by Philip Cox
Dr Lee looked over her shoulder. ‘Sure. I’m done here. There you go, Detective. Remember: keep the steri-strips dry.’
Leroy nodded and felt the strips. ‘Thanks, Doc. I will.’ He gave here an awkward smile as she packed up her instruments and left.
Perez watched as she left the room and closed the door behind her. ‘So, you want to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.
Leroy touched his temple again and winced. ‘I got hit on the head.’
‘I know that.’ Perez stepped over and took a closer look. ‘It hurt?’
‘A bit, yes.’
‘Good.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’
Leroy said nothing.
‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with that dead hooker down the hall, would it? The one that got hit by a 206 bus?’
‘How did you know to come here?’
‘I overheard the call come in, and thought, “This has got Sam Leroy written all over it.”’
Leroy said nothing. Perez leaned up against the opposite wall and folded his arms. ‘So: you going to tell me?’
‘I managed to get back in touch with one of the hookers Liza Domingo and I saw the other day. It was the one we followed back to the house off Mulholland.’
Perez raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Go on. How did you get in touch with her?’
‘Through the same dating website we used the other day. The same one Guy Robbins used. Before he showed up behind Hollywood Boulevard.’
‘Have you spoken to Bill Farmer about it? After all, it was his case, wasn’t it?’
‘No. I figured, the cases are officially closed. Farmer’s a company man, so he will just accept and move on.’
‘Unlike you.’
‘Lieutenant, they must be -’
‘Connected? Don’t want to know. Cases closed. You are on vacation. So what did this hooker tell you?’
‘Well, firstly, I had trouble picking up on her picture. Her thumbnail on the website was different.’
‘Different?’
‘The picture was different. Same face, obviously – though made up differently, and her hair was styled differently. Same colour – I think. And she was under a different name. Not Alexandra, but Marisol.’
‘So what?’
‘Don’t you think it strange that the day after she gets questioned by the police, she changes her picture and name?’
Perez thought a moment. ‘No, not really. She’s - was – a hooker after all. Probably changed it every day or so. Like a box of cereal changes its design, or a company changes its logo. Rebranding, they call it.’
Leroy shrugged.
‘So,’ asked Perez, ‘when you spoke to her, what did you discuss?’
‘It was only a short conversation.’
‘Before she made you, you mean?’
‘Yeah. Just tried to give me the same story as before, until…’
‘Until?’
‘Until I asked her about the house. That’s when she tried to get away. Said she knew nothing about any house, was out of the car like a bat out of hell, and ran across the parking lot.’
‘Denny’s?’
‘Yeah. She was wearing stilettos and one broke as she was running. She was making for a gap in that row of bushes which separates the lot from the sidewalk. She fell, hit the dirt with both hands. Must have found the stone she did this with.’ He touched his temple again, and winced.
Perez looked around. ‘Jesus, Sam: I thought if you went on vacation, things would have gotten quieter. But it seems…’ He finished mid-sentence.
‘So now what?’ asked Leroy.
‘Now what?’ Perez repeated, standing up from the wall. Well, the hooker’s not going anywhere. Clearly an 11-79. There’ll be an inquest, I expect, and let’s hope you’re not called to explain why you were chasing her out of some bushes. As for you: I believe I said you were on vacation.’ He took three steps forward so he was a foot away from Leroy. ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘let’s not pussy around. You know why I put you on vacation; I know what you’re going to do with your vacation time. So all I can say is: if you want to waste your time, go ahead. But take care: anything you do is in the capacity of a private citizen. Entender?’
Leroy nodded and stood up.
‘So where are you going now?’ asked Perez.
‘I’m going home, to take a long bath, catch up with some sleep.’
‘First bit of sense I’ve heard from you all day,’ said Perez, turning to leave. ‘See you in a week.’
‘See you,’ Leroy replied. Then, after Perez had left, ‘And it wasn’t the 206.’
He looked at the door, as if his eyes were still on the lieutenant’s back.
‘And I’m not wasting my time,’ he added.
FORTY-THREE
Leroy pondered as he drove home. His few days as a private citizen had not gotten off to a good start. The first witness he spoke to told him zip, and was now lying in the City Morgue. He decided to take a leisurely drive home, through the residential streets, rather than the freeways: pulling into the gas station on Cloverfield, after filling up parked in a small bay away from the pumps, and ate a burrito he had bought when paying for his gas. Hardly healthy, he thought, but he was starving. Then he called Julia. They had made no plans to get together that night, but he had promised to get in touch. He told her briefly about his day, saying he would fill in the blanks when he saw her next. For her part, she was sitting on the floor watching Downton Abbey on PBS while marking her students’ test papers. They arranged to get together the next evening: this time he would be cooking for her; as he agreed, something inside him told Leroy that it was a bad idea. Cooking was not his strongest skill.
They wished each other good night, and he put the phone down on the seat, finished his burrito, started the car, reversed out of the bay, and rejoined the late evening traffic.
