroy turned to Quinn. ‘That message I got before, it was from the lieutenant. He says we have our volunteer.’
Chapter 40
‘You?’
Leroy looked to Quinn, who said nothing, then back to Lieutenant Perez.
‘What’s your problem?’ asked the lieutenant.
Leroy was lost for words. ‘It’s just that I… I just wasn’t…’
‘You weren’t expecting your volunteer to be me?’
‘No, to be honest. Why?’
