by Philip Cox
Lance Smart shuffled his feet around to steady himself. He was not going to give up that easily.
‘Go on Gabby. Just a drop more.’ He leaned over further, grasping the bottle in his right hand and holding his left arm out to balance. Gabrielle was beginning to be concerned he might collapse on top of her.
Eventually she took her hand off the glass.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just a drop.’ She held the glass out.
‘Just a drop,’ he repeated, slurring. He leaned further over and deliberately poured more wine into her glass. Not just a drop as Gabrielle had asked, but refilled the glass.
‘No, that’s en -’ Too late.
Lance Smart gave her a drunken smile, turned, and staggered off.
Gabrielle shook her head and took a sip. She checked her watch: it was just after nine. Biting her lip, she began to figure out at what time she could leave. She didn’t want to be the first to go; however the sooner she could get away the better. This was as boring as hell, and Lance Smart had had too much to drink. As usual. If he was anybody other than a senior partner in the firm… It wasn’t that he ever said or did anything inappropriate: he was just a pain in the ass when he had more than two glasses.
She looked around at some of her colleagues, willing one of them to finish their drink and go.
‘Not eating anything, Gabrielle?’
She looked up and saw Cecil Reed, the CEO, standing over her. He had a drink in one hand and a plate of canapés in the other.
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Not that hungry, Mr Reed.’
‘Nonsense. You must eat something. You must be hungry. Otherwise you’ll be merry after one of those.’ He indicated down to her now full glass of Chardonnay. ‘And not fit for work tomorrow.’
He was right. Gabriella was getting hungry. She just felt that if she started eating here, that would mean getting to leave later. She stood up.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Reed said, holding both wine and plate in one hand and guiding her over to the buffet table with the other. ‘Why not try something? The Dim Sing are delicious.’
‘Dim Sing?’ she asked, as they walked over.
‘Yes, those little dumpling things. Chinese, I believe.’
‘Oh, you mean Dim Sum,’ she laughed.
‘See, I told you you were hungry.’ He led her to the buffet.
Gabrielle looked around at the food laid out on the white linen tablecloth. There was a printed label by each dish, presumably so those who were not versed in Chinese knew what they were eating. Har gow shrimp dumplings, chicken and vegetable congee, steamed dumplings, rice noodle rolls, sweet and sour pork, and Cha siu bao, a bun filled with barbecued pork. She studied each food for a moment, then picked up a paper plate from a small pile at the end of the table and helped herself to some shrimp dumplings and noodle rolls. As she turned to return to her seat she found herself staring into Cecil Reed’s eyes.
‘That all you’re having, my dear?’ he asked, looking down at her half empty plate in disbelief.
She nodded. ‘Not much of an appetite tonight, I’m afraid.’
Reed shook his head. ‘You young ladies,’ he muttered. ‘Always worrying about your figures.’
Gabrielle smiled again and returned to her seat. As she walked away, she could still hear Reed mumbling something about size zeroes.
As she sat down, out of the corner of her eye she could see Lance Smart still staggering around topping up people’s glasses. He saw her and turned in her direction.
‘Oh shit,’ Gabrielle muttered under her breath.
As he came over, she caught the attention of two women colleagues who were chatting three seats down. She moved her seat and joined them.
Gabrielle had only been working as an admin assistant at LaVerne & Marshall, a medium sized attorney firm based in offices in Century City, two weeks, and so had not had much of a chance to get to know her co-workers that well. Quiet and introverted, she had kept herself to herself, and had stayed off everybody’s radar.
Except that of Lance Smart, whose radar had picked her up at work, and certainly had here. If she was hoping that by joining the other two women, she had escaped his attentions, she was mistaken. He kept coming.
‘More wine, ladies?’ He stopped around three feet from there they had congregated and stood swaying, with a bottle in each hand.
Gabrielle’s colleagues both said no, and turned away from him. She followed suit.
‘Are you sure? We have gallons in the cellar.’
