by Philip Cox
‘No shit? Who? And about who?’
‘Don’t know and don’t know.’
‘There are three females on the squad. I wonder which one it was? Where are they now, the IA guys, I mean?’
‘I think they’re just talking to anybody they can find at this time, just to see if there’s any mileage in the accusations.’
‘That’s all I need. I think I’ll just pick up Ray then we’re outta here.’
‘Good plan. By the way, what’s all this I hear about you buying a house?’
‘Jesus, can’t a guy keep anything to himself?’
‘So it’s true, then? Where is this house?’
‘Still in Venice, but I can’t stay in the same place for ever, can I?’
‘Guess not.’ Rosenberg held up the brown paper bag. ‘Thanks for the burrito, by the way.’
Leroy headed along the corridor to the Homicide Desk. He would normally stop off at the bank of vending machines to pick up a coffee, but today decided he would get his coffee on the way out. Quinn was already at his desk.
‘Hey, Sam.’
‘Ray.’
‘There’s some guys -’
‘From IAD? Yes, I know. Ronny Rosenberg tipped me off. Let’s grab what we need and head out. We need to speak with the cast members and crew today.’
‘I have the list here.’ Quinn held up a list of names and addresses.
‘Where are they?’ asked Leroy.
Quinn read down the list.
‘Hollywood, West Hollywood, Thai Town, Silver Lake, Pomona.’
‘Pomona? Leroy took the list and read it himself. ‘Shit, they’re all over the city. This’ll take ages.’
‘Why don’t we split the list fifty fifty? We’re not going to need backup, just to ask these guys a few questions.’
‘Yeah, let’s do that. You take the Hollywood and West Hollywood ones. And this woman in Thai Town. I’ll take Silver Lake and head over to Pomona. I want to talk to Lew Bridger again.’
‘He’s not on the list.’
‘I have his cell number. I’ll call him when I’m heading over to Pomona.’
As they chatted, Lieutenant Perez passed by, carrying a pile of manilla folders.
‘Guys,’ he said as he passed.
‘Lieutenant,’ they replied in unison.
Perez stopped and turned.
‘By the way, Sam, did you know that two officers -’
‘From Infernal Affairs? Yes, I know. What’s it all about, Lieutenant?’
‘Need to know, Sam. Need to know. Just be around when they want to talk to you.’
‘I will, Lieutenant.’ Leroy waited until Perez had disappeared from view, then said, ‘Come on, Ray. Let’s go.’ He wrote on the whiteboard for them both.
Heading out, they each drew out a city car, beginning on the 10 freeway, Leroy staying on for the 110 to Silver Lake, and Quinn exiting at Fairfax for Hollywood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As they had arranged, Leroy and Quinn touched base late afternoon. Leroy was headed west on the Ponoma Freeway when he rang Quinn.
‘Hey, Ray: how’s it gone today? Where are you?’
‘I’m heading back to the station. Just left the two actresses. They were off Melrose. Where are you? Are you done yet?’
‘I’ve seen the cameraman up at Silver Lake and the guy over in Pomona. I’m on the 60 right now; I’ll be on the 10 soon, then I’m headed down to Hollywood to see Lew Bridger.’
‘Hollywood? I could double back and see him.’
‘No, it’s okay, buddy. I talked to him on the way up to Silver Lake and we seem to have some kind of rapport going. That might be useful. He asked if he could meet me in a bar on Franklin at six, so I’ll stop off for a Double Double or something and meet him then. Tell me how you got on.’
‘Sure. I talked to Kurt Weller first. He operates out of a place in Hollywood. Off Highland. That guy’s a real jerk – he was really pissed that it was me who was talking to him; that it wasn’t you, personally.’
‘I got that impression the other day. All the more reason for me not to see him. What did he tell you?’
‘Nothing that he hadn’t told us already.’
‘Did you get the vibe he was holding back as I’d sent you?’
‘Maybe. He seemed the type to do that.’
