by Philip Cox
He turned left to go back towards the pool, and started to move. Then froze again.
Through the night vision binoculars, he saw a figure, twenty feet away and also in the undergrowth, coming towards him.
FORTY-FIVE
Leroy hit the deck. Or, rather the soil behind a large bush. As his gloved hands touched the ground, it occurred to him how ironic it was that just before she died yesterday, Marisol was probably in the same position as he was now.
He remained in the kneeling position, not daring to move a muscle. Through the NV binoculars, he could see that the figure was not equipped as well as he was, although he - if it was a he - was holding a flashlight.
The figure was stepping slowly through the trees, moving the beam from the flashlight to and fro. It was not clear to Leroy if the figure was looking for something in particular, or just checking the grounds. Surely if he had unknowingly activated some alarm, there would have been more than one guy with a flashlight out searching.
With the black jacket, pants and boots, Leroy felt he was reasonably well camouflaged, and the beam was quite narrow. The Yukon and its headgear were black and covered most of his face, so Leroy lowered his head slightly and waited for the figure to pass by. He did, his feet no more than six inches away from where Leroy was kneeling. He clearly hadn’t seen Leroy.
Leroy had positioned himself kneeling but facing the direction the figure had come from. He made no sound as he walked past, so without moving - something Leroy wanted to avoid doing for the time being - there was no way of knowing how far away he was. Leroy remained in that position for a full minute, which is a very long time if you are in an uncomfortable position and trying at all costs not to make a sound.
Leroy literally counted the seconds, and on sixty-one slowly inclined his head so he could get a view of where the figure was headed. The angle was not right, so he slowly shifted his body to the right. He froze as he heard a faint clicking sound. Not a twig or a branch, but a bone in his ankle clicking. He cursed silently and waited another half minute. No sign of the figure. He turned forty-five degrees and peered round the side of the bush. In his enhanced view of the darkened undergrowth, of this figure there was no sign. He stood up, stretched, and looked around again. Through the Yukon, the light at the side of the house bathed the parked cars in an eerie green light: now there were two vehicles left. To whom did they belong, Leroy thought, and what were the owners doing in there? A simple explanation was that this was some fancy whore house, but that Counsel to the Secretary was so evasive, that Leroy had a gut feeling there was more to it. And clearly Dwight Mason was up to his scrawny neck in it. Whatever it was.
He took a few steps in the direction the figure had gone, craning his neck to see as far as he could. There was no sign of him; not even the beams from the flashlight waving to and fro.
There was no sign of anything going on outside the house. The next logical step would be to get inside but Leroy was wary of doing this: he was on leave, not on official police duties, a private citizen, as Perez had stressed. If he was caught inside, he could be charged with all manner of misdemeanours; felonies too most likely, as the owners and occupants would probably have access to highly skilled lawyers who would argue that Leroy had a personal vendetta against Dwight Mason, and that he had entered the building to harm the man. He adjusted the Yukon headgear: the same lawyers would probably also argue that possession of the binoculars was an inchoate crime, as he was wearing them for the sole purpose of getting to Mason.
He was not sure what to do next. His plan was always to come here at night and to see what he could see. Not looking for anything specific; just to sniff around and see what came up. That was the way he often tackled cases at work, successfully too. Those known unknowns again.
He decided he would make a complete circuit of the house, then call it a night. He had already had confirmation that Mason was involved in whatever was going on here, which he was still convinced was connected to the three deaths the other night. All on the same night. But it was a matter of getting evidence. He had a record of the licence plates of the cars: officially he could do nothing about that until he returned to work, but Quinn was due back the next day, so he would call him and ask him to check the plates. Leroy had noticed that the car on the far end - one of the vehicles which had already left - had D.C. plates: that may or may not be significant, but it would be the first one he would ask Quinn to check.
He looked around again: no sign of any activity in the house, and no sign of the other figure. He started to resume his circumnavigation of the mansion.
