Another Way to Die

by Philip Cox

  ‘Or to where the original vehicle was,’ Johnson pointed out. ‘He’d have to move the body; we’re agreed on that?’

  Leroy nodded. ‘Another question is, how would our man get here at two am in the morning, or whenever it was? And why pick Tracey’s vehicle? There’d be hundreds to choose from around here. And why here? Why this specific area?

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t headed for the airport when he drove off?’ Quinn speculated. ‘Maybe the original vehicle broke down around here. Maybe he was on his way to the airport when he got car problems.’

  ‘But why specifically Tracey’s car?’ Johnson asked. ‘Have you thought about the possibility of a connection with Tracey? I mean, there’s no logical reason I can think of for him to be involved. Sure, I get that the killer wants you guys to find the body, and a fifties or sixties classic car parked in LAX would certainly get attention, but how did he know it was here?’

  ‘That has been troubling me, too,’ Leroy conceded. ‘I’m thinking we’ve found another angle of investigation here: let’s see what we can find out about Burt Tracey; does he have a record, any associates we might be interested in.’ He looked over at Johnson. ‘Even if he had no intentional involvement, somebody he is connected with might have known he had an unusual set of wheels which would stand out.’

  ‘See if he knows any Mexicans,’ Johnson said drily.

  ‘He said the driver looked Mexican. Despite his name, hombre bolsa wasn’t Hispanic himself. But the driver might have been.’

  ‘If we do locate this bag man,’ Quinn asked, ‘could we get a likeness from his description?’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘Probably not, I don’t know. So stupid: I didn’t ask him to come back with me as I thought that would freak him out; there was no point calling you two as the car was at Tracey’s and I had the keys. I don’t know. My bad.’

  Leroy looked up and down the street one more time. The sun was beginning to set, the sky over the ocean turning a reddish orange.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing else we can do here tonight. Let’s head back to the station and start fresh in the morning. Then we should have something from Hobson and the ME’s office and we can chase the MPU again about the Jane Does. And see if any prints from the Beetle match those to the Chevrolet.’

  ‘And look into Tracey,’ added Johnson.

  ‘And look into Tracey,’ Leroy repeated. ‘And get back to that video from the airport.’

  They climbed back into the Taurus. Leroy took one more look around for hombre bolsa, then pulled away.

  ‘I’ll have to update Perez with the good news,’ he said as he drove back to the station. ‘We’re this far into the investigation, and we still have more questions than answers.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was almost one am when Agent Johnson’s hire car pulled up in front of the barrier at the entrance to the West LA station parking lot. A patrol car was in front of hers; she waited until the barrier was raised, then eased forward as it came back down. The lot was floodlit, with only a handful of vehicles parked. She keyed in the four-digit code Lieutenant Perez had given her previously and slowly drove in.

  She slowly reversed into the nearest available space. Switching off the engine she remained in the car for a few seconds, looking about, checking the lot. Satisfied that nobody was about, she got out of the car, locked it and walked to the entrance. She reflected she was probably in one of the safest places in LA, but aspects of her basic training – always reverse into a space, always check the surroundings before exiting the vehicle – remained with her.

  The patrol car she had followed in had parked the other side of the lot, nearer the station buildings; as she walked to the entrance doors, she noticed two uniformed patrolmen extract a handcuffed prisoner from the back seat, and lead him inside. She hurried her pace to ensure she got there before they did.

  She nodded curtly to the two officers sitting behind the desk in the entrance lobby; one was on the telephone, the other looking at a computer screen whilst talking to a woman who seemed to be in some state of distress.

  Walking down the corridor to what was – pretentiously, in her opinion – termed the Detective Suite, she was struck by how quiet it was. This hour of the night would never see the level of noise and activity as one pm would, but all she could hear was the gentle hum of the vending machine refrigeration unit, and a few quiet voices from farther down the corridor. Maybe the night shift detectives were out on a call; there was no way it would be as quiet as this.

  She stepped through the open door to the offices where she, Leroy and Quinn had been earlier that day, and came to abrupt halt.

