Last Man's Head (10 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Jerrome crouched low
behind the silver sedan. He winced as again he felt the pain in his lower back. He had been here for three and a half hours now - since ten – and was considering calling it a day.

He was crouching behind one of the many cars in the 103-space parking lot at the Metro Blue Line station on
Florence and Graham. Although there was less of a choice of vehicles here, it was better than a larger parking garage, where there were cameras at every corner, and a guy couldn’t walk from one end to the other without appearing on someone’s television set. Here, although the lot was not without security, maybe because it was in the open air, it was easier to avoid the cameras. Especially if you had been there many times and knew exactly where the cameras faced.

And its location was ideal. There was no need
for Jerrome to get up too early. If he rose just after nine, he had time for breakfast and a five minute walk to the 103
rd
Street/Watts Towers station – two stops away. The parking lot at his own stop had room for only sixty-three cars; less choice and as his long since deceased father used to say, ‘never shit on your own doorstep’.

So it was quite simple really. A quick trip up here
and take up position on the red metal bench on Graham Avenue with a prime view of the parking lot. There he would wait for a vehicle driven by an appropriate driver to park. Appropriate meant preferably female, although a man with a small build or elderly, and with no passengers would be okay too. A guy he knew didn’t bother to check the back seats and to his horror there were two kids strapped in back. So he was nailed for child abduction as well when they caught him.

Quite simple, but Jerrome had to get it right. Once he had picked out the right type of driver, he would watch for her to return. Once they were no less than a hundred yards from the car, he would quickly, keeping low to avoid the security cameras, make his way to the reverse of the vehicle, where he had previously tied onto the tailpipe a chain on which was attached a handful of metal tools. A file, and three screwdrivers: tools which would make a loud sound when scraped along the surface of the parking lot. They would pull away but stop after six feet or so to investigate the scraping sound. Nine times out of ten they would keep the keys in the ignition and the engine running. Once they were attempting to get the chain off the tailpipe, he would leap up, get into the car, and then he was off. Down
Compton and into the garage before she had time to even get through to the cops. Next day he would call the guy he normally called and he would come over and check the car out. Agree a price and Jerrome would have the cash for his next supply.

Also, the beauty of this location was that the station here was used by a combination of commuters and shoppers.  The commuters would arrive early and take the train up to their downtown offices; those arriving later were generally shoppers.

As was the case today.  At ten thirty, he observed the sedan parking. A woman, young-looking, dark hair tied into a pony-tail got out, bought a parking ticket, then walked over to the Blue Line station. She was wearing white pants and a bright yellow top. Jerrome watched as she headed for the platform. Within minutes a Downtown-bound train arrived; when it left she was no longer there.

Jerrome wandered around for the next hour, even across the tracks to the McDonalds. Took a free newspaper from a dispenser outside the station, then back to his bench.  Each time a train arrived for
Long Beach arrived, he would sit up, watching out for her.

At one-twenty he heard the siren from the crossing, signalling that a train was on its way. He looked up and saw it was a southbound headed to
Long Beach. As the last car pulled away, he could see her beginning to make her was back to the parking lot.

Jerrome leapt off his seat and ran across
Graham Avenue to the lot. As soon as he reached the sidewalk he dove through a gap in the bushes, bushes which has the effect of hiding his supine form from passers-by. He crept over to the vehicle parked next to her sedan. He had no idea the make or model of this or her car: he could only identify a vehicle by its colour: was it red, was it black, was it silver. He crouched behind a black vehicle, larger than hers.

He heard the click and the flash of the side lamps as she unlocked the door. Heard her climb in and start the engine. Heard and watched her pull away with the expected scraping of the tools. Watched as the car stopped after three feet. Heard the driver door open. Got ready to make his move.

Then…

‘You got a problem, dear?’ came a woman’s voice from the other side of the car. Jerrome sat back down in disbelief.

‘I heard a noise as I pulled away,’ the driver said. He could tell she was walking to the back of the car, so quickly scuttled around the side of the black car.

‘Something loose, I guess. What the fuck
-?’

‘What is it?’

