Another Way to Die Page 6

  ‘What the hell is it?’ Leroy asked as he walked up to the group. There were three vending machines, one for hot drinks, one for water and sodas, the third for sandwiches, soft tacos and burritos.

  ‘Garcia here put in his five bucks, but it won’t give him his burrito,’ one of the detectives explained.

  Leroy shrugged. ‘What am I supposed to do about it?’

  ‘Ever happened to you, Sam?’ another asked.

  ‘No, it hasn’t. Have you shaken the machine?’

  ‘Done that.’

  ‘It hasn’t returned the five bucks?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then I can’t help. And I’m busy. You need to go on a diet anyway, Garcia.’

  Garcia, who was still crouching by the dispense drawer, looked up and grinned.

  ‘Try kicking it,’ suggested Quinn as Leroy turned on his heels and walked off. As Quinn followed, he turned and saw Garcia kicking the machine a couple of times.

  Back in the office, Leroy said, ‘Now, where the hell were we?’

  ‘We were talking about Cordell maybe having an accomplice you -’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Leroy exclaimed. Quinn paused. ‘What?’

  Leroy pointed to one of the walls. On the whiteboards, where Leroy had written details of Cordell’s victims, was taped a large glossy colour centrefold. She was blonde, and had her back to the camera, but was looking round at the camera so the side of her right breast was in view as well as her behind. She was pouting seductively. On her right buttock, somebody had drawn, in black ink, a pentagram. To the right of the centrefold, scribbled on the whiteboard in red pen, was the pentagrass killer. The ass part of the word was underlined.

  ‘Assholes,’ Leroy spat, tearing the picture off the wall. Quinn looked over to the door to see three of the other detectives leaning around the door, in hysterics. Leroy screwed the picture into a ball and threw it at them. ‘Go on, you bastards. Piss off and do some work.’ The three detectives scuttled back down the corridor, still laughing. Leroy sat back down again. ‘Ought to be in a fucking kindergarten,’ he muttered, then started to grin, shaking his head dismissively.

  ‘I think we need to focus, Sam,’ said Quinn, ‘then we can get out of here.’

  ‘Yeah, let’s round things up.’

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ Lieutenant Perez asked, as he strode into the room. ‘No crimes in LA this weekend?’ Leroy unscrewed the centrefold, showed it to Perez, then pointed up at the pentagrass on the whiteboard. It took a few seconds to register. ‘Jesus! Who’s the wiseass?’

  ‘The Sesame Street patrol out there,’ Leroy replied.

  ‘Back in a minute.’

  Once Perez had left, Quinn whispered, ‘What’s he doing here at the weekend?’

  ‘Go figure. He and I were partners. It was his investigation as well as mine. He was the lead detective. It was his responsibility. I’ll bet he didn’t get much sleep last night either.’ He paused a beat. ‘I’m going to call Russell Hobson. I know he said he’d do the exam on Monday, but he might have taken a quick look at the body when they got it last night.’

  He dialled. Hobson answered quickly.

  ‘Russ,’ said Leroy. ‘Sorry to call you on a Saturday.’

  ‘………’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, buddy. It’s just a quick call about the Jane Doe last night.’

  ‘………’

  ‘I know, you said that. I was just wondering if you were able to -’

  ‘………’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘………’

  ‘Which is…’

  ‘………’

  ‘Sweet. Thanks, Russ. Speak Monday. And tell Talia and the kids I said hi.’

  Perez had returned while Leroy was on the call. Quinn mouthed ‘Hobson’ to the lieutenant.

  ‘Well?’ Perez asked after Leroy had hung up.

  ‘That was Russell Hobson,’ Leroy explained to Perez. He looked over at Quinn. ‘He was at Disneyland, would you believe. In the line for the Haunted Mansion. He repeated that he’ll treat the Jane Doe as a priority Monday morning but did take a superficial look over the body before he went home last night. Unofficial, of course.’ He looked up at Perez. ‘The MO was the same as with Cordell. Duct tape, grey electrical wire. Multiple stab wounds to the chest, done some hours before as the blood had congealed. And two pentagrams carved on the body. Large one on the back, smaller on her inner thigh. Late twenties, early thirties, he guessed. She was Caucasian, we know that already. Hair was in fact auburn, dyed darker. She had two dress rings on, and an ankle bracelet, but no wedding band.’

