by Philip Cox
‘Sure.’ Leroy and Quinn both showed their badges; the door shut momentarily while the chain was released.
‘Come in.’ David Pine opened the door fully, and the two detectives stepped inside number 16.
The whole apartment consisted of one large room, furnished minimally. A black leather couch faced a double level glass table, on which stood a large flat screen television. The lower shelf was taken up with various items of entertainment equipment: a blu-ray player, a games console, and an item Leroy could not identify. A glass and chrome table with two matching chairs stood against one wall; against the other was a desk, complete with green lamp. A closed laptop rested on the desk. A small breakfast bar separated the room from the galley kitchen. There was a door on either side wall: Leroy presumed one was for a bedroom, the other the bathroom. Above the desk was a glass shelf on which stood four figures from cinema history: Dracula, the Frankenstein monster, a werewolf, and a figure with a strange face and webbed feet, arms outstretched. On closer inspection, these twelve inch tall figures were completed plastic kits. Above the shelf was a large clear picture frame holding an old movie poster. The movie was Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman.
‘Who’s that?’ Leroy asked, pointing to the last figure.
‘Oh - that’s the Creature from the Black Lagoon. It’s from a movie. Like the others: Bela Lugosi as Dracula, Boris Karloff as the Frankenstein Monster, and Lon Chaney Jr as the Wolfman.’
‘Yes, I recognised the others,’ said Leroy. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. I just need to ask you some questions.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Pine. He had short, dark hair, gelled back, and a tidily trimmed goatee, which was no more than two days old. Dressed only in loose fitting shorts, he was slim and pale-skinned. ‘Do you mind if I…?’ He pointed to a tee shirt lying across the top of the couch.
Leroy shook his head. ‘Please do.’ He waited until Pine had put on the plain white shirt, then asked, ‘I just need to know where you were two nights ago.’
Pine thought for a moment, then replied, ‘Two nights ago? I was here, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Yes, I was here.’
‘Alone? Can anybody corroborate that?’
Pine shook his head. ‘No. Why – does anybody need to?’
‘It would help.’
‘I was here all evening. Well, from eight, when I finished work. Then I went online: caught up on emails, updated Facebook; that sort of thing. Why?’
‘Where do you work?’ Quinn asked.
‘I’m a chef,’ Pine answered.
‘Where?’ asked Leroy.
‘It’s a bar just off Sunset. The Pacific Rim.’
Leroy had been looking out of the window down at the swimming pool in the back yard of one of the houses across the street. He turned round. ‘The what?’
‘Like I said – it’s a bar.’ Pine nodded. ‘Okay - it’s a gay bar. But I’m not gay - I just work there.’
Leroy nodded. ‘So you were at work till what - eight?’
‘Yeah. My shift finished at seven thirty. I started at eleven. Got back here around eight. Why? What’s all this about?’
Quinn spoke. ‘We’re investigating a murder.’
‘Two murders, in fact,’ added Leroy.
Flustered, Pine asked, ‘Wha – what does that have to do with me?’
Leroy answered, ‘The investigation is just in the preliminary stages. At this time, we’re just speaking to people known to us who fit the profile of the suspects.’
‘Is that what I am? A suspect?’
‘I didn’t say that, sir. As I said, we’re in the very early stages of the investigation.’
‘We’re looking at a rough profile of the culprits, and out of the people known to us you’re one of several who fit the bill.’
‘And this is all because I tried to rob some gas station five years ago? I’ve been clean since then; you know that.’
‘I know you have, David. You just happen to fit the profile, that’s all. You and several others we’re talking to.’
‘Talk to someone at my work. They’ll tell you where I was then.’
‘We will,’ said Leroy.
‘Where is your bar?’ Quinn asked.
‘It - it’s off Sunset,’ Pine stammered. ‘North Robertson.’
‘All right, thanks,’ said Leroy. ‘So you finished at seven-thirty, came home here, and spent the rest of the night alone?’
‘Sure; I was just on there,’ - Pine pointed over at the desk - ‘till about one, then went to bed. I swear.’