Jerrome could hear as she was untying the chain.

‘Look at this. Some asshole tied this to my tailpipe.’ Jerrome could hear the chain rattling.

‘My God.’ It sounded like an older woman. ‘Kids, I guess.’

‘I’ll give them kids, goddam it.’

Jerrome heard her toss the chain so it landed on the verge of the lot, just under the bushes which formed a perimeter around the lot. Then the sedan door slammed as she got back into the car and pulled away. There was a squeal of brakes as the woman drove around the lot to the exit. Jerrome moved on all fours to the bushes again and waited. He would probably call it a day now; just a matter of waiting until the older woman had left.

He sat for a while, waiting for the sound of another car starting and leaving. This was made difficult by the sound of the traffic on
Graham Avenue.

Jerrome was just about to leave when he heard another vehicle pull up, in front of the cars behind which he was crouching. He could hear a door opening, the sound of shoes on the ground, then the door shut and the vehicle left.  He frowned, puzzled. What the hell was that about?

Then two cars away, he heard a groan, then a splattering noise. Something wet had hit the ground. Then the smell of vomit hit him. He looked under the cars, in the direction of the noise. He could make out a puddle of something on the ground, and somebody moving. Jesus, he thought, what a day: first he loses a car, then some dude pukes up next to me.

He heard a groan, then another splash. Jerrome thought he had better do something. He stood up and walked round to where the sound was coming from.

‘You okay there, dude?’ he asked, only to open his eyes wide at what he saw. There was a large pool of vomit on the ground, and a man wearing only a dress shirt and shorts. His hair was unkempt and his face was deathly pale, almost a light shade of green. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them was dark. He looked at Jerrome, and held one arm out to him.

‘Help me,’ he said weakly, then collapsed on the ground at Jerrome’s feet.

TWENTY-THREE

This time it
was Leroy’s turn to make tea. He left Domingo sitting at the small wooden dining table with Maria Robbins. The living area and kitchen comprised one large room: the kitchen area was separated from the rest of the room by a breakfast bar. As he turned on the gas to boil the water, Leroy looked back: he could see the two women talking softly and Domingo reach out and touch Maria’s arm. Of all the various duties he had to perform in his job, this was the one he disliked the most. Armed standoffs he could deal with; high speed car chase he could deal with; but giving bad news to a recently bereaved never got any easier, especially where tears were involved, which there normally were. Waiting for the kettle to boil he looked out of the small window into the back yard. Today, he was so glad Domingo was with him.

As he waited, a small grey-haired woman in her sixties shuffled over and joined him at the stove. She was short and of slight build, grey hair neatly cut. Her arms were folded as she came over. Her eyes were red.

It was she who had opened the door earlier. Expecting a woman in her thirties, Leroy and Domingo were slightly taken aback when they first saw her.

‘Mrs Robbins?’ Leroy had said.

‘No, I’m her mother,’ she had replied. ‘Maria is my daughter.’

They both held up their identifications. ‘Detective Leroy, and this is Detective Domingo. Is Mrs Robbins at home? We need to speak with her.’

Her face turned ashen. ‘Oh my God, is this about Guy?’

Leroy nodded.

‘You’d better come in, then.’ She held the door open and the two detectives stepped inside.

As the kettle whistled, Leroy looked around for cups.

‘The cups are here,’ she said quietly, opening a cabinet door. Took out four cups. ‘They keep tea bags and sugar in there. And the milk in the refrigerator. I’ll take coffee, I think: I will need it.’

Leroy smiled down at her. ‘Thanks.’

As she helped him make the four drinks, she looked up to him and said, ‘Thank you so much for coming over to tell us.’

He looked down at her.

‘For telling my daughter in person,’ she added. ‘I was expecting a phone call. To come in person is so much more…respectful.’

‘You were expecting a call?’ Leroy asked quietly.

‘I’m not a fool. I’ve lost two husbands myself. Guy’s been missing since Friday night. Maria called me Saturday afternoon and I’ve been here ever since. She’s tried his cell phone again and again, but it always goes to voicemail.’