  Leroy was sitting at his desk, studying an image on his screen, a yellow legal pad by his side. The corner of the desk was taken up with two small cardboard boxes, one containing a few noodles, the other with some remnants of food she could not identify. A pair of chopsticks rested on the boxes. Two opened cans of soda also stood on the desk.

  Leroy looked up, surprised. Just as surprised as she was. ‘Agent Johnson. What the hell are you doing here?’

  She sat down at one of the empty desks, wheeling the chair round to face Leroy. She nodded her head towards his screen. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Had the same thoughts as you, obviously.’

  Leroy looked at the screen. It was the footage from the CCTV at the airport men’s room. ‘At least you got to go home first.’

  She looked down at the sweatshirt and sweatpants she was wearing. She had overlooked the fact that she was not wearing her normal, formal FBI Agent attire. ‘Hardly home.’

  ‘No. Staying in a hotel on your own isn’t fun. I had to do it a while back.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘We had a case here which involved a visit to Birmingham, Alabama.’

  ‘So you and Quinn flew out there?’

  ‘Not Ray. The Department budget would only stretch to me. But the lieutenant arranged for somebody from the BPD to accompany me. After we’d done for the day, she showed me the sights of Birmingham.’

  ‘I don’t need to be shown the sights of Los Angeles.’

  ‘I wasn’t offering. I’m sure you’ve seen it all before.’

  Johnson looked down, slightly embarrassed. Her remark was intended to be light hearted, and Leroy had taken it at face value. Not what she had intended. Rapidly changing the subject, she asked, ‘Have you had any success?’

  ‘It depends on how you quantify success. I’ve been able to tick off a few more boxes. After I dropped you and Ray off outside, I spoke to Russell Hobson, one of our MEs. He’s going to carry out the autopsies on our two victims tomorrow, eight in the am.’

  ‘I thought he was going to look at them today… yesterday.’

  ‘He never actually said that. He said as quickly as possible. He has a line up there, but said he would move our Jane Doe Two farther up the line, so she’s done immediately after Number One.’

  ‘At eight am?’

  ‘Eight am.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  Leroy nodded. ‘I always do. Ray sometimes goes with me, depending on what the investigation requires. But as SIO, I feel I ought to attend.’ He paused. ‘Both Perez and I attended Harlan Cordell’s post-mortem. I watched as the ME took out the two bullets I had put into him.’

  Johnson nodded her head slowly. ‘Been there, done that. Got the tee-shirt.’

  ‘We also got reports back from Burt Tracey’s Chevrolet and from the Beetle from the other night. Both vehicles covered in prints as you might have expected. No matches with each other, however. I was planning on leaving it at that - you know, just concentrating on matches - but after our conversations last night, I’m going to get somebody to go get Tracey’s prints. We’ll say they’re for elimination purposes, but if he is connected somehow with our killer, then having his prints would be useful.’

  ‘Who’s going to do that?’

  ‘Too bad you and Ray didn’t get them already,’ Leroy said. Before Johnson could repl
y, he added, ‘Maybe you guys could go get them while I’m at the autopsy.’

  Johnson shifted awkwardly in her chair. ‘I’ve no problem with that personally, but my boss might not feel it’s a constructive use of Bureau resources. He sent me out here to give advice, give you the benefit of my team’s experience, not do ground work. And I’m flying back in,’ - she checked her watch - ‘thirteen hours.’

  ‘I see. Maybe I’ll arrange a patrol car to call, or Ray and I will, after I’ve finished with the ME.’ He paused, taking another look at the screen. The image was frozen, and showed one figure entering the restroom, and two leaving. Neither was a match to the limping figure they sought.

  ‘We might also have an ID on Jane Doe Two,’ Leroy said, reaching across the desk for another notepad. ‘There was a message here from the MPU when I got back.’

  ‘Oh?’ Johnson asked, seeming more interested than up till now.

  ‘Yeah.’ Leroy read from the notebook. ‘A woman by the name of Danielle Scott. Thirties. No partner. Reported missing by her elderly neighbour, a Mrs Epinoza. The neighbour lives across the hall from her. Not seen her in days, and she always tells her - Ms Scott always tells Mrs Epinoza, that is – when she’s going away through work, or vacation. And when she’s sick.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘Apparently, her mother lives up in Sacramento. Don’t know about a father, or siblings. She lived in a small apartment building on,’ - he read the address from the notebook - ‘Perlita Avenue.’

