Wrong Time to Die (Sam Leroy Book 2)

by Philip Cox

  Quinn continued, ‘Once he’s killed, he considers the mission over. He would normally leave the body intact, and would carry out the attack in a blitz pattern. The crime scene would be chaotic, and there would be physical evidence left behind.’

  ‘And conversely,’ Leroy said, looking over at the second column.

  ‘Conversely,’ Quinn continued, ‘the organised non-social offender would an above average IQ, probably in the 105 to 120 range.’

  ‘Superior.’

  ‘U-huh. They would be socially adequate; they live with a partner or date frequently. They had a stable father figure, but suffered physical abuse.’

  ‘From the father?’ Leroy asked.

  Quinn nodded. ‘Maybe; maybe the mother; maybe a sibling.

  ‘They would be occupationally and/or geographically mobile, and would follow the news media.

  ‘They are very intelligent, probably college educated.

  ‘They have good hygiene; they prefer to work at night, and would drive a flashy car.’

  Leroy pointed up to the next characteristic. ‘“They need to return to the crime scene to see what the police have done.” Then “Usually contact police to play games.” That’s what Calloway said, and why they left that Ecstasy tablet: to play with us. That’s it there: “a police groupie or wanabee.”’

  Quinn continued, ‘He would kill at one site, and dispose of the body at another; he may dismember the body; he would attack using seduction into restraints; he would hold a conversation with the victim. He would leave a controlled crime scene, a little physical evidence.’

  ‘Mm.’ Leroy stood back and studied the columns. ‘But some of the characteristics we already identified are from both lists. We think our man has a high IQ, but Harlan Weekes had a crappy pickup.’

  Quinn added, ‘And both the bodies were left on site; and they were killed at night.’

  ‘Yeah. Between 11PM and 3AM is the most common time to be murdered, statistically.’

  ‘The bodies were certainly mutilated,’ said Quinn. ‘Deliberately and precisely.’

  ‘Their hands were tied behind their backs,’ said Leroy. ‘And was the crime scene chaotic or controlled? It looked chaotic, but was probably deliberately arranged that way. And there was no physical evidence left – only the Ecstasy, and that was probably left there, by one clever son of a bitch.’

  ‘Another thing, Sam,’ said Quinn. ‘Your theory that the killer was somebody whom Hutchinson abused years back doesn’t fit in with the normal profile, which is low to mid thirties.’

  ‘Yeah,’ murmured Leroy. ‘We’re adrift by a few years.’

  ‘At least, considering he was probably behind a desk while he was CEO.’

  Leroy sniffed, pulled a face at the whiteboard.

  Quinn said, ‘Remember, Sam, the offenders only tend to exhibit these characteristics.’

  Leroy nodded. ‘I know, yeah.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘That’s good work, Ray, really good work.’

  Quinn grunted and nodded.

  Leroy said, ‘Let’s hit this fresh Monday morning. Sleep on it over the weekend, hope there aren’t any more, and head straight for Avalon Monday.’

  Both detectives stepped back to their desks. Leroy turned round and looked at the whiteboard one more time.

  ‘This is going to get messy; I can feel it.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE PREVIOUS DAY had been the thirty-fifth birthday of Dr Russell Hobson, one of LA County Coroner’s Medical Examiners, and an old friend of Sam Leroy. They were born within weeks of each other, both grew up in the same New York borough, both went to the same High School, both played on the same streets. In their twenties, Leroy joined the NYPD, and Hobson went to medical school, from which he joined the City of Chicago Coroner’s Office. He and Leroy had lost touch over the years, and it was by sheer coincidence that some eighteen months after Leroy joined the LAPD, Hobson saw an advertisement for an ME in Los Angeles. This was just after a particularly severe winter; Hobson had had enough of shovelling snow, so he applied for the position, was successful, so he and Talia, his partner of seven years, moved west. Three weeks into his new job, who should he bump into in the corridor of the Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center, but his old alumni, Samuel Thomas Leroy.

  Hobson had arranged an evening at the Staples Center, at the Wolfgang Puck Bar and Grill. They met at the bar at 7:50, ordered mojitos, and sat down to eat half an hour later.