‘Let’s see how it goes with the others. I could pay him another visit remind him that it’s a felony to withhold information. Who did you see next? The make-up woman?’
‘Yeah. Over in Thai Town. She was Thai. Couldn’t even begin to pronounce her name.’
‘Don’t worry about that. What did she tell you?’
‘Not much, Sam. She had been with Joder Films three years, she said. Didn’t have much to do with Wheat. Said when he used to visit the sets he’d just talk to Weller. He used to flirt with the female performers.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised to hear that. And the actresses? They live together?’
‘I’m not sure if they live together, but they do live together. They and a third share an apartment.’
‘A third performer? Is she with the company?’
‘No. She answered the door. She told me she is an actress as well, but is resting at this time. Everything about her, though, said hooker. I talked to the two Joder girls together. The first, Kitty, said she had known Wheat for around a year. She also said he would flirt with them – actually, it was more than flirt: for the first few weeks, he was apparently pestering her to sleep with him. She did after a while: just once, then he lost interest. It was about that time that her housemate, Brandi, with an i, arrived. She also said he wanted to have sex with her, but she always refused. Said then he just gave up. Or found somebody else.’
‘Can you see much of a motive there? Jealous boyfriend, maybe?’
‘They said they were both single, but I was figuring if he is in the habit of touching the fruit that’s not his, he might have pissed off somebody.’
‘Enough for them to put a bullet in him? Could be a possibility. Did they know of anybody else who were victim to Wheat’s attentions?’
‘They said they didn’t. Their only contact with him was during shooting hours, so didn’t know him much, apart from being a douchebag.’
‘Okay. Kitty and Brandi? Are they their real names?’
‘No, they are their pornstar names, or their professional names, as they corrected me. I have their real names here.’
‘That’s cool. We’ll put everything together in the morning.’
‘Roger that. How did you get on, Sam?’
‘How did I get on? I drove up to Silver Lake first, saw the cameraman, or Director of Photography as he preferred to be called. Guy called Harry Baxter. In his fifties, I guess, and he’s been round the block a few times. Told me he met Linda Lovelace once.’
‘Who?’
‘Deep Throat? The famous porn movie.’
‘Before my time, Sam.’
‘Mine too, but he’d met her, he said. Said he’s been with Martin Wheat for years. Had seen many comings and goings, no pun intended. His joke, not mine. He said Wheat was a decent enough guy – to him, anyway. He didn’t reckon much on the merry widow, or her predecessor. He knew about Chase Underwood: confirmed he and Wheat were an item, although their relationship wasn’t common knowledge. Baxter said it was just a phase Wheat was going through; something he needed to get out of his system. That was all he could tell me, so I headed over to see Rodrigo Santiago himself.’
‘And?’
‘Señor Oily Greaseball himself, in a word. Thirty-two years old, been with Joder Films three and a half. He told me that he and Wheat didn’t get on very well, on a personal level. I asked why, if that was the case, he had been working for Wheat for so long, he said it was because he is “the best fucking stud in the business.” His words, not mine. He reckoned it was because Wheat was jealous of, and I quote, “all the action I’m getting, on and off the fucking set.”’
‘And all Whe
at could do was sexually harass the females.’
‘You got it. Without much success, it would seem. I’m on the 10 now, and it’s rush hour. When you get to the station, just put everything together and get off home. If Perez asks, tell him how we’ve got on today. If those IA assholes are still there and they ask, I’ll be in tomorrow.’
‘Aren’t you off to New York tomorrow?’
‘So I am. I’ll call in at the station, check in and get my car once I’ve seen Bridger. I’ll call you in the morning on the way to LAX. My flight’s at ten twenty. I’ve just seen a Taco Bell; I’m gonna exit here.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Leroy eased the Taurus into the parking space. The bar in which he had arranged to meet Lew Bridger was in fact part of the Best Western Hotel on Franklin, sandwiched between the cross streets of Vista Del Mar and Carmen. He walked round to the hotel entrance and through the lobby, the other side of which was a purple neon sign MiniBar. He walked in and saw Bridger sitting on a stool at the bar.