‘Does it ring first, or go straight to voicemail?’

She frowned. ‘I think it went immediately. Why? Does that mean something?’

‘Possibly. Can I have his number?’

She picked up a phone which was lying by the sink and checked it. ‘Here it is,’ she said, and jotted it down on a scrap of paper. ‘When it got to Saturday night Sunday morning,’ she continued, ‘it became a case of hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’

They both looked over as Maria Robbins burst into tears for the third time.

‘What am I going to do with her?’ she asked Leroy. ‘And what can I tell her boys?’

‘They have children?’ Leroy asked. ‘They weren’t mentioned in the report.’

‘Two. One five, the other seven. They’re both at school right now.’

‘What have they been told so far?’

‘Just that their father had to go away on business.’ She picked up two cups and took them over to her daughter and Domingo. Leroy followed her with the other two. Domingo looked over to him as she sat down.

‘Maria said that Guy went out around eight o’clock Friday night. To see a client.’

‘A client? What’s his job?’ Leroy asked.

Maria Robbins replied slowly, her response punctuated by sniffs. ‘He’s….he was an accountant. This was a potential client, he said; otherwise he wouldn’t have had to go out on a Friday night in such bad weather.’

Domingo frowned. ‘Bad weather?’

Maria nodded, looking down at the table. ‘Yes, there was heavy rain. It didn’t last for long. I said to Guy can’t it wait; it’s really bad weather. I didn’t want him to have an acc…..’ She began sobbing again. While her mother sought to comfort her, Domingo spoke quietly to Leroy.

‘Don’t remember any rain Friday.’

‘There were some isolated cloudbursts that night. I got caught by one on the way to
Century City. Short and sharp.’

Maria had composed herself by now, so Leroy asked, ‘I am guessing that Guy was self-employed. Did he keep his business records on a computer? A laptop?’

She looked up, over at a desk the opposite side of the room. ‘Yes, he did. He used a laptop; it should be in that bag over there.’ They all looked over, and a small black bag was resting under the desk. Domingo walked over and picked up the bag. She unzipped it, looked inside, and nodded to Leroy.

‘Why are you asking about his computer?’ Maria’s mother asked. ‘I thought Guy was in a road accident.’

Leroy and Domingo exchanged glances. ‘Excuse me, why did you think that?’ Leroy asked.

She shrugged. ‘I just assumed that. Bad weather, he would be in a car wreck. Are you telling me that wasn’t the case?’

‘It wasn’t the case,’ he answered. He turned to Maria. ‘Maria, can you think of any reason why your husband would be in Hollywood that night?’

‘
Hollywood?’ she said. ‘No. Not unless his client lived there.’

‘Detective Leroy, how was Guy found?’ the old lady asked.

‘He was found,’ replied Leroy, ‘in a parking lot just away from Hollywood Boulevard.’

Maria flashed a glance to her mother, then back to Leroy. ‘I…I don’t understand. Was he in an accident? Hit by a car? Was he mugged? Please…just tell me how he died.’

‘He was found lying in a small parking lot. A vehicle did run over him, but that was not the cause of death. He was dead already.’

Maria put one hand to her mouth and reached for her mother with the other.

‘How did he die?’ her mother asked.

‘We’re not a hundred percent certain,’ Leroy said slowly.

‘Not certain?’

‘Let me rephrase that. Guy was filled with a massive dose of narcotics.’

Maria’s eyes opened wide. ‘No. No way.’

Leroy continued, ‘It was a cocktail of three different drugs. Recreational drugs. In a nutshell, that’s what killed him. But we need to know how and where he got hold of the drugs, and who he got them from.’

Domingo added, ‘Maria: as far as you know, did Guy use recreational drugs?’

‘No. Never. He was dead set against that. We have two boys and….oh my God
!’ She looked at her mother, a look of panic on her face. ‘What am I going to tell them?’

‘What are
we
going to tell them, darling,’ he mother said softly. ‘For now, just think about what these officers said. Guy didn’t use drugs, did he?’

‘No,’ Maria repeated. ‘Never.’