Leroy nodded. ‘Okay, Mr Pine. Thanks for your time. We’ll leave you in peace now. Are you at work today?’
‘Yes. I start in about an hour.’
‘You drive there?’ Leroy asked.
‘Don’t own a car. I have a bike, but prefer to walk. It’s not that far. I know most people in LA own one, but it saves on gym fees.’
‘Can we give you a ride there?’ asked Leroy.
‘No,’ Pine replied emphatically. ‘No thanks. I can make my own way there.’
‘As you wish,’ said Leroy. ‘Thanks for your time.’
As Leroy and Quinn walked to the front door, Pine called out, ‘Is that it?’
‘For now,’ replied Leroy. ‘If we need any more information, we’ll get back in touch. Otherwise, you have a nice day.’
The two detectives left a speechless David Pine in his apartment and took the stairs down to the street.
‘What do you think?’ Quinn asked, as they walked down the steps to the car.
‘We’ll check at the bar; although if he finished at seven thirty, he had ample time to get up to Malibu. The Hutchinsons’ ordeal didn’t start until much later. But if he was online as he said, then we can check the time he posted stuff, sent emails.’
‘Yeah,’ said Quinn, ‘but he could do all that from his phone in the Hutchinsons’ bedroom.’
‘Could he?’ Leroy rubbed his chin. ‘Well, let’s check that he was at work, then we’ll head down to Anaheim. He said this place was on Robertson and Sunset.’
It took them only ten minutes to get to the bar. At the front of the building, there were two steel doors, both closed. A neon sign in the name of the bar was fixed to the wall above the doors. It was switched off.
‘If he starts in less than an hour, I would have thought somebody would be inside now,’ Leroy said, opening his door. Just then, his phone bleeped. Leroy took the phone off its clip. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘It’s Julia. She never contacts me this time of day. Something must be wrong.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
STILL SITTING IN the Taurus, Leroy took a deep breath and checked Julia’s message.
‘What did she say?’ Quinn asked.
Leroy shook his head and typed a brief reply. ‘The security guard at the school apparently noticed our car parked outside, and walked down to challenge the officers inside. Turned right round again when he saw their badges.’
‘Well, at least you know the lieutenant delivered.’
‘Yeah. I told her she still needs to keep her wits about her, but I don’t want her to suspect it’s any more than some pissed off parent.’ He paused a moment, then tapped the dashboard. ‘Come on, let’s check out Pine.’
They tried the steel doors at the front of the bar, but they were locked. Leroy looked around, and saw the buzzer. He pressed it, noticing that above the button was a small pane of glass behind which was a camera.
‘Yo, who’s there?’ came a voice. Leroy said nothing, just held his badge up to the camera. He waited a few moments then heard a click as one of the steel doors opened. A small Indian man with a gold ring in his left earlobe stood in the door way.
‘LAPD,’ said Leroy. ‘Is your manager in?’
‘I am the manager,’ the little Indian said. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We’re just asking about one of your employees.’
‘Oh, yeah? Which one?’ There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.
/> ‘David Pine. You know him?’
The Indian nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Works behind the bar.’
‘Not in the kitchen? Not a chef?’
The Indian gave a strange little laugh. ‘He helps out in the kitchen sometimes, yeah. What’s all this about?’
‘Was he working two nights ago?’
He shrugged. ‘Probably.’
‘Not probably. Yes or no. Was he working two nights ago?’
‘Sure he was.’
‘What time would he have finished?’
‘’bout seven thirty, I guess.’
‘All right. Can you describe him to me?’
‘Say what?’
‘What does David Pine look like?’
The Indian shrugged again, as if to say don’t ask me. ‘White. About the same size as you, maybe a little shorter. Short, dark hair. Nice ass,’ he added with a grin.
Leroy put his badge away, saying, ‘Okay, that’s all I need for now. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you. What’s your name, by the way?’
The Indian regarded him suspiciously. ‘Red Patel,’ he replied. As soon as Leroy turned to leave, the steel door slammed shut. Leroy joined Quinn who was leaning on the Taurus.
