by Philip Cox
Normally, he would excuse himself after the brandy and cigars were brought out to his study, and take a look at some footage from Los Angeles. Sometimes pre-recorded, sometimes a live feed. He pushed himself off the door and stepped wearily over to the brown leather armchair in front of the fireplace, slumping heavily into it.
Tonight was different. A slightly inebriated local dentist had told him a joke which he thought hilarious and Davison just didn’t understand when his phone rang. In the early hours of the morning, Dwight Mason had called him. Something had happened at Whiteleaf last night. Ever since they first met, Mason was cool, calm and collected; always knew what to do in a crisis. When Mason called him the second time last night, he was anything but cool, calm and collected. Where was his loyalty now?
The call tonight was different: not Mason, who seemed impossible to contact during the day, but Harry DuPont, another old friend, but also the CEO of The Washington Herald. DuPont was so sorry, but there was nothing he could do. He had wind of the story that would be in the paper in the morning.
Davison sighed. Got up and stepped over to a bureau and poured himself another brandy. Then another. Then another.
He walked over to the cabinet the other side of the study. Fished a little key out of his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the glass door. He took an old shotgun off its hook and studied it. It had been in his family for years: when he was growing up, his father kept it at home ‘just in case’, as he used to say; when he himself moved to DC, the gun came too and sometimes left the cabinet when Davison hunted deer.
He took out another small key and unlocked a drawer in his brown oak desk. Took out a small white box, and out of this box two shells. Loaded the gun.
Shoulders slumped, he returned to the leather chair. Rested his head back on the leather, and stared up at the portrait of his father which hung above the fireplace. Then leaned forward and put the shotgun barrel in his mouth.
He took one look at the black and white picture which stood on a table next to the chair. It was of him, Barbara, and his two sons on vacation many years ago in the Caymans.
Happier times.
Maybe.
Then he squeezed the trigger.
FIFTY-EIGHT
‘Sam, don’t argue. You’re going to need a wheelchair. At least for the time being. Not for ever. You heard what the doctor said.’
Julia Moore had spent the last fifteen minutes arguing with Leroy over how he would get out of the ER room at Los Angeles County Hospital and into her car. He eventually gave in.
‘Is there anyone who can look after you?’ the well-meaning doctor had asked him. Leroy explained quite patiently and calmly that it was only a flesh wound on his leg and he was still mobile. He would be living at his apartment, Julia at hers, but she was only ten minutes away in an emergency. Anyway, he would be back at work soon. The doctor wisely chose not to argue.
‘You sure you’ll be okay?’ Julia asked, as they drove back.
‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Ray’s off today, so he’s coming round later.’
‘Hey, Sam - remember what the doctor said: no alcohol while you’re on those pain killers.’
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot. Great.’
They arrived back at Leroy’s building and she helped him up to his apartment.
‘You sure you need to go straightaway?’ Leroy asked, patting the seat next to him.
‘Yes, I am. Remember what the doctor said. Take it easy and rest your leg.’
‘Wasn’t going to use my leg,’ Leroy grinned.
‘Sure. Just save your energy for Catalina,’ Julia said, leaning over to kiss him. ‘I’ll call you later.’
Just as she was leaving she bumped into Quinn at the door. ‘I have to go back to work,’ she said. ‘Make sure he rests, and no booze. He’s on painkillers.’
Quinn gave her a mock salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Once she had gone, he slumped down in a chair opposite Leroy. ‘Is that true?’ he asked. ‘No booze?’
Leroy pulled a face. ‘Seems so. While I’m on these painkillers.’
‘It doesn’t apply to me, does it?’ Quinn asked, getting up and heading for Leroy’s fridge.
‘Yes, it does,’ Leroy called out. ‘If I can’t, you can’t.’
‘That’s not fair.’ Quinn said. ‘Coffee, though?’
‘Yeah, go on.’
‘When do you expect to get back?’ Quinn asked once had made coffee.
‘Couple of weeks, I guess.’
‘Need any physiotherapy?’
‘A little, maybe. The doc said to do plenty of walking for a start, then see how things go.’
‘Lucky it was only a flesh wound.’
‘Yeah. Though I’ve still got no idea what Patterson was aiming for.’
‘Lucky.’
‘How’s married life?’ Leroy asked. ‘Still good?’
‘Of course. Holly says the two of you must come over for dinner. While you’ve got time on your hands.’
‘Thanks.’
‘She moving in yet?’
‘No. Let’s change the subject: how’s things at the Department?’
‘Much the same, really. Obviously there’s no captain.’
‘Obviously. Perez having to make decisions all by himself?’
‘Yeah. Just like he did the other night.’
Leroy nodded. ‘True,’ he said quietly.
Quinn asked, ‘Is Julia going with you to Domingo and Connor’s funerals?’
Leroy nodded. ‘Said she would. Domingo was Catholic, so may be a large affair. Both would be, I guess. What about Patterson’s?’
