Shadows May Fall

by Corcoran, Mell

  Lou couldn’t remember the last time she slept so soundly without being on pain killers or in an induced coma. It was after seven when she sat up, wide awake. That never happened. Lou suffered from Sleep Inertia, which made her a blithering idiot for a good length of time after waking. Her brain generally didn’t want to get out of sleep mode despite her body being up. It was another reason she didn’t drive in the mornings and relied on her partner or the train. Lou had injured herself more times than she cared to admit in her sleep stuck stupors. Today, however, she was fine. It was strange.

  After making a cup of coffee, she realized there were no puppies. No puppies and no Angus. She sat her cup on the coffee table and slinked trough the hall to peek in and see if they were with Abby. No puppies and no Angus. Maybe they were downstairs with Marta? For the heck of it, she peeked into Frank’s room, and sure enough, Angus was sprawled out on the top of his head and both puppies had wedged themselves between his legs. Lou wished so much that she had the foresight to bring a camera, but she had a sneaking hunch this wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sense of peace that filled her soul, Lou headed back into her room, closing the door behind her so as not to disturb the rest of the house. She clicked on the television and watched the weather while she enjoyed her coffee. Her nemesis, the Amazonian weather anchor was forecasting a brilliant and exceedingly warm day. A t-shirt and jeans were the way to go. A chirp from her phone alerted to a text message and upon examination, it was from Dillon, instructing her to call him as soon as she woke up. She put the television on mute and called.

  “You’re up?” Dillon’s voice answered.

  “I am, indeed!” Lou was in a great mood. “What’s up?”

  “You are gonna love this... “ Dillon turned off the water before he continued. “So the captain of Mrs. Griffen’s ship already called our chief. I guess they are two hours ahead. He made the notification to the wife, and she’s not leaving.”

  “Huh?” Lou wasn’t sure she heard him right.

  “She is not cutting her cruise short to come back and tend to her murdered husband.” Dillon clarified. “They make a port for the last time in four days, and she’s sticking to her schedule. She’ll be flying home on Monday and will deal with us then.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Lou could not believe her ears.

  “I am not.” Dillon chuckled. “The captain read from her exact quote that said ‘I'll be damned if the last act that bastard leaves me with is to ruin my vacation.’ and there might have been a few screw him’s in there somewhere.”

  “What the hell is with these horrible spouses?” Lou thought of good old Donny Miller again. “I mean if this is marital bliss, seriously?”

  “I’m right there with ya, partner.” Dillon couldn’t understand it either. “The good news is we got a warrant to search the residence and the office, so you want to head over to the residence first?”

  “Sounds like a plan. Give me fifteen and I’ll meet you out front.” She ended the call and headed for the shower.

  Lou had gotten ready in record time and managed to not wake anyone or anything in the process. By the time Dillon made it up the driveway, Lou was waiting with a commuter mug in each hand.

  “Well aren’t we all bright eyed and bushy tailed!” Dillon teased as she buckled up.

  “Someone must have slipped something in my food last night.” She laughed. “Don’t get happy, I doubt this will ever happen again.”

  He laughed too. “Don’t worry, I’ll enjoy the minor miracle while I can.”

  The Griffen’s lived in a quaint section of Encino that was comprised of charming single family homes built back in the nineteen-forties. That is until they pulled up to the actual Griffen home.

  “No, this doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, does it?” Dillon could barely believe his eyes.

  “Oh, I bet the neighbors love them.” Lou sat in the SUV staring.

  Amidst the neighborhood that took great care in preserving a feeling of a by-gone era, reminiscent of apple pie and sock hops, the Griffen’s had mowed down the original home and built a monstrosity. The lots here were at best sixty feet wide by a hundred-fifty deep, but they had jammed the lot with every bit of building they could. If there were six feet of room between the house and the neighbor’s fences, it would have been a shock. The hot mustard colored Moorish structure was the only multi-story house for a good mile in each direction and had to be considered the blight of the neighborhood. It truly hurt Lou’s eyes to look at it.