‘Hey,’ he said as he perched himself next to Bridger, who raised his glass to Leroy. The bartender walked over, and Leroy ordered a beer. Leroy inclined his head at Bridger’s uniform shirt. ‘Where are you working today? Surely not still up at that house?’
‘Nah. Not working today.’
‘So why the uniform?’
Bridger looked down at his shirt and laughed.
‘I mean, I’m not working as a security guard today. Not in the usual way, I mean.’
Leroy paused and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Bridger to explain.
Bridger said, ‘Now and again I do gig work, as an extra. That’s what I’ve been doing today, and I’ll be doing tomorrow. An extra for a TV show.’
‘Oh, yeah? That a regular thing?’
‘Now and then, between security jobs. I’ve been doing it since Christmas. I saw one of those bills they stick onto streetlamps.’
‘I’ve seen them. The pay any good?’
‘Not what I’d call good. Not what I’m getting working here.’ He tapped the badge on the front pocket of his shirt. A label had been sewn on: Stone Security. ‘But it’s paid in cash, which has its benefits, and it helps to pay the rent.’
‘Where was the location today?’
‘Outside the Greek. That’s today and tomorrow. They’re not sure about next week, but I’m hoping they’ll have some proper work for me then. By they, I mean the firm.’
‘Is that why we’re meeting here?’
‘Kind of. I have a place in the Valley, but I know this joint here. I quite often drop in here on the way home.’
‘You parked out there?’ Leroy asked, nodding at Bridger’s glass.
‘Chill. This is my second, and my last. I can’t risk losing my job. Same as you,’ he added, nodding over to Leroy’s bottle.
‘Yeah,’ muttered Leroy, swallowing some beer.
‘So,’ said Bridger, ‘how can I help LA’s finest? Get the irony there?’
Leroy ignored that.
‘Martin Wheat and Joder Films. Tell me about them.’
‘I kind of guessed that. Hey, you know why the company’s called Joder Films?’
‘Entiendo español,’ Leroy replied.
‘Say what?’
‘I understand Spanish. Clearly you don’t. I don’t much, but I know what joder means.’
‘Right.’ Bridger laughed, a throaty, wheezy laugh, common with heavy smokers. ‘Pretty cool, yeah?’
‘Yeah, pretty cool. So, the production company, the whole set-up?’
‘I don’t get to see much. They just use my people when they’re using a location. More to stop passers-by getting involved. You know, wanting to come in and watch, or even join in, would you believe? I don’t work as an extra there, before you ask.’
‘What about Wheat himself? Did you have much to do with him?’
Bridger shrugged.
‘He hired me, through here.’ He tapped his company badge again.
‘He hired you, so did you have much to do with him, personally? Did you see much of him?’
‘Can’t say as I did. He only visited the locations now and then. I got the impression he wasn’t that interested in the day to day stuff. More interested in making deals or whatever. When he did show up, he was always polite and respectful to me; always used to say good morning, or ask how I was.’
‘Did you observe him interact with the cast members, or the crew?’
‘Never used to see much. I was outside, they were inside. But there were rumours.’
‘Rumours?’
‘Talk that he was fucking one of the actresses.’
‘And was he?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, it was just a rumour. That he was always sniffing around them. But I never saw anything. Then the rumours kind of stopped. I figured he’d stopped fucking her, or she’d moved on, or it became old news, and nobody was interested.’
‘There was a high turnover of performers?’
‘With the girls, I guess so. The guy – Rodrigo – he’s been around for a while. But the girls, they’d just come and go, if you pardon my French.
‘Did you observe any conflict? Was anybody hostile to Wheat?’
‘Not that I ever observed. I’ve not been much help to you, have I? Sorry.’
‘No sweat, Lew,’ said Leroy, finishing his beer. ‘It’s cool.’
*****
Leroy got back to the station just before eight. It was like a ghost town. He snuck past Perez’s office, but the lieutenant had gone. Quinn had gone home, as had the rest of the day shift. There was no sign of the Internal Affairs officers. Leroy was relieved at that: he was exhausted and the last thing he needed right now was an interview with one of them.