‘He was telling the truth, then?’ Quinn asked, as they both got back into the car. ‘He was there that night?’
Leroy ducked down and peered at the front of the bar. ‘You know, Ray: I think I trust David Pine more than that creep. Yeah, it seems he was there that night, but he could still have gotten up to Malibu in the timeframe.’ He started the engine. ‘Right - next stop Anaheim.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘TELL ME ABOUT this guy we’re going to see,’ said Leroy, as they sped south-east, the I-5 passing over Imperial Highway. He glanced over to his left, saw the sand and brown colonial-style buildings of the Paddison Shopping Center flash by.
Quinn leafed through the folder of notes on his lap. ‘His name’s Harlan Weekes. Twenty-nine years old.’
‘Same as Pine.’
‘Yep. Lives 9000 block on East Whittier. Not actually Anaheim. La Habra.’
‘Same difference. Shouldn’t take us too long to get there. Then we need to go to…where’s the third housed?’
‘Er – Salinas Valley.’
‘Mm,’ Leroy muttered. ‘Might be a long day.’
‘No problem,’ Quinn replied.
‘You sure, Ray?’
‘Yeah, I’m cool.’
‘Why do know about him? How’s he known to us?’ asked Leroy.
Quinn thumbed the notes again. ‘He has form, obviously. He spent two years in California State for aggravated burglary.’
‘That’s interesting. Not too dissimilar to the Hutchinsons?’
‘Not really. Nothing was stolen there, remember.’
‘Maybe they got spooked, left without checking the safe.’
‘I don’t buy that, Sam,’ said Quinn. ‘Doesn’t feel right.’
‘Okay. When did he come out?’
‘Start of last year.’
‘And he’s been clean since then?’
‘U-huh.’
‘Pity. We’ll see what he has to say, anyway.’
*****
For most of their journey, the I-5 runs parallel with the Metrolink 91 Line, the tracks of which run from Union Station in Los Angeles to Riverside. Called the 91 Line as it parallels SR91 from Riverside to Santa Fe Springs, it snakes away from the Freeway for around a mile to accommodate the Norwalk/Santa Fe Springs station. It was at this point that Leroy took the exit ramp and headed into La Habra. In a few short minutes they were on the 9100 block.
The buildings along this street were all one- or two-storey houses, with small yards in front, ranging from totally neglected to neatly maintained, all bordered with traditional chain-linked fencing. The same could be said for the houses.
‘Look over there,’ said Quinn, pointing to the next block. A dark green pickup truck was parked outside one of the houses. A man walked down from one of the houses, threw a large case into the bed, and climbed in.
‘That’s him, I’ll bet,’ said Leroy as the truck started off. Leroy flashed his headlights and let out a single whoop on the siren. Immediately, the truck indicated and pulled in. Leroy and Quinn got out and walked up to the front of the truck, one either side.
‘Turn off the engine, please, sir,’ said Leroy.
The driver, a white man who looked around thirty years old, and had dark hair parted in the middle and growing to just below the ear, muttered something, and leaned to one side to switch off the engine.
‘Harlan Weekes?’ Leroy asked.
‘Yeah,’ Weekes said. ‘What of it?’
Leroy introduced himself and Quinn and asked, ‘We want to ask you a few questions, Harlan.’
Weekes snorted and shook his head. ‘Can’t you fucking people leave me alone? I’ve not been in trouble since I came out, and every other week one of you motherfuckers comes calling on me. So what is it now?’
‘You want to talk here, in the street, or inside?’
‘You know what? I don’t give a shit where we talk. Just get it over with. I got to go to work.’
‘Oh, yeah? Where do you work, Harlan?’
‘At the Park.’
‘Doing what?’
Weekes let out a huge sigh. ‘I’m a Show Production Assistant.’
Leroy nodded. ‘I see. And where were you two nights ago? Between say nine and two.’
‘At home. I was alone. I live alone. So, before you ask, there’s no-one who can validate me. Unless you count the guy downstairs who could hear my TV. The old bastard’s always complaining. Why these questions? What’re you trying to fit me up with this time?’
