Last Man's Head

by Philip Cox

  ‘I am aware about why people inject between the toes,’ said Leroy calmly and slowly. ‘But Russ… Hobson’s point was the angle of the mark. They were all at such an angle that would have rendered it unlikely they were all self-inflicted.’

  ‘But not impossible.’ The captain smiled and puffed up his chest.

  ‘No, not impossible,’ said Leroy. ‘Just unlikely.’

  Captain Patterson directed his next sentence to Perez. ‘Lieutenant, did you explain to Detective Leroy that the decision to close the cases was taken at the highest level?’

  ‘I did, sir,’ said Perez. Leroy looked down at the lieutenant, and noticed the odd look on his face, as if his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘Where the amount of work Detective Leroy had put into the cases has not gone unnoticed?’

  Leroy and Perez just looked at each other.

  The captain continued, ‘So, let’s move on. The cases are closed. There are a lot of homicides going on out there, and we mustn’t be distracted by Medical Examiner Hobson playing at Sherlock Holmes again. I must have a word with Sheriff Welch.’ He looked over at Leroy and Perez, said, ‘Well, good day gentlemen,’ turned and returned to his own office.

  Perez looked up at Leroy. ‘See? My hands are tied. Cases closed. Move on. There’s plenty of other work to do out there, and doesn’t Quinn get back tomorrow?’

  ‘I think so,’ mumbled Leroy. ‘But despite what the captain says, there are still uninvestigated threads here.’

  Perez leaned on his desk, resting his forehead in one hand. He sighed, and pressed some keys on the keyboard on his desk. Still looking at the screen, he spoke. ‘It says here you have a week’s vacation owed.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said you have five days’ vacation to use. Don’t worry; when Quinn gets back, we’ll find him something to do.’

  ‘Vacation? What are you talking about, Lieutenant? I can’t take a vacation in the middle of all this.’

  ‘Take some R and R. Do whatever you want to do. Go wherever you want to go, within reason. Of course, while you are on vacation, you are just a private citizen. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sam?’

  Leroy nodded. ‘Yes, Lieutenant. I think I do.’

  ‘Good. Now, clear up your desk. I’ll send someone else over to Santa Monica; it might be your partner tomorrow.’

  ‘Right, I will.’ Leroy backed away from the desk.

  ‘And Detective?’ Perez called out as Leroy reached the door.

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Enjoy your vacation.’

  FORTY

  LEROY HAD GOTTEN the lieutenant’s message, although couldn’t quite understand the motivation. Sure, he had a week’s vacation time owing - more in fact - but was taken aback when Perez told him to take it, and take it immediately. The Area was busy, so there was the question of whether they could afford to be a man down. Then again, there was never a good time to take vacation. So what was Perez up to? Did he, deep down, and despite outward appearances, believe what Leroy was saying? Was that his way of continuing the investigation even though a decision had been made at the highest level to close the cases? And what exactly was the highest level? And by warning Leroy that he was a private citizen for the next seven days, was there a hidden message there too?

  On the other hand, Perez could be so pissed off with Leroy banging on about the cases, that he just wanted him out of his hair for a few days. No more than that.

  Leroy leaned back in the booth in Martha’s. He had finished a turkey and ham sandwich, washed down by two cups of black coffee, then gratefully accepted the offer of a refill. Whatever Perez’s reasoning, he decided, this was his chance to make some progress, to prove that these were no deaths by misadventure. Surely, others - apart from him and Hobson - could see this was no coincidence. Still, Quinn was back tomorrow, and having his partner on the inside as it were would help, provided he would not get into trouble.

  Leroy leaned back in the booth and closed his eyes. He went through the facts of these cases. On one night, three men, all of a similar socio-economic profile, are found dead in disparate parts of the city, all with the same COD, all with that tiny entry wound hidden between two toes; entry wounds which Russell Hobson says are unlikely to have been self-inflicted. Two of the men had laptops which the CCU are analyzing - or were, now the cases were closed - where the search history had been wiped, but they did find that one of the victims used a dating site to get hookers. They speak to one of the hookers, who then flees to a house owned by a major politician, where one of his staff denies all knowledge of her, even though her car is hidden out back. And the clincher: Domingo and her partner are murdered, their slayings may or may not be related to all this.

  So where, in his capacity as a private citizen, could Leroy start? It seemed the last person to see one of the victims alive was the hooker Alexandra. He needed to get hold of her first. He could park outside the house and wait, but there may be a quicker way.

  He stood up and walked over to the bar. Kenny was chatting to another customer at the end of the bar, saw Leroy and sauntered over.

  ‘What can I get you, Sam?’ Kenny asked. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘I’m okay for now, Kenny, but I need a favour. I take it you have internet access here?’

  ‘Sure, we have free Wi-Fi.’ He pointed to a sign on the wall.

  ‘Fine, but I don’t have a computer with me.’

  ‘We have one in the office out back. You want to use it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. Could I?’

  ‘Sure, Sam; come this way.’

  Kenny led Leroy behind the bar and into a small office. A really old monitor was perched on a desk, amongst the clutter of glasses, cups and magazines.

