Shadows May Fall

by Corcoran, Mell

  Before Dillon could even bring his SUV to a stop, a very short, agitated young man tapped on his driver’s side window aggressively. Dillon and Lou looked at each other in puzzlement before Dillon rolled the window down.

  “Good evening! Welcome to Terrenea! Are you going to be our guest this evening?” The overly attentive man asked them in a quiet and breathy tone.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Dillon flashed his badge. “Detective Cole and Donovan. We’re here for the homicide.”

  It was quite jarring how quick the smile vanished from the man’s face. “You can’t be here. Move!” His quiet manner was gone as well and he began to bark instructions with a distinctly Brooklyn accent. “Quick, quick! Go back and make a left. Park in any space marked for staff then head along the north side of the property.”

  “Excuse me?” Dillon sat up straight in his seat.

  “Come on man! We’ve got a big studio wrap party starting in like two minutes!” The twit explained. “Management wants this thing kept more than quiet. They’ll have my ass if I screw up! Please go, they’re waiting for you. You’ll see the black and whites. Please! You’re killin’ me here!”

  “Nice, jackass.” Lou glared at the moron as she leaned over Dillon and stuck her head through the window. “I think the corpse sitting in one of your swanky set-ups would rather be in your shoes so maybe you wanna trade?”

  The twit tossed his hands up and stomped back to the building, muttering something to himself.

  “What a total dick!” Lou grunted as she sat back in her own seat.

  “Welcome to L.A.” Was all Dillon could say as he followed the twit’s directions and headed back around.

  As promised, there were three cruisers parked on the far northern end of the lot. Three deputies stood at the mouth of a pathway, one of them waving as if he knew Dillon’s SUV. Lou understood, once they got closer she recognized the rookie right away as a lifelong friend of her cousin, Liam.

  “Good evening, Detectives.” the eager young officer saluted them.

  “Oh, quit it Jimmy.” Lou grinned. “I’ve changed your diapers so we can dispense with the formalities.” The other deputies laughed but Jimmy was not embarrassed.

  “You’re the boss, Lou. Hey Dillon.” Jimmy beamed. He should have been embarrassed by the diaper crack but instead his chest pumped up visibly. That Lou acknowledged him at all, let alone like he was old family, that was a big deal. Lou had a serious reputation and was respected among his ranks.

  “How’s it going Jimmy?” Dillon had become friends with the rookie since he had taken Lou’s cousin under his wing. The man-boys had taken part in many all-night video game marathons. Liam and Jimmy had also helped Dillon paint his new house and move furniture.

  “I wasn’t the first on scene.” Jimmy stuck to business. “My T.O. is up there now with the guys who were, but he made me stay here to flag you down.”

  “You get a look at things?” Lou asked him.

  “No, but Scott did.” Jimmy pointed to one of the other deputies standing at the path.

  “I did, ma’am.” The stocky young deputy came to attention. “At least a little, before I got booted to secure the area.”

  “We all gotta start some place.” Lou reassured him. “Now what can I expect?”

  “A lot of brain matter, ma’am.” Scott had a gag reflex just recalling the scene. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He covered his mouth.

  “Suck it up, Scott.” Lou remembered her first brain matter case and tried to be kind. “Just take a breath of this nice sea air and tell me what you saw. Think of it like it was a movie.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. It was just everywhere, and I couldn’t see most of the body, just the feet.” Scott covered his mouth again.

  “It’s all right. We’ll look for ourselves. Who’s escort?” Lou asked the three.

  “Me!” Jimmy skipped ahead of them, making Dillon grin. Traversing the place was a hike when you were not allowed to go through the front doors. They walked around the perimeter, the long way, to the last bungalow. Two more deputies stood at the entrance to a private patio and they stepped aside when they saw Jimmy leading the detectives in.

  “Thanks Jimmy.” Dillon shook his hand then pulled a wad of gloves out of his pocket.

  “My pleasure!” He saluted them both then skipped off.