‘Haven’t heard anything.’
‘Will be a low-key thing, I would think. Just family. Just like the other guys: Guy Robbins, Lance Riley, and Ted Parker. What about the fourth one? The one at the Blue Line station?’
‘Haven’t heard anything. Maybe he survived. Maybe they haven’t found the body yet. By the way,’ Quinn added, ‘Emma Kennedy isn’t being charged.’
‘No?’
‘The DA said insufficient evidence.’
Leroy shrugged. ‘Well, I guess having your brother blow his brains out is enough.’ He paused. ‘Any word on that little prick Dwight Mason?’
‘Nothing yet, as far as I know. He seems to have gone aground.’
Leroy leaned back and rested his head on the back of the sofa. ‘Well, it’s only a matter of time before he’s picked up.’ He yawned.
‘You know, it all started on one night,’ said Quinn. ‘Just one night.’
‘Say what?’
‘Well, think about it: Davison and Patterson had this little enterprise going; for some time, by all accounts. Then one night, it all went tits up. If that one guy hadn’t spotted that his hooker -’
‘Was the United States Secretary of Defence in drag? Yes, that had occurred to me.’ Leroy paused again. ‘I guess the case really is closed now.’
Quinn nodded. ‘It is, now Davison’s gone. He was the last man.’
Leroy yawned again. ‘Apart from Mason.’
‘Apart from Mason,’ agreed Quinn. He stood up. ‘I think it’s time to go, Sam. You need to rest. I’ll give you a call in a day or so, and we can all get together.’
Leroy looked up at his partner. ‘Sure, I’d like that. Give Holly my love. Let yourself out, will you?’
Quinn did so, and left Leroy on the sofa. He leaned back again and closed his eyes.
*****
Leroy was awakened by the sound of his phone ringing. It was Julia. Or so the phone said.
‘Hey, baby,’ he said, answering.
Only it wasn’t Julia.
‘Hello, Detective,’ said a familiar, sneering voice.
‘Mason?’ Leroy said, manoeuvring himself up. ‘What the hell are you -?’
‘Don’t worry, Detective, she’s okay. In fact she’s twenty feet away in the park with a friend. She doesn’t even know I have her phone. The silly bitch just left her bag open on the seat next to her.’
�
��What do you want? If you -’
‘You think you’ve been so clever, don’t you, Detective? Have you considered what you have done? You single handedly destroyed the life of one of the best politicians this country ever had. One day he would have been President of the United States of America.’
‘I don’t think so, Mason. And it won’t be long before you’re picked up. Now, I asked you where’s Julia?’
Mason laughed. ‘Now it’s time I gave your girlfriend her cell phone back. I think I’ll say she dropped it on the ground.’
‘Where are you, Mason?’
‘I have to give her the phone back. Can’t have you using it to trace me, can I? But it just goes to show one thing, doesn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘How close I can get to your girlfriend.’
THE END
SAM LEROY WILL RETURN
ALSO FROM PHILIP COX
WRONG TIME TO DIE
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.’
Los Angeles, California
When LAPD Detective Sam Leroy is called to a murder scene, even he is taken aback by the ferocity and savagery of the crime.
Furthermore, there seems to be no motive, which means no obvious suspects.
Believing the two victims themselves hold the key to their own murder, Leroy begins his investigations there, and before long the trail leads him to the island of Catalina, where a terrible secret has remained undiscovered for almost thirty years…
Here’s a preview…
ONE
In the distance the man could see the lights from the house. A warm, yellowish glow. As he half stepped, half slid down the slope, through the undergrowth, getting closer, he could begin to make out more detail. He was at the back of the house: now he could see it was in effect on three floors. The first and second which were visible from the front, and a basement. The house was constructed on a slope, the front being at the top of the incline. At the rear, there was room for a door and two sets of windows. The basement door led out onto a patio and a small swimming pool. The moonlight reflected off the water in the pool.
It was not a full moon tonight; half, maybe. However, it just about gave the man enough light to find his way. The last thing he wanted was to slip and be found the next morning either in the pool or at the foot of the slope with a broken leg.
This was actually the fourth night of the man’s project, the first he had actually been able to get this far. On the first night there was heavy fog. Visibility was poor. He was able to carry out a reconnaissance of the front of the house, but saw nothing. In the fog he felt it was too risky to go round the back. The second night was clear, more so than tonight, but the house was empty, all the lights off. Last night the fog returned, heavier. Tonight, though, was just right. Not entirely perfect, as there were still traces of mist around, but he could see.
And somebody was in.
He had parked his car two blocks away, and walked the half mile to the house. He was surprised at the lack of security here: some of the neighbouring homes had walls and locked gates with CCTV, but here there was just a fence, which he easily climbed over. He knew from the first night that the fence was not alarmed.