  ‘Single,’ said Perez. ‘Another loner. Any signs of sexual assault?’

  ‘Nothing obvious. But he’ll know for sure Monday.’

  ‘There were no obvious signs last time. Apart from the lubricant.’

  ‘He also said he’s sorry, but he didn’t think to take a picture of the face but will send one over Monday.’

  Perez nodded slowly, in thought. ‘Okay. I appreciate you guys coming in; what’s the situation so far?’

  ‘We just got back from UCLA. We went to see Professor Ramos; you remember – the little guy who helped us out last time.’

  ‘Ramos… yes, I remember. What did he have to say?’

  ‘Ray took notes.’

  Quinn took a deep breath and ran through what the professor had said. Perez nodded thoughtfully as Quinn spoke, but it was obvious not everything was sinking in. Once Quinn had stopped Perez sat down and spoke.

  ‘The main reason I came in this morning, guys, was just to tell you I’ve decided to ask the Bureau for help. I know what you’re going to say, Sam, but hear me out. I’ll call them Monday morning, but I’m not going to ask them to run the investigation. Just for advice. The murders all took place in California?’

  Leroy said, ‘That’s one line we could check out: if there’ve been any similar killings in other states.’

  Perez said, ‘They’ll know. If there had been, they’d be here already. I just want them to give us some insight into what to look for. Obviously, Sam, you don’t want them on the front line.’

  ‘No. I want to do this. I need to do this.’

  ‘I get that, Sam. I feel the same way. I was the first on the scene after you shot Cordell, remember? So, I’ll ask for their support as advisory only. Of course, if he’s crossed a state line then we’ll have no choice.’

  ‘We need expert input on what type of guy he’s likely to be.’

  ‘If it is a guy,’ Quinn said.

  Perez acknowledged this. ‘If it is a guy, yes. Most likely is. Ninety-nine point nine percent odds. What kind of guy he is and what kind of guy he’s not. His likely character and motivation. And some investigative best practices.’

  As Perez spoke, Leroy stood up and walked over to the whiteboard. Put his hand through the pentagrass, totally erasing it.

  ‘So all we know so far,’ Perez continued, ‘is that the MO looks the same as the others.’

  Leroy nodded. ‘The car’s down for a full forensic check, but if it’s anything like the other vehicles, it’ll be clean.’

  Perez said, ‘There’s nothing else we can really do until Monday when the reports come in. You guys get off home; come back Monday fresh. You’d only just closed your last case.’

  Leroy didn’t argue. ‘We just need to check the MPU. There might be a name listed there with a physical description which matches our Jane Doe. Will give us something to start with.’

  Perez got up and stretched. ‘See you guys Monday. Unless…’ He paused. ‘Of course, Sam, we might just have a Wulchak situation here.’

  Quinn frowned. ‘What’s a Wulchak situation?’

  Leroy and Perez looked at each other.

  Perez replied, ‘It something a former captain here used to say. A Captain Wulchak, obviously. He used to say that it’s what investigators need when they come to an impasse, when a murder investigation has stalled.’

  Grimly, Leroy added, ‘A sec
ond murder.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the three square miles or so which comprise the city of Venice, there are many bars. Bars as diverse as the many hundreds of drinkers who can be found there each night.

  One such bar is Townhouse, located on Windward Avenue. In fact, Townhouse is the oldest bar in Venice and one of the oldest in the Los Angeles area. Its live action Del Monte basement, was an actual speakeasy during the Prohibition era, being cleverly masked by a grocery store above.

  It was Saturday night, and an off-duty Raymond Quinn eased his way through the throng. He made his way to the bar, and cast his eyes up and down it. He quickly located his target. He moved down, squeezing past two men who were attempting to waltz, and put his hand on the shoulder of the person sitting almost at the end, nursing a bottle.

  ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

  Leroy turned round on his stool. ‘Jesus, how did you know I was here?’