‘Is that why you were asking about his work computer?’ Maria’s mother asked. ‘Might it tell you where he got the drugs from?’

‘Ideally, yes,’ said Leroy. ‘But that might be too much to wish for. I’m hoping, though, that it might give details of that appointment he went to that night.’

‘Where was the car found?’ Maria asked.

‘It hasn’t. Again, once we find it, we’re hoping that might give some clues on what happened.’

‘What car did Guy drive?’ Domingo asked. ‘It’s in the report you filed, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a Lotus. I never liked it – too….what’s the word – showy…for me. But he said he needed it to give the right impression to clients. Silver. He bought it last fall.’

‘Your finances,’ said Leroy. ‘Were all your accounts in joint names?’

‘Y-yes,’ answered Maria slowly.

‘So, your joint checking account – Guy’s pay went in, and all the bills and other outgoings went out. Is that right?’

Marie nodded. ‘Yes, but why?’

‘It’s to do with those drugs,’ Leroy explained. ‘I hear what you said about Guy being clean, but he was filled with…you know. I was just seeing if there were any large sums going out that you couldn’t account for.’

‘We’re talking many hundreds of dollars,’ added Domingo.

‘No,’ Maria repeated, shaking her head.

‘Okay,’ Leroy said, nodding his head. He looked over at Domingo. ‘I think we’ve asked all we need to ask for now.’ He turned back to Maria and her mother. ‘One last thing, though, Maria. We need you to formally identify your husband.’

‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘He’s at the city morgue. It’s not that far - it’s adjacent to the
California State University.’ He checked his watch. ‘What time do your sons finish school?’

‘Three pm.’

‘If you are happy to go now, Detective Domingo can drive you there.’ He checked with Domingo. ‘And back. You’ll be back in time to collect your sons.’

Maria seemed unsure of what to say. Her mother patted her on her hand and put an arm round her shoulder. ‘It’s better this way, darling. Get it over with.’

‘Okay,’ Maria mouthed. They all stood up.

‘Is that okay, Liza?’ Leroy asked. ‘Once you’ve brought them back here, then you can join me back at HQ.’

‘Sure. No problem, Sam.’

Leroy turned to Maria and her mother. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Robbins, Mrs…?’

Maria’s mother replied, ‘Turner. Katy Turner.’

‘Mrs Turner,’ he repeated, then turned directly to Maria. ‘And Maria, once again, I am so sorry for your loss.’

‘I’ll leave you these,’ said Domingo, leaving two business cards on the table. One has my contact details; the other is the toll-free number of a bereavement counsellor. If you feel like…’

Mrs Turner nodded her thanks. Leroy and Domingo said they would wait in the cars, and went outside. Leroy picked up the laptop bag on his way out. As they stood by the cars, Leroy said, ‘I’ll phone Russ Hobson; get him to have her husband’s body ready for identification. Make it as quick as possible for her. So they’re back here for the kids. Use your siren if you need to.’

‘Right you are, Sam. You going straight back to the station house with that?’ She pointed down at the laptop.

‘Yeah. See if we can have any more luck than with Lance Riley.’

‘You’ll need the password.’

‘Shit, of course I will. Ask her on the way up to the morgue, then text it to me, will you?  Oh, it’s okay; here they are.’ Led by her mother, Maria came out of the house. As the two women paused by the cars, he asked, ‘Sorry, Maria, but I need to ask one more thing: do you know the password Guy used?’

She paused. ‘It’s
DREWJACK
. The names of our two boys.’

‘Okay. Thank you very much. Now Detective Domingo here will take drive you there, and bring you home also. Please don’t hesitate to call either one of us if you have any more questions, or if any other details about last Friday night spring to mind.’

He watched as they climbed in the back of Domingo’s car. ‘See you later,’ he said to her as she climbed in the driver’s seat. Then got into his own car, putting the laptop on the passenger seat.

Domingo headed off for the
Forensic Science Center; Leroy started the Taurus and began the drive to Police HQ. His hand rested on the black bag. Hopefully there would be something on the laptop which would tell them what did happen that night to Guy Robbins.

And to the others.