Three yellow sticky notes were affixed to his screen. The first was requesting a call back. The name, somebody who worked for the Los Angeles Times, meant nothing to him, so he binned the note. The second was to call a Detective Williams from Internal Affairs: Leroy binned that as well. The third was from Jasmine Washington. It said she was calling him here as there was something wrong with his cell phone. Leroy tossed that note and checked his phone. There were two messages. One from the real estate agents saying the owner of the Venice house had accepted his offer and was ready to go; the other was, as he expected, from Jasmine Washington, asking if he had found anything yet. Leroy sighed: as much as he empathized with her, and was sincere about what he had promised her, he hoped that she would not become a nuisance. He would call her on the way home, tell her he was still on her son’s case, but it would be in his own time, and he would get back to her after the holiday weekend.
He exchanged a couple of pleasantries with the two night shift detectives, and left the station.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Leroy put in two calls on his way to LAX the next morning.
The first was to Quinn.
‘You at the airport already, Sam?’
‘Kind of. Just heading for the parking garage. I’ve left the notes of the people I saw yesterday on your desk. You want to put them together with yours, and upload them?’
‘You got it. I thought I might drive up to the Mulholland Drive scene again, take another look around.’
‘Sure, good idea. They only covered a small radius the other day. You might want to extend that a tad. You going alone?’
‘I thought I might, yes.’
‘You might want to ask if any uniforms can go with you.’
‘Why? To hold my hand?’
‘No, dipshit. If you’re going walkabout in that canyon, it’s best not to be on your own. It’s quite rough terrain: if you were to trip or something, injure yourself, you’d be fucked.’
‘I’ll call for backup on the cell I’ll be carrying.’
‘And what if a cougar happens to be passing by while you’re lying waiting for help?’
‘I’ll have my service weapon.’
‘Jesus. If it was me, I’d take uniform backup, that’s all.�
�
‘No, you wouldn’t, but to put your mind at rest, I’ll not go alone.’
‘Good man. We’ll touch base this evening. I’ll call you then. I’m just parking now. Is the lieutenant around?’
‘I’ve not seen him, but he must be in by now.’
‘What about those assholes from IA? I had a call-back request from one of them.’
‘Not seen them, either.’
‘Do me a favour, Ray: keep your ear to the ground. If you hear anything, let me know. Yeah?’
‘I will, sure. You worried about anything?’
‘No, nothing like that. Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Okay. No problem.’
‘I’ll call Perez now. Catch you later.’
‘Sure. Good flight.’
By now Leroy had reached the terminal. He had already checked in online before he left home, had only a small cabin bag so headed straight for security. Once he was air-side, he called Lieutenant Perez.
As was so often the case of late, the lieutenant’s phone went to voicemail. The message Leroy left was brief.
‘I’m at LAX now, about to board my flight to New York as you suggested, Lieutenant. I fly back here Monday. I’ve left Ray some things to deal with on the Wheat case, and we’re gonna touch base this evening, your time. Well, enjoy your Holiday Weekend, and I’ll be back in on Tuesday.’
He hung up and switched off his phone. Then made his way through security to the gate. As he passed through the metal detectors, he felt strangely naked, having left his service weapon locked away at home. It had been some time since he had been out unarmed.
*****
Flight UA 2418 touched down at four forty-three, five minutes after its scheduled time. The Boeing Dreamliner trundled from the runway to the gate. Leroy had taken a window seat, and sat patiently until the aisle had cleared. He could never understand the flight habits of a multitude of his fellow passengers: the B789’s wheels had barely touched the tarmac when people began to get out of their seats, retrieve their baggage from the overhead lockers, and begin to line up by the doors, despite the exhortations of the cabin crew. They were never going to get out of the airport any quicker; he secretly hoped the pilot would slam on the brakes, so all these people in a hurry would find themselves in a heap in the front galley.