He hit a red light just as he was about to make a right into Venice Boulevard. While he waited, he looked up at the clear night sky. He could make out the lights of two aircraft in the direction of the ocean: both seemed to be heading north from LAX. As he speculated on where they were headed, a thought came to him that Marisol may not have told him zip. He cursed himself for being so dumb: with his experience as a detective he should have realised that she had told him quite a bit. Not intentionally, of course; but her reaction when he asked her about the house off Mulholland. ‘Don’t know anything about no house,’ she had said, then ran off. The cocky attitude was in a second replaced by a look of fear and panic. And she was prepared to risk charges of assaulting a police officer to get away. There was some connection with that house: what the hell was it to cause such a reaction?
‘C’mon, buddy, let’s go,’ came a voice from the vehicle behind. Leroy looked into the rear view mirror and saw two cars in the right turn lane. He glanced up and saw the light had turned green. He lifted his right hand up to acknowledge the driver behind, then made the right. As he completed the turn, he heard a man’s voice shouting: glancing round, he saw that the third car behind had not been able to make the turn before the light went red again. Instinctively, he felt down for his service weapon – just in case there was trouble ahead.
There was no trouble, and Leroy arrived home around ten-thirty. He parked, and paused before going indoors. Looking around, he slowly walked in the direction of the beach. As he came to the first cross street, he paused again and looked around. It was a quiet night: the normal rows of cars parked along the streets, but only the occasional vehicle moving past. There was normally more road and foot traffic: maybe it was because it was mid-week. As he turned to walk back to his building, a warm gust of wind hit him. He lifted his chin so his whole face caught the gust, and adjusted his collar. It was going to be a warm, humid night tonight: he was thankful his building superintendent had renewed the air conditioning earlier in the year.
Once in his apartment, he got himself a tall gla
ss of iced water and lay on his bed. What would he do next? Tomorrow he needed to check out that house again. Of course, in his capacity as a private citizen that would be more difficult. He could still use his police identification, but only as a last resort. He could find himself facing disciplinary action if he did that, and got found out. He would have to think of another way.
He lay back and tried to figure out his next move.
Then fell asleep.
FORTY-FOUR
The alarm on Leroy’s phone went off at ten minutes past midnight. A shrill noise, sounding something like a coyote’s bark, only much higher pitched, it caused him to lift an inch or so off the bed. He was wide awake in seconds, which was the effect he had intended.
In his small kitchen he made a brew of very strong black coffee and filled a thermos flask. He checked himself in the mirror: he was already wearing black pants, so he pulled a black leather bomber jacket from his closet to finish the ensemble. Then put his phone to silent. A bathroom stop later, he was walking downstairs to his car. He opened the trunk and checked he was still carrying the Yukon night vision goggles, which he normally kept in the car, in case they were needed unexpectedly. He took the goggles out and threw them onto the front passenger seat, next to the coffee, then set off.
Just as he was approaching his intended destination, he pulled over. There was hardly any traffic here on Mulholland Drive at this time of night: one car passed in either direction while he was stopped. He checked his bearings: the turning he wanted was the next right. Just after the turning the road took a sharp bend to the right; he pulled away and, at no more than twenty-five, took the bend. Fifty yards or so further on, there was another turning to the right. He took this turn, and drove along this road for the next hundred yards.
This street was longer than where the mansion was situated: it was not a dead end. On one side there was a row of single storey houses, mainly in darkness. Now and again, a house would have a window illuminated; on some, the bushes in the front yards would be lit up. On the opposite side there was an embankment of about fifty feet, on which there were trees and bushes.
Leroy stopped the car, and switched off the engine. He looked over at the houses immediately opposite. They were all bathed in darkness. He waited a couple of minutes just in case a light went on, or he saw movement. He wanted to avoid bumping into anybody. There would not be a problem for him if he did meet anybody; after all, he was carrying his LAPD identification and would be able to bluff his way out of any questions, but it would be an inconvenience.
He opened the thermos and took a drink of coffee, savouring the strong caffeine, then looked around again. After satisfying himself that nobody was aware he was there, he got out of the car, and quietly closed the door.
The tracker binoculars were attached to hands-free head gear, and Leroy pulled them down over the top of his head, fastening the straps. He adjusted the binoculars themselves, so they were directly in front of him, and looked through them. The view through the lenses was similar to a black and white view, with a heavy green tint. As he looked across the street at the houses, he could clearly see the detail of the three buildings. There was still no light or movement. Except….
He could see a large dog walking around in front of one of the houses, slowly making its way across the yard, putting its nose down to the ground every so often. This particular house was surrounded by high walls, and Leroy could only make out the dog as he had climbed slightly up the embankment and the house itself was above street level. Thank God the animal hadn’t heard him pull up, he thought: a dog that size would have a loud bark and that could have put paid to what he had in mind.
He swung round and climbed further up the hillside. Even though the embankment was filled with trees and undergrowth, he easily made his way up the slope. A great advantage of his night vision apparatus: such a climb would be very difficult in complete darkness.
