by Philip Cox
‘The one on the left. Treva Sharpe.’ He looked at Quinn. ‘There’s no way he would have even broken in. Forget him for a homicide. His specialty is petty theft – shoplifting, bag snatching.’
‘That’s what Gomez and Thorne figured. This one here…’ Quinn tapped on the face of a thirty-something Asian man. ‘…was charged.’
‘Chuck Wu,’ Leroy read. ‘I don’t know the name. Do you?’ he turned and asked Perez. The lieutenant shook his head.
‘He was charged,’ continued Quinn, ‘but the case was dropped. It was the DA. Said there was insufficient evidence to guarantee a conviction. All they had was that he had previously been arrested for a similar break-in, also in West Hollywood, ten days before. There was physical evidence at that scene, though.’
‘So they decided if he did one break-in, he did the other. What did he plea?’
‘Denied everything.’
‘Because he didn’t do it,’ said Leroy angrily. ‘The same as…’ He stopped himself mid-sentence. ‘Lazy detective work. Who were the detectives? You said Gomez and Thorne. I’ve never heard of them. They would have been from Hollywood Station, yes?’
‘I know them; they’re Hollywood Station,’ said Perez. ‘Or at least were. Nick Gomez and Carter Thorne. Both ex-job, now. Gomez retired, left LA, now enjoying retirement in Boca Raton. Thorne also left the department, acts as a security consultant for some company on Wilshire.’
‘And was it their idea to retire?’ asked Leroy. ‘Or did somebody decide for them?’
‘Their names came up in another investigation - not one of yours - a few months back. I had a long conversation with the lieutenant over in Hollywood. She’d been in post almost six years, and said there had never been any issue with any of their investigations. The case I was discussing with her was before her time, as was this one, but she said she knew of no reason to suspect their diligence in the case.’
‘And if we need to speak with them?’
‘She said she doesn’t personally have any contact details for the one in Florida, but said that Thorne is working for an outfit called Pacific Licensing, on Wilshire and Highland.’
Leroy looked back at Quinn.
‘We’ll go talk to him. I think also we need to speak to the former Mrs Wheat.’
‘Are you sure they’re relevant to your investigation, Sam?’ Perez asked. ‘There’s a danger here of getting side-tracked.’
Leroy looked up at Perez.
‘I’m not sure. But Martin Wheat was murdered. The guy who he was living with was murdered. He was with his now ex-wife at the time. I just think it would be worthwhile talking to them both, just for background, if nothing else.’
Perez pushed himself off the screen he was leaning on.
‘Okay. Well, keep me posted, guys.’ As he moved to leave, he stopped and said, ‘While you’re here, Sam, can you give me a few minutes?’
‘You got it,’ said Leroy, standing up. ‘Ray, can you see if you can get an address for Alicia Kuschner Wheat. That might not be her name now. Check DMV.’
Quinn nodded and swung back to his keyboard while Leroy followed Perez back to the lieutenant’s office. In the office, Perez sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. Leroy leaned in the doorway.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Everything okay, Sam?’ Perez asked.
‘Er – yeah,’ Leroy replied, suspicion in his voice. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘Ray says you saw a house today.’
Leroy sat down.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I did.’
‘Why now? I thought you liked where you live.’
‘I do, but I want more than a second floor apartment.’
‘So, let me get this right: you’re tired of living in an apartment in Venice, so you want to move to a house.’ He paused for effect. ‘In Venice?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But I like Venice.’
‘Tell me about this house.’
Leroy gave him a rundown; he could have been reciting the real estate agent’s description.
Perez asked, ‘You like it, then?’
‘Like it? I put in an offer for it.’
‘No shit? How much, between you and me?’
‘One point two.’
Perez whistled.
‘Joderme. You can manage that?’
‘I can. I’ve arranged a mortgage for the first time in my life, plus there’s that money I was left.’
‘You haven’t blown it already?’
‘Not a penny. What would I spend it on?’