  “Well, that made our suspect pool a whole lot bigger.” Dillon grumbled.

  Lou nodded in agreement. “I’d kill ‘em.”

  They didn’t need the warrant since Belinda Griffen provided them with the location of the spare key and the alarm code via the Captain of the ship. It would have been nice to meet the woman to get a fix on what the hell was in her head when they built this place. Lou noticed a few lookie-loo neighbors watching them as they waited for their backup. Even though they didn’t anticipate running into trouble, it was always wise to follow procedure in these instances.

  “You feel those eyes on us?” Dillon asked.

  “I was just noticing that. Maybe we should wave our badges around?” Lou joked. “That will probably only attract more attention.”

  It took the deputies fifteen minutes to arrive, and a small crowd of neighbors had gathered on the corner across the street. Lou suggested one of the deputies head over and glean what they could about the Griffen’s while putting the neighbors minds at ease. Lou stood at the giant slab of a front door while Dillon went searching for the key. Even the hardware was oversized and garish. She could only imagine what the inside looked like. Lou glanced at the second deputy’s name tag and took a double take.

  “Bronx?” She asked.

  “Yes, ma’am?” The young man replied.

  “That’s your name, for real?” Lou never heard anything with that name but the New York borough.

  The deputy chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. The short story is when my great-grandfather headed here from Ireland, he only knew two words in English, his name and where he was supposed to go. When he got off the boat at Ellis, he just repeated those two things when anyone asked him anything. Thus, he was known as Patrick Bronx instead of Pádraic Ó Mathúna, or Mahoney.”

  “You’re Irish?” Once Lou looked at him, it was rather obvious. The dark ginger hair, a smattering of freckles and vivid green eyes should have been a giveaway.

  “To the bone, ma’am.” He beamed with pride. “I am quite a fan of yours, Detective. My great uncle served under your great grandfather in the Garda.”

  “No shit?” Lou felt a little flattered.

  “No shit, ma’am.” He grinned.

  “You know what that means, don’t ya?” She asked.

  He hesitated a moment. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  “It means you’re buyin’ the pints!” She gave him a wink, and he blushed.

  Just then Dillon bounced up the steps. “Got it!”

  “You got the alarm code too?” Lou inquired.

  “Yep!” He showed her a sticky note with numbers scrawled all over it.

  “You’ll have to enter it since I can’t read your crappy writing.” She stepped back so he could make entry first.

  “I was in a hurry!” Dillon gave her a disapproving glance before getting to business.

  After he got the door open, turned off the alarm, Lou and Bronx fell in behind him. It was far worse than she feared.

  Lou gasped. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  “I don’t think Jesus, Mary or Joseph had anything to do with this.” Dillon corrected her.

  “It looks like someone overdosed on Skittles and projectile vomited all over the place!” Bronx’s analogy was more than appropriate. “Or Willy Wonka was on a bad acid trip when he decorated!”

  The entry hall of the Grif
fen home was wall to wall tiles, about one square inch a piece and every color in the rainbow except pastel. The walls were a bright neon turquoise, and there was a mural of Picasso’s Starry Night on the ceiling. A misshapen blown glass pendant light hung in the spot where the moon of the mural was, adding a fun-house effect to the room. Saying it was harsh was truly being kind.

  “Let’s get this over with before I get a migraine.” Lou instructed.

  The rest of the house turned out to be just as horrible. Nothing fit with the Moorish architecture what so ever. The kitchen was ultra modern with hot orange ultra shiny cabinets and a black and white checkered floor. That and the white quartz countertops were the only things even remotely neutral in the place. They each split up and took a section of the house; Dillon and Bronx took upstairs while Lou rifled around on the ground floor. The mirrored cabinets in the living room yielded nothing, nor did any of the drawers or closets. Lou hoped she would have better luck when she finally made it to what appeared to be Gerald Griffen’s home office. The style of the furnishings screamed Ikea, but the finishes told a different story. There was so much gloss and lacquer that Lou was certain it was a small fortune in some fancy Italian designer name. Utterly showy and totally impractical. The desk didn’t even have drawers. When she finally found the filing cabinets camouflaged as the mirrored wall, Lou figured out exactly what type of talent Mr. Griffen managed.

