by Philip Cox
Leroy grunted.
‘Let’s call it a day down here now. We’ll come back in the morning, at breakfast time. Not to eat here, by the way. If we finish early today, we can start early tomorrow. Meet at the station at seven, yes? That way we can get down here for eight. You cool with that, Ray?’
‘Cool with me.’
‘Let’s head back home then. You can spend the evening with that wife of yours. I’ll probably take a look at the Washington file.’
Quinn said nothing, just followed Leroy back to the car.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
One reason Leroy was glad they had finished early was that he could sit down that evening and take a serious look at the Jordan Washington file. In some ways he regretted the promise he had made to Jordan’s mother, but now he had made it, he was determined to honour it.
But he needed some fresh ideas. What he had read on the case notes and the shake cards gave him little to go on. Nobody saw anything, or knew anything.
He decided what he would do first. He and Ray had spent the best part of an hour at Angels Flight, trying to get their heads round what had happened when Chuck Wu was killed. Maybe he should do the same with Jordan Washington. He was already on the 10 freeway, approaching the Washington Boulevard exit - how apposite, he thought - so if he stayed on a while longer and left at Robertson, that would take him into Culver City.
The day Jordan Washington disappeared, he left school at his normal time to walk home, but never arrived home. The view was that Robert Trejo had abducted the boy on his way home. Some of the statements on the shake cards spoke of a vehicle - Trejo’s vehicle - passing the road Jordan would have used, crawling. But their accounts were sketchy to say the least. Jordan’s school was the first port of call.
Eventually he pulled up and parked outside the boy’s school. At this time of the day, the streets were quiet. Morning and afternoons, he was sure it would be a different story. Across the street were houses: there were cars parked outside, but the street was not jammed with vehicles. The school, with its fenced off playground, occupied this side of the street: there were cars parked on this side, but the kerb was by no means full.
From his seat, he studied the houses across the street. He had left the file at home, and could not remember any mention of the occupants being asked if they saw anything that afternoon. There were just a few shake cards in respect of the parents, but that was all. If Jordan had been abducted here, then maybe one of the residents observed it. But if they did, surely they would have put in a call. Leroy frowned: if he was leading the investigation, he would have knocked at those doors. He was concerned nobody did. Lazy policing again: they had already figured Trejo.
He got out of the Taurus and walked up to the next cross. On this side, the school premises went as far as the end; on the other side, the houses did the same. Each property bordered the next. He turned and went to the other end of the block. This side, again the school premises; the other, more houses, but fifty yards from the cross street there was an alley. He walked down it. Wide enough for two cars, it led down to the next street, and passed the backs of the premises on the cross street on one side, and a line of garages the other side. He tried a couple of the garage doors – they were locked.
He paused in the middle of the alley. He did not recall any mention of this alley in the notes; the perceived wisdom was that Jordan had been snatched on the street. He checked the maps App on his phone. From the school, Jordan could have walked either way home, in this direction or the other; it made no difference.
Leroy walked back to the Taurus. He had seen all he needed to see tonight. Now, when he read the statements he could visualise the location. He got back into the car and pulled away. He headed back to the 10 to get home, but as he approached Media Park and Venice Boulevard he saw the elevated freeway, the traffic at a standstill.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, indicating left to get onto Cardiff Avenue, then onto Venice, where the traffic was very slow, as was the case every day. Bumper to bumper, the lines of taillights reaching to the horizon. He was hungry: the bagel he had picked up downtown was not that filling, and it was likely to be some time before he could get in and cook himself something.
He soon gave into temptation. On Venice and Dunn, just outside the Aquarium and motel, was a familiar yellow and orange truck. The Grilled Cheese Truck. Whether there was more than one truck, or the owner just got about the city a lot, Leroy didn’t care. He pulled into the motel parking lot and walked over to the truck.
He had patronised The Grilled Cheese Truck before, though not at this location, and knew what he wanted. An overloaded cheesy mac, which comprised a grilled cheese sandwich, tucked in with actual mac ’n’ cheese, with a side of barbequed pork. He decided to drink healthily, so got a bottle of still water.
The portions here were so large Leroy had to carry a cardboard tray back to the car. He debated whether to just take the food home to eat, but it would be cold by then, so decided to sit in the back of his car where there were folding tray tables.
He sat enjoying his sandwich, gazing out at the still crawling traffic on the Boulevard. Slower going in his direction, of course. He watched a man in a suit leaving one of the first floor rooms and climb straight into the sedan which was parked six feet away from the door. A woman followed, unnaturally black hair, matching fishnets, and a leopard skin coat over a tight black leather skirt. Bright red stiletto shoes. Leroy smiled: comings and goings, as Ray would have said.
His eyes casually drifted to the second floor of the motel. A door opened and a woman stepped out. He peered a little as she seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place her. There was a man in the doorway: white open-necked shirt, not tucked in. The man and the woman embraced, and kissed before the woman turned and left. The stairs up to that level must have been at the back of the building as she disappeared from view. The man went back inside and closed the door.
A moment later, a car, which also seemed vaguely familiar to him, passed by. As it passed, Leroy recognised the driver.