  Lou and Dillon donned their gloves and covered their shoes with paper booties, Dillon set the box in front of the entrance for the others to use. It was a very high end joint, even with the cool and casual So. Cal. influences and the Mediterranean architecture. The ground floor bungalow was a warm swirl of butters and caramels with all the luxuries you would expect from a fifteen-hundred dollar a night establishment. Sadly, it was going to take a lot more than a good cleaning crew to get the place back to business after this. Sprawled out on the floor of the kitchen, in front of the opened refrigerator was their victim. He was about six-feet, maybe two-hundred pounds and change. He was dressed in what appeared to be one of the resort’s robes which, once upon a time, was a crisp white. It wasn’t fair to say that he was lying face down because he no longer had a face, or a head for that matter. Nine of his ten pints of blood were now pooled outward a good four feet around the body, dammed up against the baseboards of the kitchen island and back cabinets. There was cast off blood all over the ceiling along with small bits of what Lou was sure would turn out to be brain matter. It was everywhere, except inside the refrigerator. The door had been opened after the bludgeoning.

  “That’s gonna screw with time of death.” Lou made the statement as an observation, not a joke. “Any idea when the coroner will be here?”

  “They said another hour.” One of the other deputies spoke. “I kept non-essential personal at a good distance. Not sure how far to set a perimeter though and management is having a fit.”

  “I’ll handle management.” Dillon didn’t even give Lou a second to think about it.

  “Get the name of that asshat that gave us the bum’s rush out front.” Lou requested as Dillon headed for the back patio. Lou could see the manager ranting on his cell phone through the glass door.

  “Do we know who we have here?” Lou asked as she checked the deputy’s name tag. “Russell, is it?”

  “That’s right, Russell, ma’am.” The deputy reached around the corner and pulled an evidence bag from the credenza, inside was an open wallet. “I found this on top of the suitcase in the bedroom. Based on my approximation of the victim’s height and weight, I am pretty sure it’s his. Name on the Driver’s License is Gerald Griffen. He has a few business cards with the same name for LMT Talent Management in Studio City.”

  Gerald Griffen had been the unlucky recipient of what appeared to be a good old fashioned bashing in of the brains. A bloody chunk of wood laying several feet away appeared to be the tool for the job. It looked to Lou like a fence post, unfinished, fairly new aside from the blood and tissue caked on the end, but most important it was innocuous. Readily available at any hardware store on the planet and used on at least a million fences from here to Oregon. It could only have been more generic if it were a two-by-four.

  “Doesn’t this place have maid service or housekeeping?” Lou asked.

  “That’s who found him, ma’am.” Russell continued “He was supposed to have checked out this morning. He checked in on Friday morning and requested no one, not even housekeeping disturb him through the weekend. The computer charged his bill automatically at 5 p.m. and flagged it for service. The maid called nine-one-one herself, otherwise I don’t know if this management yahoo would have called it in until after their big shindig tonight.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Lou asked as she looked out to see how Dillon was doing with the manager.

  “Some wrap party for some big production.” Russell shook his head. “They won’t even tell me what or who, but someone shelled out a lot of cash because half the crew is supposed
to be staying in these bungalows. That’s why Mr. Fancy-pants out there is freaking out.”

  Lou snickered. “Well he’s about to freak out a lot more when we tell him this place is closed for business for a while. Are there guests upstairs?”

  “No ma’am. No one has been upstairs since last week.” Russell checked his notes. “Most of the bungalows are empty. Only the two at the far end had guests, and they both checked in Friday night and checked out this morning. The manager said he’d get their contact info but honestly, I think he’s full of shit. He doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on out here.”

  “Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” With that, Lou headed out to the patio to join Dillon and their pain in the ass manager.

  The corporate surfer, Tim Blain, stammered with exasperation. Sweat stains had formed through his linen suit that must have set him back a week’s pay. His severely parted bleach-blond hair glared in the light due to his liberal use of hair gel and his palms were stained orange from excessive use of self tanner. It always struck Lou funny that Southern California people felt the need to use fake tanner when all they had to do was spend ten minutes a day in the sun. Not that the threat of skin cancer wasn’t real, but there were acceptable limits even healthy limits. Doctor Oz even recommended ten minutes a day for the vitamin D. This guy, well, he could have at least washed his hands better after application.

  “Mr. Blain...” Dillon tried to cut the man off, but he was not hearing him. “Mr. Blain!”

  “Hey!” Lou shouted at the ranting man, causing him to stop in his tracks and stare at her as if she had just tossed her drink in his face. “Do you understand that if you do not become real cooperative in the next five seconds, we will haul you off to jail for obstruction? Us screwing up this stupid ass party of yours is gonna seem real petty after the meth-head in holding with you asks you to go steady?”