  “The dude was in porn!” She shouted through the house.

  “That explains a lot” Dillon answered back. It made her chuckle.

  They spent another hour going through the place and made only minor discoveries. The Griffen’s had separate bedrooms and Mrs. Griffen’s bedroom a private phone line. In Mr. Griffen’s sleeping quarters, they discovered an extensive borderline kiddie porn collection. By the time they finished, all three of them felt in desperate need of a shower.

  “Personally I don’t see how this helped anything.” Bronx seemed thoroughly confused. “I mean, you’re looking for a lead to narrow your suspects, right?”

  “In a perfect world.” Lou answered.

  “Don’t even say it.” Dillon grumbled as he locked the door behind them. “We already acknowledged that our suspect pool got much bigger when we drove up.”

  “Yeah well if bad taste were a crime, half my family would be on death row.” Bronx shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ is all.”

  Bronx’s trainee, Deputy Johnson, stood watch at the sidewalk and offered each of them a chilled bottle of water when they exited the gate.

  “No towel?” Bronx joked, and Johnson just smiled. “Okay, where to next?”

  “We head to his office in Studio City.” Lou scribbled the address down and handed it to Bronx.

  “Not sure anyone is there.” Dillon noted. “I keep getting sent to voicemail.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Lou took a gulp of water then headed to the car.

  Studio City was only ten miles away from Encino, but the traffic made it a forty-five-minute drive. The office itself was located above a 7-Eleven and if they hadn’t double checked the address, they would have sworn they were at the wrong location. There was no sign on the door, no window, nothing to identify LMT Talent Management let alone any business. The door was locked, but they could hear music coming from inside so they proceeded to knock, and knock, and knock.

  “Maybe we should kick it in?” Bronx asked as Dillon tried calling the number again, still getting voicemail.

  “Allow me.” Johnson stepped up to the door and banged on it with all his might. They heard rustling then finally the door opened.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” A tiny Latino woman screeched at Johnson. “Why you come bangin’ like that? What the hell you want?”

  As if the deputy’s uniform wasn’t enough to give the girl a clue, Dillon and Lou shoved their badges in her face. “Los Angeles County Sheriff’s.” Lou identified themselves.

  “Yeah? So?” The woman snapped her gum in between syllables with a skill not often seen outside a strip club. She stood draped between the door and the jam, blocking them from entry. Her scorching red tube top, being repurposed as a dress was also a bit unusual for wear outside of a strip club. Not exactly office attire.

  “Is this LMT Talent?” Dillon asked her.

  “Yeah. So?” She added an extra pop in between words to be extra classy.

  “Screw this.” Lou shoved her way into the office.

  “Hey! You can’t come in here!” The delicate flower protested and yanked at Lou’s arm, almost losing the tenuous grip her tube top dress had on her freakishly enhanced breasts.

  “Actually, yes we can.” Dillon informed her as he flashed a copy of the warrant at her with one hand, while firmly removing the girl’s hand from Lou’s arm with the other before Lou flattened the bimbo.

  “This is police brutality!” She shrieked as she slapped Dillon’s chest “I’m gonna sue your asses!”

  “What is your name?” Lou stepped up and had to look down at her. Given Lou was only five-feet, four inches tall, that was saying something.

  “I don’t gotta tell you nothing, bitch!” The girl stepped into Lou forcefully, shoving her with her basketball sized boobs, yanking her own top down in the process. She could have cared less about her exposure, she was only interested in getting back in Lou’s face for another shove.

  “Ma’am! You are under arrest for assaulting an officer.” Bronx stepped in. “Please put your hands behind your back...”