  ‘Don’t worry about all that,’ Leroy said as Kenny began to clear the desk. He looked up as he could hear the sound of people coming into the bar. The end of a shift, he guessed. ‘I’ll be okay, thanks, Kenny,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Do me a favour though: if they are from the station house, don’t let them know I’m here. Okay?’

  ‘Sure, Sam. Why, what’s up?’

  ‘Long story. Tell you another time.’

  ‘All righty.’ Kenny left Leroy alone in the tiny office. He typed in www.arrangeadate.com into the search bar, and waited. After a couple of seconds the site Home page appeared. In the area box, he clicked on Los Angeles, then had to choose which district. He had a choice of Westside-Southbay, San Fernando Valley, San Gabriel Valley, Long Beach, Antelope Valley, and Central LA. He chose the latter, then had to select he was a man looking for a woman. Once he clicked, then the familiar thumbnails appeared on the screen. He trawled though eleven pages until he found a picture which caught his eye. He paused, clicked on the thumbnail to enlarge, and stared at the image. It was a different picture than the one he and Domingo had seen the other day, but it was definitely her.

  But the name was not Alexandra.

  It was Marisol.

  FORTY-ONE

  IN SPITE OF everything else that was going on, Leroy laughed. So Alexandra was now Marisol. He would take book that neither was her real name. He clicked on the Contact button, and typed in a brief message that he liked her picture and was she free later today. Sent the message and sat back.

  And waited.

  He could hear the sounds of laughter coming from the bar outside. He looked at the screen. No reply.

  The door opened and Kenny came in with a cup. ‘Thought you could use some more coffee, Sam,’ he said.

  ‘My hero, ‘said Leroy, gratefully taking the cup.

  ‘Any food?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘No. Coffee’s good for me, thanks.’

  Kenny left Leroy alone again. Still no reply. Leroy shrugged: maybe she was with a client. He called up the page for the Los Angeles Times, read a few pages, then searched for the Santa Monica Observer. He read some of that, until the monitor bleeped. Returning to the site, he saw a pop up announcing a message for him. He clicked on there and saw tha
t Alexandra/Marisol had replied. She was so thrilled to hear from him, and was he free at six o’clock today? She could meet him at either The Groves Overlook, just off Mulholland Drive, or, if he preferred a more intimate meeting, she had a luxury apartment not far. He thought her luxury apartment might be preferable to an outdoor location, so replied that he would prefer her apartment. Once he sent his reply, he picked up the coffee, and had two mouthfuls before her reply came through. She would meet him in the parking lot at Denny’s on Sepulveda and Burbank.

  He laughed. Firstly, he doubted if Denny’s knew that their parking lot was being used in this way; secondly, how could she think here was not far from the overlook? He checked the two locations on Google maps: the 405 Freeway passed by both locations. Only around five miles, but at that time of day, the time taken to make the five mile journey could be anybody’s guess. He arranged to meet her at six in the parking lot.

  He arrived at the location just after five thirty. It was still daylight, and would be so for at least an hour and a half. The last thing he wanted was for her to recognise him and run again. He walked into Denny’s, showed his identification to one of the servers, and took a seat in the window, but where he could have a good view of the parking lot.

  Five minutes before six, he recognised the battered, undercoated Ford pull in, and reverse into a space. He saw Alexandra/Marisol climb out. She looked around, then went to stand by one of the small conifer trees which stood either side of the pathway to the door, and lit a cigarette.

  Leroy stood up, thanked the server as he walked past her, and went outside to meet the hooker. ‘Marisol?’ he asked.

  She turned round and smiled at him. ‘Sure is, hun. You didn’t give me your name before.’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Sam. Hey, have I met you before. Your face seems kind of familiar.’

  Leroy said nothing. Then the penny dropped.

  ‘You’re that fucking cop, aren’t you. I thought I -’

  Leroy grabbed her by the arm and led her to his car. A couple with two young children were coming up the path. The man looked at Marisol, a slightly worried look on his face. Leroy showed him his badge, and let the family go inside. ‘Shut up, and get in my car,’ he snapped.

  ‘Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch,’ Marisol protested as Leroy bundled her into his car.

  ‘I told you: shut your mouth,’ he spat back, as he climbed in next to her. ‘Now, your choice: do you want me to cuff you, or are you going to talk to me like a normal person?’

  She calmed down, looking out of the windshield, a look of resignation on her face. ‘What you want to know this time?’

  ‘The guy I asked about before: Guy Robbins.’

  ‘Yeah? What about him?’

  ‘You told me he paid a hundred for a blow job. Is that right?’

  ‘Guess so. If that’s what I said.’

  ‘Answer the question. You met him at the overlook, and that’s all that happened?’

  ‘For a hundred bucks, that’s all that’s going to happen.’

  ‘No drugs?’

  She turned round in her seat and looked at him. This was the first time he had been able to look at her close up. He hadn’t realised how young she looked - around twenty, maybe. Behind the thick make-up and tired, world-weary expression on her face, her eyes were a vivid blue. ‘I told you. No drugs, no nothing. We arranged to meet there. He was very nervous, kept looking out to the main street. I told him how much I charged and for what. He said he only had a hundred bucks on him, so I told him what he’d get for that.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Which was a hand job or some oral. His choice. He chose oral. He only lasted a couple of minutes, then he paid me.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Then I got back into my car, and left.’