‘I don’t know. You need to find yourself a woman.’
‘I see women.’
‘I don’t mean you need to get laid. I mean, settle down with a woman. Your last was that teacher?’
Leroy nodded.
‘That must have been years ago.’
Leroy nodded again.
‘You seem very unsettled, Sam. You need to settle down. Like young Ray out there.’
‘Well, young Ray out there might not be settled down for much longer.’
‘Oh? How so?’
Leroy gave Perez an abridged rundown on what he knew about Quinn’s marital difficulties.
‘But you didn’t get that from me,’ he added.
‘Oh, shit,’ was all that Perez could say.
Leroy stood.
‘If that’s it,’ he said, ‘I’ll get back to Martin Wheat.’
Perez nodded; as Leroy was about to open the office door, he asked, ‘What about the other case?’
‘Which other case?’ Leroy asked.
Perez looked Leroy in the eye.
‘How long have we known each other, Sam? The other case.’
Leroy closed the door again.
‘How…?’
‘Ray didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Leroy shrugged.
‘I’ve just started on it.’ He gave Perez a second rundown, beginning with the call from Jasmine Washington.
‘Do it if you must,’ said Perez, ‘but don’t go pissing in somebody else’s pool.’
‘I won’t. You know me.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Just be careful.’
Leroy turned to leave again, but Perez called out again.
‘Yes, Lieutenant?’ said Leroy wearily.
‘When was the last time you went back to New York? Saw your family?’
Leroy shrugged again.
‘A few months, I guess. Last Christmas, or the Christmas before.’
‘It’s a holiday next week. Memorial Day, isn’t it? Why not take Friday off - you’re owed a shit load of hours - and go see them? You’ve had no serious personal time for ages.’
‘But…’
‘Martin Wheat will still be dead next Tuesday. Young Ray can look after things here. Or are you saying you don’t trust him to?’
‘No, I’m not, but -’
‘So that’s settled. I’ll log you as being on vacation Friday. Go see your folks, go buy that house, and get yourself together. Yes?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On leaving the station lot, Leroy and Quinn made straight for Wilshire Boulevard, and took Wilshire all the way to Highland. At the intersection, there was a small shopping center at the north west corner; across Wilshire was a small lot with a 7/11 and Starbucks; across Highland from there was an art gallery, and on the fourth corner, a ten storey office building, constructed with brown marble and black glass. Leroy parked in the shopping center, outside Subway.
‘Let’s get coffee first,’ he said, before leading Quinn across to the Starbucks. They drank their coffees outside, leaning on the empty high circular tables.
On the way there, they had talked about what they were hoping to achieve that morning.
‘So what are you hoping to get from Carter Thorne?’ Quinn asked.
Leroy eased away from a red as he replied.
‘Not sure. It’ll be a case of we’ll know it when we see it. Everything about the c
ase is in the murder book, but we could use getting his perspective on it; what vibes he got from the witnesses, what he actually thought. Things that won’t be on the file.’
‘There’s always the chance that he won’t remember anything about the case,’ said Quinn.
‘There is. Even if he does, he might tell us he can’t.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Just to get one up on the Department. I’ve known several ex-cops who, even though they left on good terms, inside they still had a bug up their ass about something, about some petty injustice years back, so they make a decision never to do the Department any favours.’
Quinn nodded.
‘Okay. And the first Mrs Wheat?’
‘Same really. She probably won’t know that her ex-husband is dead; not sure how she’ll react. She may genuinely not know much, if anything, about Underwood.’
‘She might not know he existed. Might not have appreciated it if Wheat had told her that he had been living with a man previously.’
‘She may not. That’s gonna be an interesting conversation. Here’s La Brea: we’re almost there.’
As they stood outside Starbucks, leaning on the tables, Quinn asked, ‘So how did it go with the house?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ Leroy beamed. ‘I made an offer.’
‘No shit. Did they accept?’
‘I think they will. They’re an old couple, looking to move to Glendale.’
‘Not far, then.’
