by Philip Cox
‘My grandmother lives there. I was taking her some groceries.’
‘How long has your grandmother lived there?’
‘Two years. Did you knock on her door? She doesn’t speak English.’
‘I gathered that. Does the building have a manager, or a superintendent?’
‘Yeah, the super lives round the corner. Just where you were standing.’
‘What door number?’ Quinn asked.
‘One, I think.’
‘Okay,’ said Leroy. ‘We’ll give you a ride back to Granny.’
Fang pushed himself away from the wall and brushed himself down.
‘No fucking way, man.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Leroy put his sunglasses back on and returned to the car. They reversed back onto the street and returned to Bernard, parking where they had been before. As they walked round to the superintendent’s door, they noticed Fang picking up his grandmother’s groceries.
They knocked on the door to apartment One. A short, paunchy Asian man opened the door. He was in his forties, dressed in a vest and sweatpants. He was smoking a cigarette.
‘Detective Leroy, Detective Quinn, LAPD. You the super?’ Leroy asked.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘We’re looking for Chuck Wu,’ Leroy said, slipping his badge back into his pocket. ‘We have Apartment Three as his last address. But an old lady lives there now.’
‘Chuck Wu. Yes, he move out.’
‘When? Where’d he move to?’
‘Year or so back. Couldn’t pay his rent, so I say to leave.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Last I heard he was on the streets.’
‘I see. You threw him out and he’s on the streets?’
‘He had no money. Couldn’t pay his rent. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Thanks for your time, sir. Enjoy your day.’
Back in the car, Leroy rested his head on the back of the seat.
‘Shit,’ he said, resignedly. ‘There are thousands out there, on the streets. We’ll never find him.’
‘It was only a shot in the dark,’ Quinn said.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Leroy, sitting up. He took out his phone, and called their Station Watch Commander. ‘Double R,’ he asked. ‘Could you put out a call, and see if any patrols are aware of a guy called Chuck Wu? I think he may be living on the streets in the Central City East area. Some of the patrols might have spoken to him, picked him up for something, maybe. Outside shot, I know. That’s great, brother. I appreciate it.’ He ended the call, and turned to Quinn. ‘You heard that.’
‘I did. He’s gonna put out a call?’
‘We just have to wait. Why don’t we grab something to eat while we wait? It’s not worth going back to the station. We’ll give Ronny an hour.’
‘Fine by me. I’m famished anyway. Anywhere in mind?’
‘As we’re in Chinatown…’
‘Tacos, then.’
*****
They ended up in Gigo’s Café and Deli, on Broadway. Leroy ordered a Rare Steak Noodle Soup, and Quinn a Shredded Pork and Veggie Roll.
‘It’s Memorial Day next week,’ Leroy said, taking a mouthful of noodles.
‘Yeah,’ Quinn sighed. ‘Holly wants us to go over to her old man’s.’
Leroy laughed.
‘This’ll blow you. I’m going to be in New York at the weekend. Flying out Friday.’
Quinn nearly choked.
‘You’re kidding! Since when?’
‘Since Perez told me to take some time out. I’m taking Friday as a vacation day.’
‘But what about Wheat?’
‘As the lieutenant said, Martin Wheat will still be dead. And there’s stuff you can be getting on with while I’m gone.’
‘So you’re gonna be staying with your folks?’
‘With my mom, yes, so I’ll get to see her, and my sister and her kids.’
‘That’s cool, Sam. How old are your niece and nephew?’
Before Leroy could answer, Ronny Rosenberg rang back. Leroy listened, thanked him, and looked up at Quinn.
‘Two patrol officers know him. They’re gonna meet us near where he was last seen. On San Pedro and Fifth. Eat up, Ray.’
When Leroy and Quinn arrived, a patrol car was parked on the corner. On their arrival, both uniformed officers got out. The primary officer made the introductions.
‘Officer Rollins,’ she said, ‘and this is Officer Mason.’