It had not rained for almost a week, so the ground was dry. He had mulled over the question of footprints, and had considered wearing a pair of shoes larger than his size 9, but decided there was little point. He would, however, throw away the pair he was wearing. In his pocket he carried a bag in which to place the boots once he got back to his car, where he had left a new pair. He did not want anybody to find soil in his car.
He also considered wearing one of those fancy night vision goggles. They would have been cool for sure, but that would have meant spending over two hundred bucks. In any case, tonight’s project was a one-off.
Halfway down the incline, he stopped. Standing in the darkness, he was roughly parallel with the first floor, which was the middle floor here out back. The floor where the lights were on.
He put the Bushnell Falcon binoculars to his eyes and stared at the house. Two rooms were lit up. One seemed to be a kitchen: the lights were brighter, and he could see what looked like a refrigerator. The other room had two large windows, the lights more subdued. Enough light for him to make out the detail inside.
‘Top banana,’ he whispered. He could make out four people in the room, sitting at a table. They were having a dinner party. The man and woman on the left he did not recognise; nor the woman in the grey dress. The fourth person, the other man, he did.
He exhaled deeply as he set his eyes on Edward Travis. He looked much older than the man expected: his hair was thinner and silvery grey. His frame was thinner too, wiry in fact. But it was him.
Outside on the incline, the man’s heart began to beat faster as he watched the four engaging in conversation. If only he could have heard what they were saying. Travis himself was very animated and seemed to be laughing and joking with the others.
If only Travis knew.
He put down the binoculars and stared at the house. Stared into space, really. Thinking. Considering. Planning.
Although he could see into the house, they could not see him. The only light outside was one on the house wall just by the basement door, and this only served to illuminate the back of the house. Certainly not enough light for the occupants to see him. In any case, he was dressed totally in black, from the roll neck sweater to the army surplus boots.
He put the binoculars up top his eyes again, getting angry as he saw Travis laughing and joking with his guests. The bastard was having a fun evening. So far, anyway. He took deep breaths to calm his nerves. He knew he must not let anger and emotion get in his way tonight.
He watched as Travis stood up and walked round the table refilling everybody’s wine glasses. He looked around for somewhere to sit and found a spot next to a bush. He moved around to make himself comfortable. Looked through the binoculars again.
It looked as if the dinner party was in full swing. He would need to sit and wait until the time was right.
He knew that eventually his patience would be rewarded.
Top banana.
TWO
Detective Sam Leroy leaned back in his seat, resting the back of his head against the plush material. He closed his eyes. Even now, he could not believe he was here. In the five years he had been with the LAPD, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had been able to finish his shift early.
His good fortune today had been down to a piece of lowlife named Escobar, who had been caught smuggling illegal immigrants over the Mexican border. Not an area in which the Homicide desk would normally get involved, but in this particular case, three of one batch of immigrants had been found in the back of a van parked at Union Station, their throats slit. Escobar had already been picked up after being arrested near the border and traces of the deceaseds’ blood had been found on his clothing, and the knife the officers found on him matched the trauma on their throats. As expected, Escobar denied all knowledge of both the trafficking and the throat slitting, and Leroy had been due in court that day to appear as one of the witnesses for the DA. This morning, however, Escobar changed his plea to guilty, surprising the prosecution team.
‘I’ll head back to the station house,’ Leroy had said to his supervisor, Lieutenant Perez, when he phoned to tell him about the change of plea.
‘Forget it, Sam,’ Perez said. ‘Get off home.’
‘Home? But -’
‘Get off home, I said. You have hours and hours of overtime owed. Both you and Quinn. Use up some of it.’
‘Well, if you say so.’
‘I do. I got an overtime budget to consider.’
‘See you in the morning, then.’
‘Sure. And don’t be late,’ replied Perez, hanging up.
So Sam Leroy and his partner, Detective Ray Quinn, ended that day’s shift at 12:30. They spent the next hour and a half in a bar near the court house, and then went their
separate ways, Leroy’s being home to his apartment in Venice.
And tonight he was here, in this luxurious movie theatre seat.
His reverie was interrupted by an elbow in the ribs.
‘Sam! Wake up!’ whispered the figure in the next seat. Leroy stirred, opened his eyes, and looked at Julia Moore, his girlfriend of almost two years. He had met Julia when he interrupted two men in the process of mugging her. He took her home to her apartment, not far from his own; a couple of days later she invited him for a meal to say thanks, and the relationship developed from there. They had kept their own places, not having really discussed moving in together. Both seemed happy with their current arrangement: they both retained their privacy, yet spent enough time in each other’s company to maintain a healthy relationship.
That day, as soon as Leroy got home, he called Julia. Julia, being a fourth grade school teacher, kept more or less regular hours, something he could only dream of. He had lost count of the number of times he and Julia had arranged to have an evening out, but his job got in the way. Today was payback time.
Julia had checked online to see what was showing, and later they made their way into Hollywood where the ArcLight Cinema on West Sunset was showing a special presentation of The Third Man, with Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles.