  ‘Couldn’t young Raymond come tonight, Sam?’ asked Hobson, referring to Leroy’s partner. ‘Or did you send him to Phoenix or somewhere?’

  ‘Why would I send him to Phoenix?’ replied Leroy after chewing a particularly succulent mouthful of grilled chicken.

  ‘Well,’ said Hobson with a large grin, ‘Catalina, San Diego, Soledad. I just figured…’

  ‘No,’ said Leroy. ‘He’d like to come, but Holly insisted they go to some dinner party of her father’s.’

  ‘Gee, that’s too bad. How is the leather business these days?’ He looked over at Talia. ‘Ray Quinn’s father-in-law owns a leather goods business out of - where is it, Sam?’

  Leroy stopped chewing to think. ‘Somewhere Downtown, I think.’

  Hobson continued, ‘Wherever. His wife’s an only child, so when Henry Meriwether II passes on, young Raymond will move into the leather sofa business.’

  ‘Unless he’s Commissioner by then,’ Leroy added.

  ‘Sam,’ Julia chided him. ‘That’s not nice. Ray’s a sweetie.’

  The four of them laughed.

  Hobson turned to Talia, ‘You remember him at Ray’s wedding, honey? The speech? Little guy, white moustache.’

  Talia shook her head. ‘Of course I don’t. Don’t you remember?’ She looked over to Julia. ‘Russ had to go on his own. I had chronic morning sickness that night.’

  Julia pulled a face.

  Leroy asked, ‘Who’s looking after the boys tonight, anyway?’

  ‘They’re having a sleepover at one of their friends tonight,’ replied Talia. She looked at her watch. ‘Though there won’t be much sleeping. More like watching TV all night. We’re going out for a family meal tomorrow.’

  ‘Anywhere nice?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Somewhere at CityWalk,’ Hobson said. ‘Not sure where; we’ll decide - or rather the boys will decide - when we get there.’

  ‘Who’s for dessert?’ Hobson asked, as a waiter hovered by his side.

  They checked the dessert menu and ordered.

  ‘I’m going to have the Apple and Toasted Almond Crumble Pie,’ said Julia.

  Talia said, ‘The 50/50 Sundae for me.’

  ‘Mm,’ Julia purred. ‘With Tangerine Granita and Marscapone Whipped Cream. That does sound nice.’ She looked up at the waiter, who stood poised with pen in hand. ‘No, I’ll stick with the Pie.’

  ‘I’ll have the New York Cheesecake,’ said Leroy.

  ‘Make that two.’ Hobson passed the menus back to the waiter. ‘We New York boys have to stick together.’

  Julia and Talia both slowly shook their heads in resignation.

  ‘Be fair now,’ Leroy grinned. ‘It does come with Farmer’s Market Berries.’

  ‘I need the bathroom,’ said Julia. She looked over at Talia, who picked up her purse and accompanied her.

  Once the women had left, Hobson refilled all their glasses. ‘How’s the case going, Sam?’

  Leroy swirled his glass. ‘To be honest, we seem to be going around in circles. The latest line of enquiry is that,’ - he paused as two fellow diners walked by – ‘is that Hutchinson worked for a kids’ charity before he retired, and abused one or more of them, and got payback. It’s a theory, but there are a lot of holes in it.’

  ‘He’s retired, you say?’

  ‘Two, three years back. Why?’

  ‘No reason in particular. It’s just that we’ve had a few retired people - men – in the lab recently. Nothing unusual in that, obviously, but unusual suicides, if you see what I mean.’r />
  ‘No; not really.’

  ‘Let me give you an example. The one we had the other day was a guy in his late sixties. When I carried out an autopsy, the last thing he ate was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Quite recently.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He died of an anaphylactic reaction to the sandwich.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘He was allergic to peanuts.’

  ‘So why would he eat a PB and J sandwich?’

  ‘Good question,’ Hobson said. ‘There was no question of him having been force fed the sandwich; he must have known it would kill him. We checked his medical records and they showed that he had been severely allergic all his life. Nearly died from it when he was a child.’

  ‘I can think of better ways to end it all,’ said Leroy, lowering his voice as Julia and Talia returned.