The older of the two, who Gabrielle was aware was called Monica, looked up at him.
‘Piss off, Lance. Go get some black coffee.’
He froze, with a hurt look on his face, then not saying another word, turned and shambled away.
‘Well done, you,’ said Stella, Monica’s colleague. They both laughed, Gabrielle joining in.
For the next half an hour, the three of them chatted. Chatted and laughed about the firm, about their jobs, their families, until Gabrielle noticed a few people the other side of the room preparing to leave.
‘I think it’s my turn to say goodbye,’ she said, standing up. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise, honey,’ said Monica. ‘I’m leaving soon. I’ve always hated these office receptions.’
‘Me too,’ added Stella. ‘If the big boys want to celebrate closing a big contract, why don’t they go celebrate? No need to keep us here longer than we need to be. See you in the morning, Gabrielle.’
Gabrielle said her goodbyes, visited the restroom, and then picked up her coat and bag. Much to her dismay, as she made her way to the door, she was caught by Lance Smart again.
‘Why are you leaving so soon?’ he asked, leaning against the door frame.
‘I’m tired, and need to go home,’ she said walking off to the elevator. He stood up and followed her.
‘But the night’s so young,’ he smirked as she punched the elevator call button. ‘I was hoping we could have another drink here, then head back to my penthouse for a nightcap.’
‘Er – I don’t think so, Lance.’
To her relief, the elevator doors opened. She quickly stepped in and hit the P2 button, praying that he would not follow her.
‘Well, that’s your loss,’ he said, chasing the remaining gap in the doors as they slid shut.
‘I’ll try to get by,’ she called out as the doors closed and the elevator took her from her office on the 15th floor to the second basement level parking garage.
There were no stops on the journey past sixteen floors and after a minute the doors slid open. Gabrielle stepped out.
The garage was around a quarter full, the remaining cars presumably belonging to the people still at the LaVerne & Marshall reception. Gabrielle felt a little uneasy: the place felt deserted, creepy. Her vehicle was parked at the far end, three spaces away from one of the whitewashed wall. She started to walk over, a little faster than usual.
As she approached a concrete column, she thought she could hear voices from around the column. Speaking quietly. She stopped walking. The voices stopped. Nervously, she fumbled in her bag and got out her keys. Held the key out and pressed the unlock button. There was a click from the end of that row of cars and the lights on her Mini Hardtop flashed as the doors unlocked. Relieved, she broke into a run.
‘Good night, Gabrielle,’ a woman’s voice called out. Gabrielle skidded to a halt and turned round. The voice came from the other side of the column. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw, sitting on the hood of the black sedan, her skirt hitched up to her waist, Melody from Accounts. Standing facing her was a young guy who Gabrielle thought worked as an assistant to one of the partners. She laughed, partly out of relief, and partly as now she knew why they wanted to leave the party early.
‘Night,’ she smiled, and turned to walk to her car. Melody and the guy remained frozen: obviously they were going to let Gabrielle drive away before they continued.
Gabrielle had only taken two steps
when she heard a cry – a man’s cry – and a dull thumping noise. It was coming over from the other side of the place.
‘What the hell -?’ Melody’s partner muttered. He stepped back and pulled up his pants. Melody adjusted her clothing and got off the sedan.
‘Is anybody there?’ Melody cried out, as she, the guy and Gabrielle slowly and cautiously stepped over to where they thought the sound had come from.
‘You there,’ the guy called out. ‘You some kind of freaking perv-’
He was stopped mid-sentence as Melody screamed. Gabrielle gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
In the corner of the garage, a metallic blue Dodge Dart had been reversed into the space. There was a man next to the car. He was lying face down, at a ninety degree angle, as if he was just about to open the door before he fell. The right arm was stretched out, as if reaching for the door. Except for a pair of red shorts, this man was naked. There were vicious looking scratch marks across his back.
Melody screamed again, her scream echoing around the whitewashed walls of the garage.