It was Ray’s wife, Holly Quinn.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Leroy felt anxious.
Not a feeling he often experienced.
Maybe anxious was not the right word. Uneasy, unsettled? He was not sure of the right word.
He was tired, he knew that. He had probably gotten three, maybe four, hours of sleep the night before.
All through the night, his mind kept returning to Jordan Washington and his mother, Jasmine. He had promised he would enable her to have closure, but so far, things were not looking promising.
Then there was the Martin Wheat case. He and Ray had been on the case several days now, and had not come up with much. The only light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel was that it appeared – appeared – that Chuck Wu, who had been arrested and charged with the murder of Wheat’s former lover, had recently been bitten by one of Wheat’s dogs, around the same time that Wheat himself was murdered. Deep down, Leroy knew there had to be a connection: it was just a matter of making the connection. And having the evidence.
Also running through his mind, swirling around in his head, refusing to go away, was what he had seen the evening before. It was obvious Holly Quinn was having an affair: what, if anything, should he do?
Quietly driving to the station that morning, he went over and over the options he had. There was, of course, the unlikely possibility that Ray already knew that she was seeing somebody else. Leroy dismissed that immediately. If he had already found out, or even suspected, Leroy was certain his partner would have confided in him; and there was no way Ray would ever entertain the idea of an open marriage.
He wondered whether last night, instead of just driving home, he should have gone up to that motel room and challenged the guy. Warned him off. That was probably not a good idea. The guy might have made a complaint to the station - he was not breaking the law, after all – and whilst Leroy was not worried about that, it was possible that Ray migh
t have gotten to hear about it. Or the man might have told Holly, she would get angry, tell Ray, and God knows what shit would have hit the fan.
Maybe a subtle word with Holly might help. Maybe he could send Ray out on an errand or an enquiry, and while his partner was occupied, he could go round to their house, or Holly’s place of work, and speak with her there. Then what? What if she told him to fuck off and mind his own business, what would he have gained?
Or might that expression, ‘hear no evil,’ et cetera be the best policy? Might it be better if Ray never knew? Whatever Holly was doing, it might fizzle out, and Ray would be better off not knowing. A long time ago, Leroy was in a long term relationship. She was not necessarily the one, but they had been dating for a couple of years. Then one night, Leroy had been out with some guys from High School. In one of the bars they visited that night, he met a girl. A woman would be a better description, as she was at least thirty. She took Leroy back to her apartment. The woman was far more experienced than the seventeen year old Sam Leroy: she showed him things he never knew about, and at one stage he actually fell off the bed. The next morning, he was wracked with guilt. He managed to deal with the guilt for the next week or so, but eventually had to confess. His girlfriend was devastated and ended the relationship. Leroy was distraught, blaming himself, not so much for having the one night stand, but for telling his girlfriend. It was just to ease his conscience, and it would have been better if she never knew.
Was all this relevant now? It might be. For now, he decided he would keep things to himself. Maybe he would get the opportunity to catch Holly on her own, but for the time being, Ray didn’t need to know.
*****
Quinn was already in the station parking lot when Leroy arrived, leaning up against his own car. He pushed himself upright when Leroy parked in the adjacent space.
‘Couldn’t you sleep, Ray?’ Leroy asked, breezily. Any insomnia Quinn had was down to different reasons than his own.
‘You said to make an early start.’
‘So I did. Hold on; I’ll just draw out the city car.’
Once Leroy had logged himself and Quinn in and out, and drawn out the Taurus, he and Quinn headed off, back downtown. Leroy said very little in the car.
‘You okay, Sam?’ Quinn asked eventually.
‘Yeah, I’m okay. Why?’
‘You’re quiet, that’s why.’
‘Nothing to say, that’s why.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m just tired, that’s all. Three hours sleep, something like that. I was looking through the Washington file, and I went out to take a look at where the kid’s school is, where he was supposed to have been snatched.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘I found there’s an alley the other side of the street, goes through to the next street. Buildings, garages there. Maybe the kid ended up there. Across from the school, the street’s filled with houses.’
‘Witnesses? If the boy was snatched, maybe somebody saw or heard something.’
‘Maybe, but by the look on the file, nobody thought to question the neighbours.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘The way I figure it, Ray, is that they already decided on Trejo, so there was no need, they figured, to bother the neighbours.’
‘Like you said the other day, lazy police work.’
‘Negligent police work, Ray.’
It took them just over an hour to get downtown: it was the rush hour. Leroy parked on Alameda, directly outside the church. The door to the hall was open, so they stepped inside. Inside, there was a small lobby which led to a large hall. One side of the hall was a large serving hatch, the other side of which was a kitchen. There was a small line of shabbily dressed men and women lining up in front of the hatch and the women were in the kitchen ladling food onto their plates. Loud music was playing in the kitchen: Leroy was sure it was Tom Jones singing It’s Not Unusual. There were three long tables running parallel, and around half of the plastic seats were occupied by those men and women, eating eggs and sausage links and potatoes. A man in a maroon tracksuit was going up and down the tables topping up coffee cups. He looked over at Leroy and Quinn.
‘You need to line up there and get your food,’ he said.