  ‘Me too,’ Hobson agreed.

  *****

  After the meal they had the choice of either Club Nokia, or the Conga Room, both of which were located close by. They chose the Conga Room, and spent the next hour listening to two very loud Latin bands.

  At just after two, the cab dropped Leroy and Julia outside Leroy’s apartment.

  ‘Brandy?’ Leroy asked, as Julia flopped onto the couch and kicked off her shoes. She nodded.

  Leroy poured two and sat down beside her. They both took a sip, swirling the deep golden liquid in their mouths.

  Throatily, Julia whispered, ‘Let’s finish these in there.’

  In the bedroom, they stood facing each other at the foot of the bed. Silently, Leroy’s mouth met Julia’s as his hands reached down to the back of her dress and slowly pulled down her zipper. By now, Julia had found his buckle and was undoing his belt. As she undid it, she could feel he was ready for her. In seconds they were unclothed and lying on the bed. Julia rested her head on one of the pillows while Leroy ran his lips and tongue down her neck, teasing her with his tongue as he explored every inch of her breasts. Eventually he moved further down; her back arched and she cried out as he teased her again.

  When they were done, he turned and lay on his back. ‘Where’s that brandy?’ he asked, reaching over Julia’s glistening body to pick up his glass. She ran her hand through her wet hair.

  ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said after ten minutes. ‘Don’t go anywhere, mister.’

  *****

  It was gone noon when they both got up. Julia mixed up two platefuls of eggs, and Leroy made the coffee.

  ‘I’m going to need to head back to mine soon,’ Julia said after her second cup of coffee. ‘I have a pile of assignments to mark, plus prepare a lesson for tomorrow.’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘No problem. I’ll drop you when we’re done here.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I need to clean the car for a start. Inside and out.’

  Julia looked around. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to do the same here. You know, there’s this machine you can buy now; it’s called a vacuum cleaner.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

  ‘You can even get robot ones,’ she continued, taking the plates to the kitchen.

  ‘I know; four hundred bucks. I checked.’

  Julia sighed and padded into the bathroom.

  *****

  After dropping Julia at her apartment building, Leroy did take the Taurus through the carwash, filled up with gas, and checked the tyre pressures and oil levels. Back home, he cleaned out the interior, pausing to have one last glance at the copy of the Bakersfield Clarion which he had picked up on the way to the State Prison. Of course, he did possess a vacuum cleaner, and actually used it, promising himself he would look at getting himself a cleaner. He could afford it, after all.

  There was a ball game on television that evening, and Leroy sprawled on his couch with a bottle of beer. Unless he was with Julia, on a Sunday evening he would tend to think through the case or cases he and Quinn were working on, and sometimes much to Holly’s annoyance, would phone Quinn to discuss his thoughts.

  However, the Hutchinson case was different: he was right when he told Hobson he felt they were going round in circles. Therefore, he and Quinn had agreed to give the case a full 60 hour break this weekend, and approach it fresh at the beginning of next week. They were returning to Catalina Monday morning, so needed an early start.

  He fell asleep by the end of the third quarter. ‘Screw it,’ he muttered, downed the last of his beer, switched off the television, and went to bed. Once in bed, though, he broke his own promise, and began thinking about the case. He had that nagging feeling that something was staring them in the face.

  But what the hell was it?

  THIRTY-NINE

  UNDER CALIFORNIA LAW, although a search warrant is issued on behalf of the state, or more precisely the prosecuting agency, it is actually signed and issued by a judge. The purpose of having a judge issue the warrant instead of the police or District Attorney is to ensure a neutral, detached individual evaluates the circumstances.

  Probable cause is a legal phrase. Before a judge issues a search warrant, he or she must have probable cause to do so. This means the judge must have a reasonable belief that criminal activity is taking or has taken place. Before finding that probable cause exists, the judge may question, under oath, the state prosecutor, the investigating officer, and any witnesses. These affidavits may be written or oral, and presented in person, over the telephone, by fax or even email.