FOUR
It was a Saturday night. The same as any other Saturday night. As any other Saturday night at the Marriott Hotel, Downtown Los Angeles. Guests moved around the lobby, making their way to or from one of the bars, or the restaurant. Some were sitting on one of the many armchairs, chatting over coffee or a drink, reading a newspaper, or just waiting.
There were three lines waiting at reception, each with two guests behind the person checking in. Once check-in had been completed, a bell hop appeared, to escort the guest and his bags to one of the bedrooms in the twenty-one storey hotel.
This night was slightly different, however, in that a raucous noise was emanating from one of the three function rooms. From outside, you could hear a man’s voice, and laughter.
The man concerned was Henry Meriwether II, owner of a leather goods manufacturing firm, and father of the bride.
The bride, his only daughter, Holly, was the subject of his speech. A speech filled with tales of Holly when she was growing up, of his admiration for her new husband, Police Detective Ray Quinn, who was sitting laughing, and clutching his new wife’s hand. The speech was also peppered with numerous jokes, ranging from harmless G-rated to deep blue. He seemed to have no concern that a large number of children were at the wedding. Maybe he figured the bluer jokes would go over the heads of the minors.
Then it was time for the groom to give his speech. Quinn stood up, coughed, pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, and nervously opened it. Took a gulp of water, a deep breath, and began his speech.
Quinn’s speech had no jokes. He thanked all those who had attended the ceremony, his in-laws, and his new bride, ‘for having the cojones to put up with me’.
The speech over, he leaned down, and gave his wife a long, loving kiss. The guests cheered and clapped as he sat back down again. As he sat back down, he looked over to the guests, at one guest in particular.
At the far end of one of the tables, Police Detective Sam Leroy laughed and applauded as Quinn sat down. As Quinn looked over, Leroy returned his grin. Raised his glass to him.
Leroy and Quinn were colleagues working on the Homicide Desk of the West Los Angeles Area of the LAPD. More than colleagues: they had been partnering each other for two years now; Leroy was the senior partner, and had become a mentor to Quinn. And a good friend. So it was only natural that he would be here at Quinn’s wedding.
After the speeches, the music began. The first dance was of course for the bride and groom. Leroy remained at the end of his table, turning his chair around to face the dance floor.
‘Your turn next, Sam,’ Holly called out as they glided past his chair.
Leroy raised his glass to them. ‘For what?’ he replied. ‘A dance or a wedding?’
Holly shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ she laughed as they glided away.
Leroy finished his drink, stood up and ambled over to the bar. There were already three other guests there, including Preston Patterson, a fifty-something career cop, known throughout the department as ‘PP’, and Leroy’s captain.
Patterson stepped over next to Leroy.‘Put it on my tab,’ he instructed the bartender.
Leroy took the drink and raised the glass to Patterson. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ Patterson moved closer to Leroy. ‘Look – I’m glad I caught you.’
‘Oh yes?’ Leroy replied, slowly and suspiciously.
‘Yeah. Saves having to wait till Monday.’
‘Go on.’
‘The Lieutenant post.’
Patterson paused.
Leroy looked into his drink and said nothing.
Patterson continued, ‘We’ve decided to give it to Perez.’
Leroy swirled his drink. ‘Ah. Perez.’
‘It’s nothing personal, you understand…’
Leroy said nothing.
‘It’s just that you can be a bit…’ Patterson tried to find the right word.
Leroy said nothing.
Patterson looked around, as if the right word was on the dance floor.
‘A bit…?’ asked Leroy.
‘Goddam it Sam, you know what I mean. You can be a bit unorthodox, a bit…’
‘I get results though, don’t I?’
‘Yes you do. And there’s never been any criticism of your style. It’s just that you don’t always say the right things. Do you get me?’
Leroy said nothing.
‘What I’m saying is,’ continued Patterson, ‘is that you piss people off sometimes. People whose opinions count.’