‘We’re not trying to fit you up with anything.’ Leroy nodded over to the truck bed. ‘What did you just throw in there?’
Weekes raised his eyes. ‘It’s a holdall with my uniforms. I’ve been to the launderette today. I told you: I’m off to work, and I’m gonna be late now.’
‘You can go now,’ said Leroy. As Weekes turned the key, Leroy asked, ‘One more question: what does a Show Production Assistant do?’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ spat Weekes. ‘If you must know, I design guest information brochures. I co-ordinate shows and schedules and times. Okay? Is there anything else?’
Leroy casually shook his head. ‘No. Safe drive to work. Thank you very much.’
‘Well, fuck you very much, too,’ said Weekes, as he pulled away. Once the truck had gone, Leroy stepped over and joined Quinn on the sidewalk.
‘Nice guy,’ Quinn said.
‘Right on. Seems to have a bug up his ass about the police.’
‘What do you reckon, Sam? You believe him?’
‘Let’s see if we can talk to the guy downstairs while we’re here. Then we’ll head up to Salinas Valley.’
Number 9005 was a small two-storey house. A door and two windows were on the front side; on one side of the house was a wooden staircase leading to a small balcony and a white wooden-framed screen door. Leroy and Quinn stepped up to the front door and knocked. In the centre of the door was a small grille, about two inches square. A few seconds after Leroy knocked, a black metal plate behind the grille slid open. A pair of eyes appeared; Leroy could see the man was Asian. He held up his badge in front of the man’s eyes. ‘Sir, could we ask you a one or two questions?’
‘Wait a minute.’ Leroy could hear the sounds of locks and bolts being released before the door opened. It swung open slowly, revealing a small Japanese, no more than four feet six in height.
‘We need to ask you a few questions about Harlan Weekes,’ said Leroy, pointing to the floor above as he spoke. ‘He does live upstairs?’
‘He does, he does, been here nearly six months now.’
‘Do you know him very well?’ Quinn asked.
The little man shook his head. ‘Not really. He keeps himself to himself. Of
course, so do I, I guess. Ever since my wife died last year.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Leroy. ‘Does Harlan have any visitors? A girlfriend, maybe?’
‘Don’t see any visitors from one week to the next. He comes down those steps, gets into that goddam wreck of a pickup, comes back, that’s it.’
‘Do you hear anything from him? Things like if he has his TV on?’ Quinn asked.
‘TV, stereo, i-pods, whatever the things are called; yes, I do.’
Suppressing a grin, Leroy asked, ‘Did you hear anything two nights ago? The TV, I mean.’
‘Two nights ago…yes, I believe I did.’
‘And you’re confident he was in?’ Quinn asked.
‘Who leaves the TV on when they’re out?’ the little man asked. ‘He was in, sir; you can count on it.’
Leroy smiled. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr…?’
‘Takahashi.’ As the little man spoke, he straightened up.
‘Mr Takahashi. Here’s my card, with my cell number. If you recall anything else about the other night, then give me a call.’
‘You want to see his apartment?’
Leroy glanced at Quinn, then answered, ‘I’d like to, but -’
‘I own the whole building. He rents from me. I can let you in with my spare key, if you like.’
Leroy looked over at Quinn, who grinned back. ‘Yes please, Mr Takahashi. You lead the way.’
TWENTY-NINE
‘TAKE CARE HERE, officers,’ cautioned Mr Takahashi, as he led Leroy and Quinn up the wooden staircase. ‘A couple of these steps need replacing.’ Leroy turned and made a gesture to Quinn.
When all three had reached the small wooden balcony, Takahashi pulled open the screen door. Leroy noticed that at the bottom of the door, the mesh was coming away from the wooden frame, on which the white paint was faded and peeling. Takahashi fiddled with a large bunch of keys, put one into the lock and turned it. ‘After you, officers,’ he said, standing to one side.
The first thing Leroy noticed about the room was the smell. It had a thick, sweet, scented odour: as if a lot of air freshener or scented candles or pot pourri had been used to cover another; indeed, under the sweet aroma, he could detect the stale smell of unwashed carpets, curtains, clothes.