  Before Leroy got off to sleep the night before, in spite of his intention not to do so, he thought through the facts of the case. He still had this niggling feeling that both he and Quinn were missing something; he rubbed his eyes and yawned: quite often this missing piece came to him eventually. Maybe it was to do with Hutchinson’s past: the line of enquiry that his murder was some kind of sick revenge carried out by somebody he had abused in the past had a lot of merit. In fact that was the only feasible line of enquiry they had at this time. He did a couple of mental calculations: the ages would be about right. He was convinced now that the Avalon Mission held the key to Hutchinson’s history.

  He reached back and massaged his shoulder; groaned out loud. Now he could foresee a problem. He and Quinn needed to check whatever records the Mission held for details of children Hutchinson would have come into contact with, but he could bet an ounce of sugar to a pound of shit that Prescott would not release that information voluntarily. They need a warrant. Damn. He would have enough of a problem convincing Lieutenant Perez of the need for a warrant, let alone a judge.

  He reached over for his phone and texted Quinn to meet him at the office, not the ferry terminal. Then turned over and fell asleep.

  *****

  Monday morning, and they were on the 11:15 ferry from Catalina Express Long Beach Terminal, Leroy not believing his good fortune. ‘You must be joking,’ Lieutenant Perez had exclaimed at first when Leroy explained his theory. ‘The words straws and clutching seem to spring to mind.’

  ‘Just think about it, Roman,’ Leroy had said, leaning over the lieutenant’s desk. He then elucidated why he felt this was the best line to follow, and how he would come up against a brick wall without the information. ‘After all,’ he had added, ‘there hasn’t been a second murder like this, has there? So we can’t be talking about a serial killer, can we?’

  Perez looked up at him.

  ‘In our accepted sense of the phrase,’ Leroy added.

  Perez leaned on his desk, covering his face with both hands momentarily. He exhaled loudly. Looking up at Leroy, he said, ‘Well, we could run it by Judge Prosky, I guess. He does tend to err on our side.’

  Leroy stood up, and nodded, grinning.

  ‘I’ll give it a try,’ Perez said, waving Leroy away. ‘Get out of here and email me the facts. Then I’ll contact the judge.’

  ‘On it right now.’ Leroy hurried out of the lieutenant’s office.

  Perez watched Leroy leave. ‘Just what I need at 8:30 Monday morning,’ he groaned softly.

>   *****

  Fortune must have smiled on them that morning as Judge Prosky had accepted the facts in the affidavit Perez emailed over, as now Leroy and Quinn were headed back to Catalina.

  While Quinn drove them down to the Long Beach Terminal Leroy put a call into Deputy Sheriff Max Ferrer. Quinn heard him explain to the deputy that they were returning to Avalon and what they were after, then hang up the call.

  ‘What did he say?’ Quinn asked.

  ‘I told him why we were returning to the island; he just said “Whatever” and hung up. Nice.’

  ‘Did he sound pissed off?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell from one word, three syllables. Anyhow, we’ve told him, kept him in the loop, followed the correct protocol. I don’t give a rat’s ass if he’s pissed off.’

  *****

  Before long, the domed roof of the casino loomed into view once more. As the ferry - this time the Islander Express - began to slow from its top speed of 32 knots, and the island drew closer and closer, Leroy looked out at the approaching harbour. He squinted slightly as he tried to make out the cars waiting by the water. There were three waiting: extremely unusual in itself, given the restriction on automobiles. He was more likely to see golf carts or towncar compacts waiting. It was one of the trio of cars which caught Leroy’s eyes: black with white doors and roof. It looked suspiciously like the car Deputy Sheriff Ferrer had met them in the other day. Leroy said nothing to Quinn, but inwardly groaned at the prospect of Ferrer meeting them off the boat.

  The boat docked, and the passengers began to disembark, Leroy and Quinn being in the middle of the hundred or so people on this journey. As the two detectives set foot onto dry land, Leroy noticed the black and white car head off, the opposite direction to the casino, past a children’s playground and a volleyball court and round a bend out of view.

  Leroy said nothing. They started to walk, taking the same route as they had before.

  ‘Get a coffee first?’ Quinn asked, as they approached CC Gallagher one more time.

  Leroy paused a beat. ‘No; let’s just get up there and serve the warrant. We can pick up some food to go when we’re done.’