As he reached the front corner, the foliage stopped. Or rather it continued away from the house. At the front of the building, there was a gravel roadway leading from the entrance gate, a large formal lawn, and more gravel leading back to the gate. Goddamit, he thought: gravel was the worst surface to cross silently. The roadway was around twelve feet across. He looked around again, took two steps back and leapt. He managed to cross the roadway only touching the surface once. Louder than if he had walked, but only one fraction of a second of sound. Once he landed, he lay face down on the lawn. After a few seconds, he looked up at the house. No reaction from there. Then looked around the grounds. No reaction there either: just darkness.
He slowly stood up, and walked, continuously looking around, across the lawn. As he approached the second gravel roadway, he broke into a run and leapt again. Again, he was able to cross with only one step on the gravel. Once he landed on the verge, he rolled over and lay still again, still looking around.
This side of the house was a mirror image of the other wing: the gravel extended around to the back; one car, a dark coloured Mercedes was parked here, at a one hundred and eighty degree angle from the house. Leroy knelt down and checked the tag. It was another DC plate.
He returned to the undergrowth and resumed his circuit. He took no more than five paces when he froze again. He had heard what he had dreaded most: the barking of a dog. He swung around, and in the green tinted view from the binoculars, saw the shape of a dog, on a lead, but dragging a man’s form across the lawn. It had picked up his scent!
Just as he turned back to run, he saw the figure lean over and release the animal from its collar. Immediately, he turned and ran, as fast as he could. Once more, he was thankful for the Yukon, but he knew that this would not give him any advantage over the dog. He knew from numerous conversations with officers in the dog unit that dogs have evolved to see well in both bright and dim light, whereas humans do best in bright light. Apparently, nobody is sure how much better a dog sees in dim light, but one handler told him that dogs can see in light five times dimmer than humans. They have many adaptations for low-light vision, he had been told. A larger pupil lets in more light. The centre of the retina has more of the light-sensitive cells, which work better in dim light than colour-detecting cones. The light-sensitive compounds in the dog’s retina respond to lower light levels, and the lens is located closer to the retina, making the image on the retina brighter.
But the dog’s biggest advantage is called the tapetum, which is a mirror-like structure in the back of the eye which reflects light, giving the retina a second chance to register light that has entered the eye.
And then there was the question of speed. Leroy knew from medicals that he could sprint at about 12 miles per hour. However, that was in a straight line, without any obstructions: this was on uneven ground, and through trees and bushes. He calculated he was doing no more than seven or eight. He knew than the dogs in the canine unit could clock over thirty, and this animal would have the added benefit of soft ground to propel itself along. He had no chance: his only hope was that he had enough advantage and would reach a wall or fence before the dog reached him.
As he tried to figure out how long it would be before the dog caught up with him, he heard a deep growl behind, and felt two blows, one on each shoulder, as Sam Leroy and guard dog fell to the ground.
FORTY-SIX
Th
ere is a difference between a guard dog and an attack dog. You want a guard dog to scare people away, not to scare you. Guard dogs are not generally trained to attack. Rather, a guard dog’s task is to alert its owner to a stranger’s presence, by barking or growling. Contrary to popular belief a guard dog does not make a good attack dog, and vice versa. Typically, small breeds are used as guard dogs.
Attack dogs are different. Police dogs are trained attack dogs. In recent times of war, dogs were trained as sentry guards, protecting troops from attack. They were also used as silent scouts, warning troops of the presence of enemies, reducing the likelihood of an ambush. Properly trained, an attack dog is loyal to its master, and totally obedient. It will not attack unless its owner is facing a threat or has commanded an attack. An attack dog is trained to bite on command, as well as to stop biting on command. Of course, some attack dogs are not properly trained. The most common breed of attack dog is the German Shepherd.