  Quinn perched himself on the stool next to Leroy’s. He indicated to the bartender that he would like the same as Leroy was drinking. ‘I’m a detective, aren’t I?’

  ‘So they tell me,’ said Leroy as he turned back to face the bar and take another mouthful of Keystone.

  Quinn ignored the jibe and took a mouthful himself. ‘Saturday night and you’re not at home, so you’re either here or in Larry’s.’

  ‘Or sitting on the beach with a six-pack. You been to Larry’s already?’

  ‘No, this is the first stop.’

  ‘Lucky break.’ Leroy mimicked a toast. ‘You didn’t say what you were doing here. Not exactly local for you.’

  Quinn shook his head and leaned on the bar. ‘I had another fight with Holly. She was already pissed at me for going in this morning instead of going to her old man’s barbe-fucking-que. I showed up there about four thirty, and her mother spent the next two hours not talking to me, just giving me the evil eye.’

  ‘Oh.’ Leroy finished his beer and indicated for another.

  ‘I got so sick of it I said, “Look Barbara, I’m sorry I was late, but some of us have to work for a living”, or something along those lines. She just stomped off, and Holly took over.’

  ‘Took over the evil eye?’

  ‘U-huh.’

  ‘What about Holly’s old man?’

  ‘He wouldn’t give a shit whether I was there or not.’ He sat up and made a mock toast. ‘To Henry Meriwether II.’

  ‘So you thought you’d come see me? How touching.’

  ‘I drove around some, then thought I’d find you before you get too blasted.’

  Leroy nodded, swigging more beer.

  ‘That’s enough about me and Holly. Sam, what about you and Joanna?’

  ‘Nah. We’re history.’

  ‘Really. I’m sorry, Sam. It looked like…’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. She used to say it was like dating the LAPD.’

  ‘Shit, that’s what Holly says some days.’

  ‘You surprised? Think about it, Ray: part of being a cop and part of being a cop’s wife or partner.’

  Quinn said, ‘I wonder if it would be easier if you were both in the job. You know, you’d understand what it’s like more.’

  Leroy shrugged. ‘A little, maybe. I guess you might understand more, but sometimes understanding’s not enough. You still have physical needs.’

  Quinn looked over at his partner. ‘You speaking from personal experience, Sam?’

  Leroy said nothing.

  Quinn asked, ‘What about that chick you met with when you went to Birmingham?’

  Leroy paused a moment.‘Oh, you mean Sally Duvall.’

  ‘You ever see her again?’ Quinn asked. ‘You told me she wanted to fuck you.’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘Nah. Haven’t seen her again. Never will, I guess. I did once say to come out here, see the Pacific, but she never did.’ He paused. ‘She did send me a few dirty texts, sent me a picture of her tits, once. But all that’s stopped, now.’

  ‘Her tits?’

  ‘Sure. You want to see? I still have,’ he said, reaching for his phone.

  ‘Go on.’

  Leroy took out his phone, found the picture and showed Quinn. ‘See?’

  ‘Nice,’ Quinn remarked. ‘Did you ever…?

  ‘Ever what?’

  ‘Send her a picture back? Same kind of picture?’

  ‘One of my dick, you mean? No, I never did. Think that’s where I went wrong?’ Leroy took one more look at the picture, then put the phone away. ‘I did think about making it the wallpaper, but never did. What about Holly?’

  ‘A picture of Holly’s tits?’

  ‘No. I mean how are you two getting on? You said you had a fight. Is that regular?’

  Quinn shrugged, took more beer. Said nothing.

  ‘How long you guys been together?’ Leroy asked. ‘Five years?’

  ‘Married five.’

  ‘I remember. I was there.’

  Quinn smiled. ‘Together six.’

  ‘No kids yet?’

  ‘Officially trying. But in the past, when we’d had a fight, we’d make up afterwards, then…’

  ‘You’d make up by trying baby making?’

  ‘Kind of. But last few months, we still have the fights, but less and less sex afterwards.’

  ‘Don’t lose her, Ray. She’s a good girl.’

  ‘What do I do, then? I want to stay with the Department.’