  “You ain’t arresting me! You the one’s who broke in here!” The girl hauled off as if she was going to slap Deputy Bronx but in a rather impressive move, he grabbed the woman’s wrist and swung her around so that he could begin cuffing her. It looked like a move out of Dancing with the Stars.

  “You have the right to remain silent, which I strongly suggest you assert!” Bronx rolled his eyes, hiked the woman’s top up for her, then continued issuing the Miranda warning while leading the screaming shrew out of the office.

  “You okay?” Dillon asked Lou.

  “Yeah..” She adjusted her shirt. “except for the fact that my nipples are innies now!” Both Dillon and Johnson burst out laughing. “Johnson, help Bronx with that... that.. find out who the hell she is, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Johnson was still laughing when he headed down to the parking lot to help his Training Officer.

  With all the ruckus over, Dillon and Lou took a good look at the place. What appeared to constitute the reception area was at best an eight by eight square foot area with a small desk that looked like something out of the seventies and two heavily stained chairs where visitors could sit. The source of the music had been the computer on the reception desk. The bimbo had been watching YouTube videos at full blast and playing Bejeweled on her cell phone, thus her unresponsiveness to their knocks.

  “We should get a tech down here to look through the computers.” Dillon advised.

  “Yeah, that might be smart.” Lou agreed, and Dillon made the call.

  Lou opened the door to the rest of the office which only led to one other room. The scuzzy reception nook and Gerald Griffen’s office were all that made LMT Talent Management. While the Griffen’s personal residence was a tasteless exhibition of excessive wealth, good old Jerry’s office looked like a bad Kojak episode. The walls were covered with porno movie posters, emblazoned with freakishly large breasted women. The Formica credenza that sat behind the matching faux wood desk was lined with framed photos of Gerald Griffen posing with more freakishly large breasted women.

  “So, Jerry was a leg man.” Dillon broke the awkward silence, making Lou snort with laughter.

  “I’m beginning to understand the impulse to bash this guy’s brains in, just out of Principal.” Lou stepped to the corner of the room and took it all in. A fake ficus tree coated in dust was shoved on one side of the sagging leather couch that was propped against the left wall. Gr
iffen’s desk sat on the opposite wall and was completely cluttered with papers, empty candy wrappers, porno DVD’s and assorted trash from what Lou thought to be a couple of hot dogs from the 7-Eleven downstairs. The smell of mustard and stale coffee added to that supposition. On the opposite end of the couch from the ficus were a tri-pod and a video camera. There was also a coat rack wedged behind it that looked like it had various costumes hanging on it. Lou could make out what she thought was an old fashioned nurse hat and a red riding hood cloak. She got the heebie-jeebies just thinking about what went on here. “This guy was just a scumbag.”

  “Total stereotypical perv.” Dillon agreed. “I can’t wait to meet Mrs. Scumbag. What kind of woman would marry a guy like this?”

  “Fifty bucks says she’s a former porn queen.” Lou stuck out her hand to shake on the bet, but Dillon just smirked.

  “That’s a sucker’s bet.” He declined.

  “No pun intended?” Lou grinned.

  “Geez, Lou!” Dillon gave her a disapproving look. “I didn’t need that thought floating across my head!”

  “Okay, I’ll stop.” She assured him as she sat at Griffen’s desk and began rifling through the drawers. Dillon did the same with the filing cabinets.

  “I am not even touching this computer. I might get some disease.” Lou said as she fought the urge to put on a second pair of gloves.

  “But you’re totally okay with sitting in his chair?” Dillon said with a raised eyebrow, causing Lou to stand up immediately.

  “Shit!” She grumbled. “Now I gotta throw out these jeans!”

  Dillon laughed, and they resumed going through all the drawers, sifting through papers, looking for anything that could give them a clue as to who hated this man enough to pound his head into mush. They probably had the largest suspect pool in the history of murder cases when they considered all the fathers of the girls that walked through Gerald Griffen’s office door.

  “Hey wasn’t one of your victims in the rogue case from Spank Me productions?” Dillon asked, but he was certain he was right.