They shook hands. Leroy looked around. They were on the corner of San Pedro and East Fifth Streets: as far as the eye could see each way, were rows of tents on the sidewalks. Some were purpose built tents, others were makeshift: crates or store carts piled against the wall, covered with tarpaulin. The kerbs were lined with cardboard boxes, and across the other side of the road a city sanitation van was parked, its two occupants hosing down the gutter. They were dressed in white jumpsuits, gloves and visors.
‘Hepatitis and Typhus are common down here,’ said Rollins. ‘The city provides restrooms, but they’re closed at night, so they just urinate and defecate in the street. Rats everywhere.’
‘I had no idea,’ said Leroy.
‘What precinct are you guys from?’ Mason asked.
‘West LA,’ replied Leroy.
‘Welcome to our world,’ said Rollins.
‘Doesn’t anyone do anything for them?’ asked Quinn.
‘Do what? Some local churches and missions and charities do what they can, but it’s never enough. They provide food as best they can, or shelters, but there’s a limit. A lot of them here prefer to get high than eat.’
Leroy sniffed. The streets smelled of stale urine. Rollins noticed.
‘That smell is everywhere. Like I said, the charities do what we can, but this is down to City Hall.’
Leroy tried to change the subject.
‘You know where to find Chuck Wu?’
‘Yeah, I think so. A Chuck Wu: it might not be the one you’re looking for.’
‘Our one is early thirties.’
‘Could be. We saw him last around this block, along San Pedro.’
Rollins and Mason slowly led Leroy and Quinn down the street, looking at all the faces, pausing to look inside one of the tents.
‘It’s like a refugee camp,’ said Quinn.
‘Worse than that,’ Mason said grimly. ‘Most here have other issues: drug, alcohol, mental. You think the streets are full: you should have seen what it was like before the pandemic.’
‘I can’t imagine,’ said Quinn, quietly.
‘How do you know Chuck Wu?’ Leroy asked Rollins.
‘If it’s who I’m thinking of, I think he’s been picked up a number of times for dealing.’
‘Dealing what?’
‘Mainly crystal meth. You can get it for a couple bucks; buy twenty dollars’ worth, then cut it into smaller pieces to use or sell on.’
A man with Rastafarian hair passed them by going in the opposite direction. As he passed, he was tweaking, his legs twitching as he walked as he madly scratched at his face.
‘He’s coming down from a high,’ Rollins explained.
Leroy shook his head sadly, carefully stepping over a pile of human faeces. They were nearly at Sixth. Mason paused. Between two tents, and sitting on a battered collapsible chair was a man, oily black hair to his shoulders and a black goatee. He seemed to be asleep, listening to the antique ghetto blaster. Leroy recognised it as Supertramp singing The Logical Song.
‘Here you are, Detectives,’ said Officer Mason. ‘This is Chuck Wu.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rollins took two strides over to Chuck Wu and shook him by the shoulder.
‘Chuck, wake up.’
Wu opened his eyes, looked around disoriented, then recognised Rollins and Mason.
‘Yeah, what?’ He blinked repeatedly while his eyes got used to the sun.
‘These two detectives here want to ask you some questions,’ Rollins said. ‘You’re not in any trouble.’ She looke
d over at Leroy. ‘Is he?’
Leroy shook his head.
‘No, we just need to ask you a couple things. See if you know anything.’
‘Don’t know nothing.’ Wu folded his arms and settled back down to sleep. Leroy looked over at Rollins.
‘Chuck, just listen to what they have to say, and if you can answer his questions, that’s okay. If you can’t, that’s okay too. Maybe they’ll buy you some lunch.’
Wu opened his eyes again and looked Leroy and Quinn down.
‘Okay,’ he said, standing up. ‘Let’s go.’
At that moment, there was a scream from across the street. The four officers swung round. A bare breasted woman, wearing only a pair of denim shorts, which were torn at the back revealing one of her buttocks, was running down in the direction of Fifth Street. She narrowly avoided being hit by a vehicle.
‘We need to deal with this,’ said Rollins urgently. She leaned forward to speak to Leroy. ‘Buy him actual food. Don’t just give him money; that just goes on meth or booze.’
‘No problem,’ nodded Leroy as she and Mason ran off after the topless woman.
‘Want something to eat?’ Leroy asked.