  ‘Left him at the overlook.’

  ‘Yeah. Why, was I expected to take him home?’

  ‘Do you get much work from that site?’ Leroy asked. ‘I mean, a hundred can get a guy much more other places.’

  ‘Honey, I’m high class.’

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot; you have a luxury apartment. Where’s that?’

  She shook her head and pointed down Sepulveda Boulevard. ‘Motel room two blocks down.’

  ‘Hm. Very high class.’

  ‘Whatever. Look, are we going to be long? If this is all you want, I can be earning some cash somewhere else.’

  Leroy reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. He passed them to her, and she flicked through them greedily.

  ‘There’s two hundred here! Man, I can give you a really good time now!’

  ‘Take the night off. On me.’

  ‘Night off? I don’t get it. Don’t you even want to -?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Go home, wash all that shit off your face and be… How old are you anyway?’

  ‘Nineteen. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered. And is your name Marisol? Or is it Alexandra?’

  ‘It’s Alexandra. Why?’

  ‘Why did you call yourself Marisol on the site? And change the picture?’

  She began to get defensive. ‘Just decided to. Okay? Is there a law against that?’

  ‘Not against changing your picture or name, no.’

  She grabbed the door handle. ‘Anything else you want, pig?’

  ‘Just one more question. When we spoke last, once we’d done, you went to a house off Mulholland Drive.’

  ‘Y-yes,’ she said slowly, suspiciously. ‘You followed me?’

  ‘Do you know who owns that house?’

  ‘Don’t know anything about no house,’ she snapped. She pulled open the car door and made to run off. However, the high heels she was wearing prevented her from running too fast, so Leroy was easily able to leap out of his door and chase after her. As she ran through the bushes which separated the lot from the street, one of her heels broke and she tumbled to the ground. Leroy caught up with her, and leaned over her to help her get up. He could not have seen the rock she had picked up while both palms were on the ground: she swung round to her left, holding the rock with her right hand, and caught Leroy on his left temple. With a cry, he fell to the ground, clutching the side of his head. With one broken heel, she staggered out on to the sidewalk, then into the street. Into the rush hour traffic.

  As he got up, dazed, Leroy heard a horn blare, a scream, a dull thud, then a screech of brakes. As he got through the bushes and into the street, a small crowd had already gathered around. The sound he had heard was of a bus braking. Behind the front wheel of the bus a trickle of blood was running into the gutter.

  The bus doors hissed open and the driver leapt out, hysterical. ‘I couldn’t stop!’ he cried. ‘I couldn’t stop! She ran right in front!’

  Leroy crouched down in front of the bus. The fender was dented and he could make out a shape lying still underneath the bus. He turned, looked around and noticed something lying on its side in the road.

  A shoe, its heel broken.

  FORTY-TWO

  SAM LEROY PERCHED himself on the edge of the table. It was eight fifteen, and he was in the emergency room of the Ronald Reagan Medical Center. The doctor attending to him had just left the room, saying he needed a couple of stitches, and she would be back shortly. As he sat alone in the room, with its white floor and walls, Spartan furnishings and decorations, he watched the silhouetted figures pass the shaded windows. He put his hand up to the wound on his temple and winced as he ran his fingertips across the wound. Although the brick with which Marisol had hit him was not particularly large, it had a jagged edge on one side, and it was with this side that she caused a two inch wound.

  It needed a couple of stitches, Dr Lee had said. Not something Leroy was looking forward to. He had undergone numerous such repairs over the years, but having stitches always seemed to be something he dreaded.

  Dr Lee returned to the room. She was a petite Chinese woman in her early thirties, and no more than five feet tall. Her black hair
was cut into a neat bob. ‘Ready for your stitches, Detective?’ she asked, with more than a hint of amusement at his dread of the needle.

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess, Doctor,’ Leroy replied.

  ‘Well, you’ll be relieved to know the wound’s not big enough to require conventional stitching,’ Dr Lee said, unwrapping a plastic container. ‘I’m only going to need some steri-strips this time, so I guess you’ve gotten away with it today. Hold still now.’

  ‘That’s some good news, at least.’ Leroy inclined his head slightly to the right, while the doctor applied four strips, one along the length of the wound, and three across, at each and in the centre

  ‘They will need to stay in place for five to seven days,’ Dr Lee said as she applied the strips, ‘and try not to get them too wet.’

  ‘Not too wet?’

  ‘A shower should be okay, provided you minimise how much water touches them, but don’t go swimming with them on. Do you own a shower cap?’

  Leroy looked at her, saying nothing.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no. So just make sure they don’t get too wet.’

  ‘Five to seven days? How will I know?’

  ‘You’ll know. When the wound clearly hasn’t bled for a few days. Check it daily, but don’t take them off prematurely. They will come off of their own accord after seven days.’

  ‘That’s great. Thanks, Doc. I just -’

  The door opened and in walked Lieutenant Perez. ‘Mind if I come in, Doctor?’

  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?’