‘No, not the Glendale here. There’s a Glendale in Phoenix, Arizona.’
‘Never knew that.’
‘Me neither. The woman said their son and his family live there, so they want to be near their grandchildren. They told me a guy went round a couple days back, but the agent hadn’t heard anything from him. I offered the full asking price – I know I shouldn’t have done that – so I’m optimistic.’
‘And you don’t have a place to sell yourself.’
Leroy agreed.
‘That’s why I’m in a good position; all I have to do is give notice to the owner of my building. If he can’t find a new tenant for a while, it’s not my problem. The lawyers and mortgage company are on standby.’
‘How much you paying?’
‘For the house? One point two.’
‘Fuck me.’
‘That’s exactly what Perez said. How much did you pay for yours?’
Quinn thought for a moment.
‘Seven fifty, seven sixty. Forget the exact figure.’
‘There you go. That was eight, nine years ago? Take into account inflation, and you’re getting there.’
‘What about the mortgage?’
‘Eight hundred at two point nine four for thirty years. I’m only gonna be paying a tad more than I’m paying now.’
‘And you’ll make a profit when you sell it.’
‘You got it. Renting’s dead money, Ray.’ He downed the last of his Americano. ‘Come on; let’s go see our ex-fellow officer.’
They walked across to the opposite corner. A stainless steel sign proclaiming this was the location for Pacific Licensing stood on the edge of the sidewalk, at the beginning of a path between two raised flowerbeds. They hurried along the path to avoid getting caught by the spray as the flowerbeds were being watered.
The building was deceptively large inside. From the street, one got the impression of only a modest footprint; inside was a large and spacious atrium. In a red brick-edged raised flowerbed, which matched the two outside stood a gigantic trellis, covered in trailing ivy, to around the fifth floor. To the right of the glass entrance door was the doorman’s desk. A man stood the other side of the desk, looking over at Leroy and Quinn as they walked in. It looked as if he was glad of the interruption. He was smartly dressed in a black uniform and tie, complemented by a crisp white shirt. The name badge on his chest read Clyde.
‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ he asked, politely. Leroy and Quinn flashed their badges and the man swallowed when he saw who they were.
‘We need to talk to Carter Thorne,’ said Leroy, slipping his badge into his back pocket.
Clyde began scrolling down his screen.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said nervously. ‘I don’t have that name here.’
Leroy sighed and Quinn said, ‘He might not be on your employee list. He’s the Head of Security.’
Clyde frowned and shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know. I’ve only been here a few weeks. I’ve not seen a Head of Security, and that name I do not recognise.’
‘Would your supervisor know?’ Leroy asked. ‘Could you ask him? Or her,’ he added.
‘I’ll ask her,’ Clyde said. He touch dialled a number, and turned his back on Leroy and Quinn while he spoke sotto voce to his supervisor. Turning back, he said, ‘My supervisor will be out to see you presently.’
Leroy nodded, he and Quinn taking a few steps back from the desk. A few moments later, a petite Asian woman with jet black shoulder length hair, matching skirt, pantyhose, and shoes, with crisp white blouse, appeared. She held out a hand.
‘Shirley Ng,’ she smiled. ‘How can I help you? Clyde said you are looking for Carter Thorne.’
‘Yes, we are,’ said Leroy as he showed her his badge. ‘He does work here?’
‘No, I’m afraid he doesn’t. Not anymore, anyway.’
‘Really.’
‘Yes. He left just after Christmas, I think it was. That was why Clyde didn’t know who he was.’
‘Do you know where he went to?’ asked Quinn.
‘Yes, he moved to the Museum on Hancock Park.’
‘LACMA?’
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘The tar pits.’
‘Still on Wilshire,’ said Quinn.
‘Doing what?’ Leroy asked.
‘The same. The same as here. In charge of security. But a smaller place,’ she added, smiling. ‘Less responsibility.’
‘The tar pits,’ replied Leroy. ‘Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Shirley Ng smiled, then turned and walked off.