‘Yeah, why not,’ Wu mumbled.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Leroy asked. ‘We’re hardly spoilt for choice here,’ he muttered to Quinn as they all crossed over.
Wu turned round as he crossed.
‘There’s a 7/11 around the corner.’
They turned the corner into Fifth. There was indeed a 7/11 halfway down the block, but there was also a burrito truck opposite.
‘Have a burrito, Chuck,’ said Leroy. ‘Better than some shit from a 7/11.’
‘Burrito’s good.’
Wu leaned on a Los Angeles Free Press dispenser while Quinn went to the truck. He walked back and gave Wu the shredded beef burrito and a bottle of water.
‘Water?’ Wu asked, his mouth full of burrito. ‘I wanted a beer.’
‘Have the water,’ said Quinn. ‘It’s healthier.’
Wu shrugged and demolished half of the burrito. ‘What you want to ask?’
‘Ever hear the name Chase Underwood?’ asked Leroy.
‘Who’s he?’
‘Chuck, you were arrested for his murder,’ said Quinn.
‘You mean when those motherfucker cops set me up for it?’
‘I wasn’t part of that investigation, Chuck. Neither was Detective Quinn here.’
Wu looked at them both.
‘No, you weren’t.’
Leroy said, ‘They figured you for it as you were down for a similar break-in. Did you do that?’
‘Where?’
‘West Hollywood.’
‘Yeah,’ Wu replied, after a moment. ‘Kind of.’
‘You didn’t have an alibi for that night. Where were you?’
‘I was at home. Alone, before you ask. With no witnesses, before you ask that.’
‘Home as in on Bernard Street?’ asked Quinn.
‘That’s the place.’
‘When did you move out?’
Wu shrugged.
‘Couple years.’
Leroy said, ‘We went to the building and the super told us that you couldn’t pay your rent.’
‘No.’
‘Lose your job?’
‘Fewer hours.’
‘Where did you work?’
‘Gas station on Alameda, near the train depot. Less money, but I still had other expenses. What was I supposed to do, man?’
Leroy took Wu’s left arm and pulled up his sleeve. It was clean. He took the right arm, and did the same: it was filled with old puncture marks and bruising.
‘Left handed, man,’ said Wu, weakly.
‘The break-in at the Underwood house,’ said Leroy, ‘used the same MO as the one you carried out. If it wasn’t you, you got any ideas who it might have been?’
‘What do you mean, if it wasn’t me? The DA, or whoever the fuck it was, believed it wasn’t me. I told you, those motherfuckers set me up.’
Leroy held up his palms.
‘Fine. I’ll rephrase the question: do you know anybody who would have carried out a break-in, using a similar MO?’
‘Search me.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t got an MO. That place in West Hollywood – that was a one-off, man. I’m not a serial break-inner.’
‘Okay.’ Leroy gave Quinn one of his this is a waste of time looks. ‘How long you been on the streets, Chuck?’
‘Don’t recall.’
‘The super told me two years.’
‘If that’s what he says. I didn’t go directly here as soon as he kicked me out.’
‘Where’d you go?’
‘Couch surfed some, then a hostel for some time. Then here.’
‘Can’t you go back to the hostel? What about the Y?’
He shrugged.
‘No room. Anyway, I have friends here. Some of them are even vets.’
Leroy nodded slowly. He looked over at Quinn.
‘Detective Quinn and I are off now. Stay safe, Chuck.’
Leroy and Quinn walked back to the corner and headed back up San Pedro Street to where they had parked. Chuck Wu limped away in the opposite direction. Along San Pedro there was no sign of Rollins and Mason or their patrol car. Just as they were climbing into the Taurus they heard the whoop of a siren, as a patrol car stopped at the side of the road. Officer Rollins leaned out of the passenger window.
‘Did you get what you wanted?’ she asked.
Leroy wandered over and rested his hand on the patrol car roof.
‘We got to meet him, that’s about the sum of it. He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Thanks for your assistance, anyway.’
‘Glad we could be of help,’ said Rollins. Mason began to pull away, and Leroy tapped on the roof as they left.