Leroy’s training as a police officer had included how to deal with an attack by a dog. The first thing to remember is not to panic. The urban legend that dogs can sense fear has some truth. If you become agitated and scream, the dog may become more confident, or feel threatened. Neither is a good place to be. If a dog approaches, you should remain still, not waving arms and legs, which the dog could perceive as a threat. Leroy was also trained to avoid eye contact, as this could cause a dog to lunge. Never run away: this could awaken the dog’s instinct to chase, and a dog could even outrun a man on a bicycle. If a dog persists, face it, and command it to back away, still without making eye contact. If the dog does lunge, fight back. A dog attack can be fatal, so you have to defend yourself. Hit or kick the dog in the nose, throat, or back of the head. Even in the genitals. Don’t bother to hit it over the head: they have thick skulls, and this will make it angrier.
The training also advised if you can’t escape from the dog’s grasp, use your entire body weight on the animal. Dogs can’t wrestle, and you will break their bones easily. If you can get on top of the dog, apply pressure to the throat or ribs.
All this went through Leroy’s mind as he fell to the ground. He guessed from the size and weight the animal was a German Shepherd, a young adult. As he hit the deck, the animal went for his left arm and started gnawing at his jacket. Leroy had two objectives here: one was to get away from the dog for its own sake, the second was not to allow the dog to delay him so one of the guards or anybody else from the house was able to detain him. There was only one way. He managed to push himself up a few inches above the ground so he could reach inside his jacket with his right hand. He pulled out his Glock and fired. Instantly the dog made a high pitched yelp, and collapsed on the ground. Leroy leapt up, took one look at the dead animal, put the Glock back into its holster and began running again. As he ran his first few steps, he adjusted the Yukon’s headgear as it had been dislodged by the fall.
He was now past the house, and running past the pool: only a few hundred yards to go. He felt pain from his left arm where the dog had bitten him, but there was no time to stop and check. As he ran he could hear voices shouting behind him in the distance. Clearly the alarm had been sounded; either by the dog’s handler, or by the sound of his gun going off. For obvious reasons, LAPD officers are not provided with silencers for their service weapons.
He carried on running, through the green tinted undergrowth. Only fifty yards to go, he guessed. Then, about twenty feet ahead, a figure stepped into his line of sight. Leroy guessed it was the same person he had seen earlier on, the other side of the house, as he was carrying a small flashlight. Through the NV glasses, he could see this figure was dressed in not a dissimilar way to him: wearing black, or at least very dark clothing, and his face covered by a balaclava, a thin slit for eyes and nose.
The figure put up one hand as if requesting Leroy to stop. No way, he thought. He was running down a slight slope and must have been hitting ten miles per hour: even if he wanted to stop, he probably was going too fast to. He kept up the momentum, and ran straight at the other figure, barging him out of the way as he passed by.
Instead of at least staggering a few steps back as Leroy had expected, the figure almost held his ground. Leroy thought he heard the figure cry out something like, ‘Hey’; then he felt him grab his arm - the arm the dog had bitten. Leroy winced: partly in pain and anger, he swung round and gave the figure a right hook to the chin. Leroy was left handed, so the blow was not as powerful as it could have been. The figure recoiled, and while he was clearly preparing for a counter blow, Leroy lashed out with his right foot and hit him on the left thigh. The figure cried out and collapsed to the ground. Leroy turned and carried on running. A few seconds later he reached the wire fence and climbed over. As the fence was razor wire, he climbed over carefully, but as quickly as he could. He snagged his pants on the wire, just below the groin, crying out in pain. Once over the fence, he found himself in the scrublands, but he carried on running, albeit with a slight limp. He was safe from any more dogs now, but there might be human guards who felt like following him. He carried on running: once he was back in the car, he could check out his wounds, although they did not feel serious.
He clambered up a small slope, then half ran, half slid, back down to the road where he had left the car. He caught hold of a bush to stop as he got to the pavement.
Then a feeling of panic overtook him: the car had gone.
FORTY-SEVEN
Leroy adjusted his headgear; during his descent down the slope, it had moved slightly. He looked over at the houses across the street. The houses across from which he had parked were single storey; this one directly opposite had a second floor. As did the next. On the other side, the house was of a modern, almost square design, not as the others in the street. Leroy realised what had happened: in his run across the scrubland he had followed a different route to his way to the house. He looked down the street, adjusting the focal length of his binoculars. In the distance, parked on the left hand side of the road, was the shape of a car. There was the Taurus. Breathing a sigh of relief he stepped back into the undergrowth and, at a slow pace, walked towards his car, looking around all the time for any sign of light or movement from the houses opposite. He definitely didn’t want to disturb the dog in the house opposite the car. With much relief he got to his car.