  It took a second or two for Lou’s words to sink in but once they had, Tim Blain blew out a breath and just sat down, right there on the ground. “I am so screwed.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, destroying the perfectly shellacked style. He continued tugging at his hair as he spoke, causing it to stick out in glued clumps. “The guy was a regular. He came in once a month for a little Do-Not-Disturb time. You could set your watch by him. He’d check in on Friday morning, check out Monday morning. No housekeeping, no visitors unless he called ahead. He pre-arranged all of his room service, down to the minute he wanted his breakfast delivered. He had standing spa treatments on Saturday and Sunday. That’s where he spent the days before vanishing back to the bungalow for the night. I expect he had a friend stay over but that was none of my business. Everyone here is always generously compensated for their discretion.”

  “Boy-friend or girl-friend?” Lou asked him pointedly.

  “I don’t know for sure!” He sighed. “One of the maids said they saw a real pricey looking lady head in about a month ago but I don’t know. Its L.A.! It could have been a guy dressed as a girl! And even if it was a girl that night, it could have been a guy the next night, or the next stay here. I just don’t know.”

  “All right. Now, I thought all the bungalows were rented for this movie thing?” Lou remembered what Russell had told her.

  “They were!” Tim exclaimed. “They are! I mean yes. But Mr. Griffen is always gone before check out. He never comes to the desk, ever! He just has us charge one of the credit cards he has on file. He’s been a regular since the place opened!”

  “What sort of security surveillance do you have here?” Dillon asked.

  “Nothing on this end of the bungalows! That’s why he wanted this one, not even the top floor! Personally I think that one has the best view but no! It always had to be this one!” Tim resumed yanking on his hair. “The parking lots are covered for the most part because we’ve had some break-ins in the past but that was just minor kid’s stuff. Still, they put in the cameras and we have a patrol that roams the facility on golf carts twenty-four seven.”

  “We need all your surveillance for the past week and we need to talk to any guests or staff that were around this place this weekend.” Dillon offered a hand to the man to help him up. “And we need you to do that now.”

  “What am I supposed to do about the arriving party?” Tim Blain was on the verge of tears. “This is my first big gig alone, without supervision. If I screw this up I can kiss this job goodbye.”

  “Mr. Blain, the best way to save your job right now is to cooperate with us as expediently as possible so we can wrap this up and get out of here.” Dillon placed a hand on his shoulder. “Find another section of the facility to put your arriving guests in, even if it means taking a hit on the expense. Delegate the party to your most reliable staff and that’s all you can do. Now let’s get moving.”

  Lou rolled her eyes as Dillon led the man out and they headed for the main office. After putting her booties back on, she stepped back in to the bungalow. Now that things were quieter, Lou took out her camera and began snapping pictures while taking in the scene. Russell instinctively backed off to give her plenty of space.

  Aside from the carnage, the bungalow was pristine. Nothing looked out of place in the living area at all. There were no papers, no dishes, the pillows on the sofa were perfectly placed as if the room had just been staged. As Lou worked back to the kitchen, she noticed an empty bottle of wine next to the sink and two spotless wine glasses set to the side. The granite countertops were spit-shined without even a watermark. Now that was odd. Where was the cast off? There was no blood at all on any of the counter tops, and there should have been a lot of it. Someone had cleaned up and done a damn good job too. By the smell of him, Gerald Griffen had been dead for around two days. Lou made a bet with herself that the medical examiner would say he died between midnight Friday and four Saturday morning. Given Caroline was tied up on the gang shootings, she wondered who would be assigned to this case.

  “Hey Russell.” Lou called out as she made her way to the bedroom. “You know when the crime lab people will be here?”

  “Any minute.” He called back. “I just got a text from one of the deputies up at the parking lot that they’re unloading gear and on their way.”

  “Excellent. Do we have deputies on the other side of the bungalows?” Lou wondered if Mr. Blain had made them hide in the bushes.

  “Yes ma’am. We’ve got four more guys set up around the bungalows. Much to Timmy’s chagrin.” Russell referred to Mr. Blain as Timmy, that made her laugh.