Leroy sighed and turned to leave. Two steps later he called out, ‘Oh, Ms Ng: just one more question.’
She stopped and smiled at Leroy again. Took a few steps towards them.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you know why he left here?’
She glanced over to Clyde to make sure he was not listening then said in a whisper, ‘He didn’t get on with the CEO. They had a few arguments about something.’
‘I see,’ nodded Leroy. ‘Not a good career move.’ He paused. ‘Thank you again.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she smiled again, and left.
Quinn waved a thank you and goodbye to Clyde as they left the building. Back on the sidewalk, Leroy donned his shades as the noon sun was beating down on them.
‘You ever been there before?’ Quinn asked, as Leroy pulled into the Wilshire Boulevard traffic.
‘Where?’ In there?’
‘No. The tar pits.’
‘Once, years back. When I first moved out here, I did all the tourist crap. You?’
‘No. Never.’
‘It’s quite interesting. If you find that stuff interesting.’
‘Maybe I’ll come back one day.’
‘Cool. You can see where they dug up the captain.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The camel wandered across the plain, sniffing at the ground, nibbling and grazing at the long tufts of grass. Every now and then it would raise its head to look around, sniffing the air for any signs of danger. The ground was hard and dry as there had been no rain for months. Even the camel’s legendary hump was becoming depleted; it needed to find water to replenish.
Raising its head once more, it could see water in the distance, behind a crop of bushes. Still grazing as it made its journey, it slowly headed over.
As it got nearer the pool, it broke into a trot: once here, it could quench its immediate thirst and replenish its
supplies. On reaching the pool, it stepped into the black water and lowered its head to drink.
Immediately its tongue made contact, the camel recoiled: this was not water. It tried to lift its feet, but could not: the camel’s legs were mired in the sticky, black asphalt. The camel brayed, fighting against the sticky mix, but the more it struggled the more the tar pulled it in. For hours, it struggled, until it was exhausted: now it remained still, the lower half of its body submerged.
Its cries, however, had attracted the attention of an unwelcome visitor. A large cat slunk through the long grass in the direction of the pool. It reached the edge of the pool, and stood silently, staring at the camel, which was now struggling to escape, from both the asphalt, and the sabre-toothed cat.
Finally, the cat could wait no longer: it leapt at the struggling camel, taking a hold of the animal’s neck. The camel writhed even more, trying to shake the cat off. It partially succeeded: now the predator was in the pool, its claws still in the camel’s neck, trying to hold on and pull itself out of the sticky tar. Eventually, it too succumbed, too exhausted to move.
The following morning, a teratorn, a condor-like bird with a wingspan of twelve feet, circled, gradually descending to settle on the branch of a dead tree next to the pool. It settled down and watched the cat and the camel.
The teratorn was patient: it could wait. Its prey wasn’t going anywhere.
*****
Fast forward twelve thousand years and Sam Leroy was parking the black city Taurus some thirty feet away. The tar lake was still there: the remains of the sabre-toothed cat and the camel had been extracted from the lake, and were in the museum.
The asphalt lakes were first chronicled in the mid eighteenth century by a Spanish priest named Father Juan Crespi. Ten years later, the Pueblo of Los Angeles was founded under the Spanish flag; in the early nineteenth century, Mexico was granted independence from Spain. Thirty years later, after the war between the US and Mexico, California was annexed and became the thirty-first state of the United States. The area, now known as Rancho la Brea, eventually became the property of the Hancock family, who developed it into an asphalt mine. Over the years, the area, now known as Hancock Park, developed into one of the most unusual tourist destinations in the city.
Leroy slammed the door shut and looked over at one of the lakes. The top half of a mammoth, with long, curling tusks, rose from the tar. You could smell the asphalt from the parking lot. A museum employee was leading a group of fourth grade children and their teacher alongside the fence around one of the lakes, pausing to explain something about the statue of a mastodon which stood on a mound, as if surveying the park.