He lifted his hands up to the Yukon to release the headgear, but out of the corner of one eye he picked up headlights in the distance. Immediately, he dove to the ground, behind the Taurus. Assisted by the NV binoculars, he could make out the lights get brighter and larger as the car approached. A worse case scenario would be for this to be a patrol car: being found by two fellow officers in a situation like this, and having the embarrassment of explaining to the watch commander and Lieutenant Perez what he was up to was the last thing he wanted. If it was a patrol car, it would probably slow down as it got nearer. Otherwise, it would drive straight past.
‘Shit,’ he whispered as the car began to slow down. He rose slightly to prepare for his encounter with the officers. The patrol car had slowed to a crawl, and by the angle of the headlight beams, he could see it was pulling to the left. It was going to stop behind the Taurus.
He took a deep breath, but then the red lights on the car roof began to flash, and it pulled away. It must have reached Mulholland when he heard the siren start. He sat back down on the grass and breathed out with relief. Pulled off his NV apparatus, and ran his hand through his wet hair. He was quite warm, and sweating profusely.
Leroy climbed into the car, tossed the Yukon onto the passenger seat. Started the engine, and drove away. A couple of hundred yards up there was a side street, so he turned the car around then, not wishing to set off anybody’s alarm by using their driveway. Within minutes, he was back on Mulholland Drive, heading home.
During the last part of the journey, traffic had started to pick up: the morning’s rush hour was beginning, and as he walked from the car to his building entrance, he could see the beginning of the
sunrise over the city. He checked his watch: it was 6:28. He hadn’t realised how long he had been out. Once in his apartment, he poured the cold coffee from his thermos. He had only drunk a little of it: the adrenalin must have kept him going.
Leroy slowly made his way into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he rubbed his chin; he could hear his hand running over twenty-four hours’ stubble. Lay back, resting his head on his pillow. He slowly closed his eyes. The effect of the adrenalin had worn off.
FORTY-EIGHT
When Leroy awoke, it was almost two in the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, squinted as he tried to focus on the bedroom wall opposite as the afternoon sun was streaming into his bedroom. When he had got home the previous night - or early that morning, to be precise - he had not bothered to draw the blinds. He put his hand to his chin, and heard a scratching sound as he did so. He got off the bed and looked in the mirror: his chin was dark with two days’ growth. Lifted one arm and sniffed his pit, then pulled a face. He needed a shower, and quickly.
After twenty minutes in the shower, he stood naked in front of his wash basin and shaved. He had always preferred a wet shave: an electric shaver was fine for everyday use, particularly when he was in a hurry, which he normally was; but whenever he had the time, he would use an old-fashioned razor. Once done, he rubbed his chin again and smiled: as smooth as a baby’s ass. He applied some aftershave and deodorant, and returned to his bedroom. Still naked, he sat back on the bed and picked up his phone. He had three missing calls: two from Julia and one from Ray Quinn. They had both called just after nine. He had put the phone to silent before he went out the previous night, and was too tired when he got back to remember to change this. In any case, he was probably in too deep a sleep to hear even if it had rung.
He also had one text message, and that was from Julia, received 09:12, just after she had called. Hey Sam, it read, hope ur ok. Call me. J x. She had rung again at 12:16, this time leaving a voicemail. He listened: she was just getting concerned that she hadn’t heard from him. Please would he call or sms as soon as he got this message. He tabbed down to her name in his contacts list, and was about to dial, then realised she would be teaching, so sent her a quick message: Hey, yes am ok, was working last nite @ short notice call u 2nite. S x. Within seconds, he got a reply: ok cu x. While she was in a classroom, she was not allowed personal calls except in an emergency, but could get away with text messages.