Back in the Taurus, Quinn asked, ‘So what now? Do you think there’s any more mileage here?’
‘Hardly. But at least we can say we checked it out; we didn’t just dismiss it out of hand. We’ve one more day before the weekend.’
‘Today’s Wednesday, Sam.’
‘I know that, but Friday I’m on an airplane, aren’t I? Let’s go back to the Joder Films cast and crew. Get them all covered by tomorrow night.’ He checked the time. ‘It’s almost four. Let’s go see the merry widow. We can be there by five. You drive; I’ll call her while we’re on the way.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The second Mrs Wheat seemed reluctant for them to call that day, but finally agreed.
‘I’m supposed to be meeting up with friends later,’ she had said, ‘so I hope it won’t take long.’ Leroy assured her that it would not take long, and they would be arriving within the hour, traffic permitting.
Traffic was not permitting, and it was approaching five thirty when they finally arrived. As well as Mrs Wheat’s silver Chevrolet Camero, a shiny black Toyota RAV4 was parked in front of the house. Leroy gave the ornate door knocker three loud bangs and as they waited he surreptitiously took a picture of the licence plate of the Toyota.
Mrs Wheat answered momentarily. She was not dressed as they had imagined: a long purple strapless dress with gold sequins down one side and a slit on the other.
‘Come in, detectives,’ she said she held the door open for them. ‘Please go through; you know the way.’
They nodded and walked through to the living room, where they had seen her the other day. They could see Mrs Wheat had company. A man, silver haired, tall, and wearing a dinner suit was standing in the living room. He was holding a glass of something.
Mrs Wheat joined them.
‘This is Howard Duvall,’ she said, by way of introduction. ‘He is my personal attorney.’
‘Oh, yes?’ asked Leroy, quietly.
‘I’m also a personal friend,’ Duvall said, leaning forward to shake hands with the detectives. ‘I was of poor Marty,’ he added.
‘I’m sorry to intrude, ma’
am,’ Leroy began, ‘but…’
‘Excuse me, detectives,’ interrupted Duvall. ‘You haven’t shown me your identification.’
‘Mrs Wheat has already seen our identification,’ replied Leroy wearily, as they got out their badges.
‘But I haven’t,’ said Duvall, taking the detectives’ badges and studying them. ‘Thank you,’ he said as he returned them. ‘Now, you were saying how sorry you were for intruding.’
‘Thank you,’ said Leroy. As he spoke, Mrs Wheat motioned for them to sit down on the long couch. She sat opposite them; Duvall remained standing, leaning on the mantlepiece above the fireplace, still holding his glass.
‘Firstly, I’d like you to go over the events of the night before your husband’s body was found.’
‘I understood Mrs Wheat told you this before,’ interjected Duvall. ‘I can’t see why you -’
This time it was Leroy’s turn to interrupt. He looked at Mrs Wheat as he answered.
‘I appreciate we already covered this, and also how painful it must be for you, but sometimes people understandably forget details at the time, and recall them later.’
She looked up at Duvall, who gave her a slight nod.
‘Well,’ she began, ‘it was as I told you the other day. Marty – well, he was one of those people who didn’t need much sleep: three, four hours a night was enough for him. When he was shooting a picture, he’d be up around five. You need the light, you see. And he’d quite often be up till around one or two in the morning. I’m totally different: I need my sleep. I’d normally be in bed ten thirty, eleven and he would do stuff downstairs then take the dogs for a walk. They’re big dogs, so they need a lot of exercise.’
‘And he’d always take them to that spot off Mulholland Drive?’ Quinn asked her.
‘Pretty much. He used to use a spot in Griffith Park, maybe Runyon Canyon, but a few months back he found this place off Mulholland, and had been going there every night.’
‘At the same time?’
‘Around the same time. I’d go to bed at my usual time, he’d be doing stuff down here - normally working on the shooting schedule for the next day – then take the dogs out. He’d get back here whenever - around twelve, I don’t know – and maybe do some more work, then come to bed. If he felt in the mood, he’d wake me up and we’d…’
‘I don’t think the detectives need that much detail,’ said Duvall, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you?’