  “Thanks Russell.” In the bedroom, the theme continued. The room was immaculate. The victim’s suitcase was packed and neatly arranged on the end of the bed. It looked like no one had even breathed in the room since maid service. The tops of the dresser and bedside tables looked freshly polished, not one glint of a fingerprint. Upon entering the bathroom, Lou smelled a strong antiseptic odor, more than just bleach. She leaned down and sniffed the sink and the residual fumes from whatever chemical was used to clean the place made her eyes water. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to clean up. Forensics was going to have one heck of a time. They would take pictures of the scene but Lou liked her own, and from different perspectives for her own analysis. When she made her way back into the kitchen Lou squatted as close to the body as she could without hitting the blood pool. From about the victim’s Adam’s apple, everything was nearly flattened. Shattered bone, mats of hair and clumps of flesh melded into a pile of what once was Gerald Griffen’s head. It had taken a lot of strength, or a lot of time and training to beat a person’s skull to a pulp, literally. Someone hated this man with a passion. That was an up-side. Someone who hated him that much would be easy enough to track down. There would be a reason, a history and some sort of preceding act that lead to this crime of passion. Yeah, having your brains bashed in had to be a crime of passion to Lou. You had to have a lot of emotions and energy to put this much effort into killing someone. Especially when a shot to the brai
n would have had the same result with far less fuss. Yes, someone hated Gerald Griffen a whole bunch.

  The Crime Lab arrived just as Lou finished taking the last of her pictures. She requested full work ups of the whole place, including the patios. Lou would have liked to have gone through the victim’s suitcase herself, but with how thorough the place had been scrubbed, she didn’t want to risk losing one single epithelial. Provided there there was one to be found at all. She moved out of the way and stood next to Deputy Russell so the techs could get down to business.

  “What do you make of this, Russell?” Lou asked.

  “Me?” He seemed surprised.

  “Yeah. What do you see?” This was one reason Lou was so well liked. She would include the other officers, ask opinions, took their assessments under advisement. She knew they all had good instincts, and she encouraged that. Many other detectives treated them like grunts and gofers but Lou saw them as support staff. They were valuable assets and an extra set of eyes that saw from a different perspective. That’s how she was treated on her first dead body call. Lou remembered that feeling to this day.

  Lou was charged with the same duty Russell was now, securing the body and standing guard. She remembered one particular detective that night was the reason she focused in on Homicide like a dog with a bone. The detective had asked her opinion on the two bodies she and her partner had found after a neighbor reported a strange odor coming from the house. Lou had been staring at the scene for hours before detectives got there so she had plenty of time to theorize. Two dead men in a garage that had all the bells and whistles of a do it yourself mechanic, immaculately organized. The garage door was open just a little when they arrived. Her partner was sure the perpetrator had gotten away, so he called for back-up and had her stay put. It had appeared that one of the men had been stabbed through the abdomen with a crowbar but there was little blood on the other man. His hands were bloody and a portion of his shirt, but there was no blood pooling, no visible injury she could see that would give cause of death. She kept looking, just looking. After the detectives had come and done their thing, one stood beside her and lit a cigarette. He looked from her vantage point, not saying anything to her for a long time until he finally asked what she though. Lou was hesitant at first, just as Russell was now, but she was far more curious if her theory was right than nervous about being wrong. As they watched the coroner do their thing, Lou told him she didn’t think there was a third person. She believed it was an altercation between the two deceased. The man at the far side of the garage had impaled the other man with the crowbar. The man killed by the crowbar had grabbed for the nearest thing to defend himself. While standing there, Lou had noticed the garage was outfitted with a slick air tool and compressor system. The hose was strung along the ceiling with coiled ends dangling over the work spaces for easy access. The hose on the far side of the garage was dangling about seven feet in the air and about three feet to the left of their impaled victim. Attached was an air gun, with an air needle affixed to it. It was the only hose fitted with any sort of tool. Lou theorized to the detective that victim number one impaled victim number two, and victim number two grabbed the first thing he could, the air tool that was dangling next to him. He stabbed the needle into victim number one’s side and let the compressor rip, injecting him with air. This would cause him to back up a good distance before dropping, as well as the lack of blood. After Lou gave him her theory, the detective smiled, patted her on the back and told her to look him up when she made detective. Turned out that detective would be her captain when she hit Homicide. “Come on Russell, I know you have ideas running through that dense head of yours.”