‘Like the Chief?’
‘Like the Chief, yeah. And others.’
Leroy said nothing.
‘Maybe you’re too direct where you should be tactful. I’ve no problem with you – I like that in a fellow officer. But…’
Leroy said nothing.
Patterson continued, ‘But Perez on the other hand – he…’
‘Is a good ass kisser?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite that way.’
‘But…?’
‘Okay, Perez is a good ass kisser. But the higher you go up the food chain, the more important that gets.’
Leroy nodded. Said nothing.
Patterson straightened up in his seat and finished his drink. Looked over at Leroy. ‘You didn’t want it anyway, did you?’
Leroy shook his head, still staring into his drink. ‘No.’
Patterson stood up, clearly relieved that the conversation was over. ‘Well, have a good evening. I guess I’ll see you Monday. I’m assuming you’re not back till Monday?’ He nodded his head down at Leroy’s drink.
‘Monday.’
Patterson nodded and returned to two women further down the bar. One of them Leroy recognised as Patterson’s wife; the other seemed too old to be a daughter…
Leroy shrugged, finished his drink, and turned round. Quinn and Holly were coming towards him.
‘She wants the next dance with you,’ Quinn said.
‘Oh, it’s okay. I don’t really….’
‘No excuses,’ laughed Holly as she took him by the arm and led him to the dance floor. Quinn went to the bar.’
‘You like to get your own way,’ Leroy said as they began a slow dance. ‘I hope Ray knows what he’s getting into.’
Holly looked up at him and smiled. ‘Oh, don’t worry. He does. And what about you, Sam?’
He looked down at her, frowning. ‘What about me?’
‘When are you going to be getting into something again?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. It’s been well over a year since -’
‘Fifteen months to be precise.’
‘Well, surely it’s time for you to get out there again.’
‘I will when I’m ready.’
‘I never met her, but Ray told me about her. I’m sure she would want you to.’
‘The trouble with you married guys,’ Leroy said, ‘is th
at you can’t bear to see other people on their own. We might prefer it.’
‘How so?’ asked Holly.
‘What’s best: to be in a relationship you don’t want, or where you’re not happy; or not to be in one?’
Holly thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay. Sorry. But don’t leave it too long. It’s such a waste.’
‘In any case,’ he went on, ‘you’re spoken for. So what hope have I?’
‘I’ll tell my husband you said that,’ Holly laughed.
‘I’ll tell him myself. Excuse me…’ Leroy said as he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Holly let him go, and Leroy took the call.
Quinn remained at the bar while Holly and Leroy were dancing. He noticed Leroy excuse himself when he answered his phone and walk away from the floor as he took the call. Holly wandered over to a couple of girlfriends. Quinn slowly put his drink down and walked over to Leroy. As Quinn approached, Leroy ended the call and put the phone away.
‘What’s up, Sam?’ Quinn asked.
‘What’s up? You just got married. That’s what’s up.’ Leroy looked around. ‘Look, Ray. I’m sorry, but I need to go.’
‘Shit, Sam. Why? What’s happened?’
Leroy looked around again. ‘A body’s been found. In a back street in Hollywood.’
‘Well, that’s a newsflash. What does that have to do with us?’
‘Nothing to do with us. You just got married.’
‘Okay – what does that have to do with you?’
‘They want me to go over and take a look at the crime scene. You never know – I might be back later.’
‘How many have you had, though?’
‘A couple. I told them I can’t drive, so they’re sending a black and white over to pick me up. Asked me to take a look.’
‘I still don’t get what this has to do with you.’
‘You know Bill Farmer over in Hollywood Division?’
‘A little. Why?’
‘He’s asked me to go over. Says he would value my opinion.’
‘Okay. Well, you’d better get off then.’
Leroy turned and faced Quinn. ‘You know that John Doe we had the other day? The one in the parking lot? Just wearing a pair of briefs?’
‘Over at Century City?’