They stepped over and held out their badges.
‘We’re not here to eat, sir,’ said Leroy. ‘We need to speak with the person in charge.’
‘Oh. That will be Father Kenneth. I expect he’ll be helping in the kitchen.’
‘Could you get him for us, please, sir? We just need to ask him a few questions. We won’t be long.’
With a touch of indignation, the man put the coffee jug down on the table and walked into the kitchen. He returned momentarily with a small, grey-haired man, wearing a black zippered cardigan over a clerical collar.
‘Can I help you, officers?’ he asked. He was Irish.
‘I appreciate you seeing us, sir,’ said Leroy once they had shown their identification. ‘I can see you’re very busy.’
‘We’re always busy here, Detective. In most cases, it’s the only chance they have to eat. To eat proper food, I mean. How can I help you?’
Leroy retrieved the mugshot of Chuck Wu and showed it to the priest.
‘Do you know this man, sir?’
Father Kenneth studied the picture and shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. We see hundreds in here. Is he in some kind of trouble? The drug problem here is -’
‘He’s not in any trouble, Father. He’s dead.’
‘Oh, dear.’ The priest put his hand to his mouth and shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. That is tragic. I’m sorry. I know I should be more, you know, but we see so much death on the streets here. Even I get accustomed to it. So tragic, though. Such a waste. I’m guessing he was murdered; otherwise why would two detectives be here?’
‘He was, Father,’ said Quinn, ‘and we’re trying to put together his last movements. A lady down on Fourth Street said he frequented here, and we’re trying to establish any contacts he might have had.’
Father Kenneth shook his head again.
‘I’m so sorry, I can’t help. But I do know somebody who might. Could you wait here? I’ll just be a minute.’
‘Surely,’ they replied, as the priest returned to the kitchen. After a few minutes, he returned with a small, round woman. ‘This is Paulina, Detectives. Her English isn’t too good: I’d better stay, unless you can speak Spanish.’
‘No, please stay,’ Leroy said. He showed the picture of Chuck Wu to Paulina. ‘Have you ever seen this man, Paulina?’
She frowned and peered closely at Leroy’s phone, then looked up at Father Kenneth and said, agitatedly, ‘Yes, yes, I see him! He come here often.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Leroy asked. Father Kenneth translated.
She pondered a few seconds before saying, ‘Last week. I saw him last, last week.’ She continually looked up at the priest for validation; he nodded at her, smiling.
‘Was he with anybody when you saw him last?’ Quinn asked her. Again the Father asked the question in Spanish.
‘Yes, he was. I remember that, because he was with a man, a man who…’ She looked up at the priest. ‘He didn’t belong here.’
‘I think she means he was not one of the street people,’ he said. ‘Not one of these?’ he pointed at the men and women sitting at the tables.
She shook her head. She addressed Father Kenneth, who relayed in English: ‘No, he was not. He was dressed in a very smart suit. Not like these.’
‘What else can you tell us about him?’ Leroy asked. ‘Tall, short? Caucasian? Young? Old?’
She pondered again, after the Father translated Quinn’s words then replied.
‘A tall man,’ said the Father. ‘About as tall as you. Grey hair. In his fifties, or sixties. White man, with a heavy tan.’
‘You’re doing great, Paulina,’ Leroy said. ‘And they were talking? Anything else?’
>
Paulina shook her head. She replied in broken English.
‘I just see them talking, but had to go into the kitchen. When I come back, he gone. He looked very arrogante.’ She looked up at Father Kenneth.
‘Arrogant,’ he explained.
‘I got that, sir,’ said Leroy. ‘Thanks very much for your time. Both of you. We appreciate it.’
They left Father Kenneth and Paulina and stepped back outside into the morning sunlight. Raising his voice slightly over the Alameda Street traffic, Leroy said, ‘White man, fifties or sixties, grey hair, fancy suit, arrogant. That gives us a lot to go on, doesn’t it?’
Quinn shook his head. He pointed at Leroy.
‘When we went to see Mrs Wheat,’ he said. ‘The current Mrs Wheat. She had her lawyer there.’
‘Yes, the close family friend. What was his name?’
‘Howard Duvall.’
‘Yes,’ said Leroy. ‘Howard Duvall.’ He took out his phone and googled the name. ‘He’s bound to be on here. Practising Attorney. Yes!’
Sure enough, there was an entry. Leroy clicked on the link, and was taken to Duvall’s firm’s website. Dominating the home page was a picture of Duvall.
‘Let’s show her this,’ said Leroy as they went back into the hall. The man in the maroon sweatshirt was there again, still topping up coffee. He gave them a kind of not again? look.
‘Paulina?’ Leroy asked.
Saying nothing, maroon sweatsuit put down the coffee jug and went back into the kitchen. Paulina came out and went up to them.
‘Paulina, is this the man?’ Leroy said, showing her Duvall’s thumbnail.
She peered again at the picture then looked up at Leroy.
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘He the man!’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Now they were back at the station, and Leroy was explaining the situation to Lieutenant Perez.
The lieutenant listened carefully - even silenced his phone when it trilled whilst Leroy was talking - and nodded in all the right places.