  ‘I get that. I’m the last person to ask. Talk to one of the old timers. Talk to Mike Paige. He and Eloise have been together for centuries. Give him a call.’

  Quinn slowly nodded. ‘I will.’

  ‘Now get off home. Before Holly smells booze on your breath.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. Go give Holly some TLC.’

  ‘Won’t work.’

  ‘It stands more chance of working with the two of you in the same room. Not with you here.’

  Quinn stood up. ‘Okay, I’ll give it a go. See you Monday.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Quinn rested his hand on Leroy’s shoulder for a second and left.

  ‘Oh, Ray?’ Leroy called out.

  Quinn stopped and looked back.

  ‘Your cell,’ said Leroy nodding to Quinn’s phone.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question before. Does it have any pictures of Holly’s tits?’

  Quinn grinned, shook his head, turned and left.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The killer was watching.

  Patiently.

  So patiently.

  The killer had learned that patience was a key personal skill needed for the mission. More so than being able to ignore any feelings of compassion or squeamishness. More so than having the physical strength to overpower the victim before sedation, that is. More so than being able to meticulously clean the area where the killings were carried out; not just removing blood stains, or the other mess when the victims’ sphincters opened, but ensuring that the authorities found no trace of DNA. More so than being able to procure a suitable vehicle; more so than being able to leave the vehicle, victim inside, somewhere in plain sight where it was guaranteed it would be found. And found before any decomposition had set in.

  Patience was needed to carefully research and select the next customer, to make sure all the boxes were ticked. To observe her, and it had to be a her, almost 24/7 so the right time and place could be selected for the moment it was show-time.

  Each woman was hand-picked: she had to be of a certain age, she had to be single, alone, she had to be of a certain ethnic background. The killer sniggered: that might be considered racist or sexist, or all kinds of -ists, but the killer didn’t give a shit.

  But how to find somebody who fits the bill exactly? The killer did consider hookers, but, although they might have been in the right age frame, and of the right race, there was no guarantee they would be single and solitary. Some hookers did have kids, and there w
as normally a pimp just around the corner, literally as well as figuratively.

  On-line dating, or an on-line hook-up site, seemed an obvious twenty-first century avenue. Obviously with fake details, maybe some downloaded photographs, but there was always the danger of the authorities being able to follow the trail back through ISP providers and routers, whatever. IT had never been the killer’s strong suit, and getting in a suitable qualified computer adviser was of course out of the question.

  So it was back to the old-fashioned way. Looking, looking and looking. Then watching and watching and watching.

  Patience, patience, patience.

  How did the killer find this one? Yes, it was in a singles bar. Same as the next victim. The killer always had a potential victim; in case it turned out this one wasn’t suitable - maybe a boyfriend away, or on a Tour of Duty - and so as not to waste time once this one had been deposited.

  The previous one was different: the killer had spotted her in a K Market: it was so obvious, a cart full of those meals for one. Once she had been identified, it was just a matter of following and watching and waiting.

  This stupid woman was asking for it as well: she drew her blinds once it was dark, but opened them before it got light. This time of year, sunrise was around seven; she left for work just after the hour, so was up at six, maybe earlier. Still dark at six thirty, but as it was morning, she didn’t perceive it as night.

  Nice view.

  Then during the day, while she was out at work at that boring diner - the one that served cold fries and weak, tepid coffee - the killer would head back to the woman’s apartment and break in. Then wait patiently until she got home.

  But that was the last one. For this particular one, it would probably have to be different. The killer’s research had revealed that the woman owned a dog. A big motherfucker, too: a German Shepherd, or some such breed – and whilst the killer could somehow disable the animal, there was always the ever-present risk of injury. Those dogs had big teeth. Then of course, it would bark, and bark loudly. Therefore, this one would have to be dealt with outside, or away from her home, for sure.

  On past experience, if she had a cart full of shopping, she was headed straight back home. Her apartment was in a medium sized, three-floor building with an underground parking garage. She had to key in a number, normally four digits, on a keypad to get the shutters to open. Then park behind the closed shutters and get access to her apartment directly from the garage. That would be too risky as there was bound to be CCTV.