  Johnson shrugged. ‘Where’s that?’

  Leroy replied, ‘Glendale. Near Forest Lawn, appropriately.’ He looked over at Johnson. ‘And this may or may not be significant, but its only six or seven minutes’ drive from where we found the body. Ten minutes, tops.’

  ‘What about an ID?’

  ‘The MPU are sending me a picture of Ms Scott. Mrs Epinoza had a photograph of her; or rather, found it on her Facebook page, would you believe?’ He held up his phone. ‘They’re sending it through here first thing in the morning, so I’ll have it at the autopsy. If it is her, then I’m minded to try to find somebody other than the mother to make the ID: maybe Mrs Epinoza herself, or one of Ms Scott’s co-workers, to make the formal identification. Once we’ve established in the morning it is her, then we can get somebody to go up and see her mother. I’m guessing she’ll want to come down here pretty much immediately.’

  ‘So we’ll know if she’s our Jane Doe Two by midday?’

  ‘Yup.’ He looked down at the notes. ‘At least the face wasn’t touched. Imagine the mother having to look at her daughter’s face if it had been mutilated like the rest of her body.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Johnson said nothing. She stood up. Leroy looked up at her, expecting a response. She fingered the bridge of her nose and the corners of her eyes.

  ‘I need to get a coffee.’ She looked down at his empty cans. ‘Or something.’

  ‘There’s a vending machine out there. Coffee, soda, inedible food.’

  She nodded and walked out to the machines.

  ‘No, I’m good here, thanks,’ Leroy muttered, turning back to his screen. ‘But thanks so much for asking.’

  He clicked to play the video once again, then put it back to pause. He looked in the direction of the vending machines. He still hadn’t figured Johnson out: what she was thinking, how she felt about stuff. His remark about a mother and her mutilated daughter provoked no reaction from Johnson, not that he was looking for one. No surprise really; she hardly seemed the maternal type. He tried to recall how long she had been in the FBI: she had to be under thirty years old, and he knew that she would have had to have been at least twenty-three to join. So she would have gone through school, college, then right into the Bureau. Not really much life experience. And he’d bet a year’s pay she was single. In his experience, most women who choose a career in law enforcement choose it over a love life. Unless it was with another agent. But, he guessed, that was the difference between a love life and a sex life.

  But then, he was hardly one to talk. But somehow for Leroy, it was different for men: they were meant to be on their own.

  And why was she here? Perez had said that he requested assistance, so they could make use of her expertise and experience; but with no more than five years’ service, which would have meant much less in the field, it was more likely she would learn from them. Or did she, or her boss, have another agenda? She was something of an enigma and Leroy was glad she was flying back that afternoon.

  He snapped out of his daydreaming as she returned. She was holding a plastic cup.

  ‘I decided on coffee,’ she said, as if to explain why she was holding the cup. Leroy nodded.

  ‘I thought I’d stay and keep checking this video,’ he explained, pushing back slightly from the desk so Johnson could see the screen. ‘I reached about four thirty, but it’s slow going. I had to stop and rewind a couple of times because I was beginning to miss people coming out. Also, I backtracked in the light of what that bagman said.’

  ‘That the driver was Hispanic?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Any difference?’

  ‘None.’

  She leaned forward to get a closer look at the screen. ‘Not the best definition I’ve seen. Makes it difficult to ID somebody.’

  Leroy agreed. ‘Hardly 4K.’

  She straightened up. ‘You sure this is the best use of your resources?’

  ‘You mean haven’t I got anything better to do at one in the morning?’

  Johnson shrugged. ‘Guess it comes down to that.’

  ‘If I wasn’t doing this here, I’d probably be sitting at home doing the same thing.’

  ‘Me too, I guess.’

  ‘You got anybody at home, Agent Johnson?’