At the summit he paused and looked around. In the distance, all around, he could see the green tinted gridlines of the streets below. On the freeways, he could see a steady stream of head and tail lights, even at this hour.
He walked a few yards along the peak of the embankment, and looked directly down. Down the hill slightly, and around half a mile away across scrubland, was the rear of the mansion.
He carefully set off down the hill, making a sweep of the ground in front of him as he walked. At the foot of the hill the grass gave way to sand and shrubs, which made it easier to see what was ahead. As he walked along, he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye, to his left. He froze. Looking down he saw the tail of a snake disappear under a clump of bushes. The body was slender and the tail pointed. It was probably a gopher snake.
The pacific gopher snake is indigenous to the region. Non-venomous, it tends to produce a loud hiss when agitated; sometimes it will inflate its body, flatten its head, and vigorously shake its tail to and fro, which may produce a rattling sound if done in dry vegetation. For this reason, it is sometimes confused with a rattlesnake, also found in these parts, except for the shape of the head and absence of a rattle at the end of the tail.
The confusion is two-way: Leroy was reminded of a night a couple of years back, when two fellow detectives were on stake-out duty. One of them needed to pee and went behind some bushes and came across what he assumed was a gopher snake. The rattler bit him on the calf before fleeing. The officer needed prompt medical attention: having been administered antivenom by the paramedics attending, he made a full recovery, although it was not a pleasant experience, and one which Leroy intended to avoid.
Slowly moving, keeping a lookout for hazards, natural and human, Leroy reached a fence. Or rather, a row of bent wooden poles connected by razor wire. Beyond the fence there were trees, and further still, the house. He felt he recognised the edge of the grounds from the other day when he and Domingo visited.
There was one factor which Leroy had to take into account: security. It was one of those known unknowns of Donald Rumsfeld again. He knew there would have to be some kind of security in effect, maybe some kind of surveillance. He noticed a discreet camera at the gates the other day, and more obvious cameras at each corner of the mansion, but what about out here? The wire fence looked too neglected, too run-down to be part of any security. He leaned down to listen to the wire. If it was electrified, which was unlikely, there would be a faint hum, easily heard in the silence of the dead of night. There was no hum, and no sign of any electrical equipment anywhere. Pressure pads would be out of the question, as they would be set off every few hours by the local wildlife. For the same reasons, detection equipment in the undergrowth would be unlikely.
Leroy walked along the fence to a spot where he could get a better view of the house. He adjusted the focal length of the binoculars and looked. He could make out the detail of the rear of the place. Lights were on on both first and second floors.
He looked around and found a small boulder, about a foot square, flattish on the top. He pulled his leather gloves down and grabbed the stone, pulling it away carefully. He took a deep breath, half expecting a snake to be underneath, breathing out when he could see there was not. He pulled the rock to just by the fence, and stood on it. This made it easier for him to step over the fence without snagging his clothing. Once over the fence, he carefully made his way towards the house.
Approaching the mansion from the rear, he came first to the pool house. This was in darkness, even with the NV apparatus. The pool itself was in darkness. Crouching behind a small wall, he looked at the house. One light was on: through illuminated double doors facing the pool, he could see two figures - male, he assumed – walking around. ‘God, don’t you guys ever sleep?’ he muttered, as he looked up at the floor above. Lights were on in three windows, although in the case of the last window, this was fainter, as if it was from a bedside lamp. The size of these windows suggested bedrooms. He looked up at these rooms and scratched his very stubbly chin. What the hell was going on?
&nb
sp; Still crouching, he made his way away from the pool but still parallel with the house, heading for the side of the place where he noticed the other day several cars parked. Four cars were there tonight. He walked into the bushes and along past the cars, checking the licence numbers. He noted down the numbers; this may be useful information in the morning. As he did this, he noticed a side door open. He hit the deck, and looked up, watching. A man - Leroy didn’t recognise him, even in NV mode - left the house, and walked towards one of the cars, his feet crunching on the gravel. He paused at the car to light a cigarette. Leroy stayed crouching, not moving an inch.
After a moment, the man got into one of the cars, started the engine and drove off. Leroy remained crouching. He saw the tail lights of the car disappear into the distance The brake lights came on for a second, then the car turned to the right, heading to Mulholland Drive, he guessed.
He moved his position from crouching to sitting, carefully positioning himself on a raised part of ground. Through the Yukon, he looked up at the house. This side, the place was in darkness, except for the light coming from behind the door through which the man had just left.
Leroy waited for five minutes: in this time, there was no activity. He returned to a crouch position and started to make his way towards the front of the house. As he reached a spot parallel with the corner, he paused again. He could hear voices.
He took a step back and positioned himself in some undergrowth. Two figures were standing at the main door chatting. He leaned slightly from behind the bush and adjusted the binoculars. He could clearly see the faces of the two men. One looked as if he was leaving; the other had his back to the open door.
He recognised one of the faces. Looking through the binoculars, a broad grin appeared on his face.
The man leaving walked across the gravel to another of the cars. As he did so, the other figure turned and went indoors. Leroy waited until the second man drove off, then slowly stood up.