  She paused a second before replying. ‘No. Nobody at home. Bureau’s Curse, as we call it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Same as you guys, I guess; no time for a relationship.’

  ‘No time to form one and no time to maintain one.’

  ‘That your problem, Sam?’

  ‘I guess. My last serious relationship started six, seven years ago. Ended six months ago.’

  ‘Ended suddenly?’

  He shook his head. ‘It just faded away. We kind of drifted apart. The spark had gone, but we never got the opportunity to rekindle it. Ray’s in a similar situation.’

  ‘He’s with someone, then?’

  ‘He’s married. Been married about seven years. He got married just before my ex and I met. But they’re going through a bad patch, and I’m not telling you this.’

  ‘I think I can guess: she thinks she’s married to the entire LAPD.’

  ‘Yup, that’s the sum of it.’

  ‘My last partner - we were together just over a year - said the same thing almost. She used to say it was like sleeping with the whole Bureau.’ She stopped, blushed slightly, and put her hand to her mouth. ‘I apologise; that was inappropriate.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Agent Johnson. I’m a big boy now.’ He turned back to the screen and clicked the play arrow. Then paused again and pushed his chair back. ‘This is hopeless.’

  ‘I said it was a very long shot.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. It’s two am now, and I’ve been awake since six am yesterday. I’m going to miss something.’

  ‘And you’re going to need to be awake tomorrow. Today. Look, why don’t you go get some sleep somewhere. I can do this for a while.’

  ‘But you’re going to be just as tired.’

  ‘Don’t forget I’ve already had some sleep tonight, and I’m flying back tomorrow. I’ll sleep on the airplane.’

  With a weary air of resignation, Leroy slid the chair back some more and got up. ‘There you go. If you insist.’

  Johnson moved into the chair and pulled it forward to the desk. She looked at Leroy’s notes. ‘These are who you saw go in and out?’

  ‘Going in; coming out.’ Leroy tapped his index finger
on the appropriate list. Brief description and times of entry and exit.’

  ‘I got it. I’ll rewind a few minutes, just to cover all eventualities.’

  ‘You mean if I missed any?’

  ‘I’m not saying…’

  ‘Don’t worry, I could well have.’ He stretched and made to leave.

  ‘You going home, then?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nah. Not worth it. Even at this time. I’ll find an empty office somewhere. Maybe I’ll use Lieutenant Perez’s couch.’

  ‘You’d use your boss’s couch?’ She seemed horrified.

  ‘He owes me that.’ She looked puzzled, so Leroy explained. ‘Back in the day he and I were partners. He was having some marriage problems and slept on my couch for a few nights. So you see, he does owe me.’

  ‘You and the lieutenant still friends?’

  Leroy titled his head to one side in curiosity. ‘Why do I get the impression you’re doing some kind of audit? Some kind of inspection? We were partners, and yes, we still have a good relationship. But not friends, never friends. You should never work with friends.’

  She held up her hand, palm out to Leroy. ‘Just being curious, Sam. Nothing more. Just polite conversation. Go get some sleep.’

  ‘I will,’ he replied as he staggered out of the room. ‘I might sleep till next weekend. But I think I’ll get some fresh air first.’

  ‘Okay.’ She turned to the screen.

  Leroy left and wandered down to the station lobby. One of the desk officers, both of whom were sitting chatting, called out, ‘More overtime, Sam?’ Leroy’s only reply was his middle finger as he walked outside.

  He stepped out of the station building and stretched. He was looking for fresh air, but the air outside was hardly fresh. It was unusually muggy. Usually at this time of year, as winter approached, the nights became cooler and fresher. But then a Southern Californian winter was not the same as the New York winters he experienced growing up.

  He walked across the parking lot and out onto Butler Avenue. It was now almost two thirty, and the traffic had eased up for the night, although in a couple of hours’ time it would begin to build up again. Each time the traffic signals on the intersection with Iowa turned green, only three or four vehicles would come past. A night bus pulled up at the bus stop adjacent to the station, took one a solitary passenger and pulled away. Leroy watched the bus as it went past: there were at least twenty people on board. He wondered where they were all headed: to work; from work; going home; going out. Who knew?