The Gumshoe Diaries (5 page)

Actually, all things considered it was a
pretty quiet night. I mean, I had seen this room filled to capacity
more times than I cared to remember over the years. Of course that
was from the outside looking in. You gain a far different
perspective from this side of the bars. The sight of the unsightly
was bad enough,
but the smell
, that was much harsher than I
remembered. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d have to shower with
industrial strength Mr. Clean to rid my body of the stench! As for
my clothes,
fuggedaboutit!
I would have to burn
them as soon as I got home!

From my vantage point at the farthest corner
of the oversized communal cell, I surveyed the room killing time.
Clearly there was no way I’d be falling asleep in here, not with
this assortment of semi-coherent and incoherent roomies. The air
was heavy with the powerful aromas of sweat, urine, flatulence, and
vomit, making it difficult to breathe. Whoever was on the top bunk
nearest me was talking in his sleep while two guys sharing the
bottom bunk were busy feeling each other up. Like I said, there
wouldn’t be any shut-eye for old Whitey tonight! And on that
pleasant note I dozed off.

--

LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Tuesday,
Feb 17, 2009…5am

--

“Rise and shine porcupines,
chow time
, get it while it’s hot gentlemen,” bellowed
Deputy Bob Blackburn, a six foot six inch 20 year veteran who
looked more like a gladiator than a cop! It was SOP to feed the
drunks before sunrise so they could cut them loose before the city
streets were filled with commuters, you know, normal folk.

I stayed put while the great unwashed slowly
meandered toward the front to get their tray of powdered eggs, dry
toast, and coffee. I was surprised at how good the coffee smelled,
and I was actually pretty hungry having missed my Osso-Bucco at Fat
Johnny’s. I was even more surprised that the French roast was able
to cut through the stench in tank! I closed my eyes for a moment
figuring I would be relatively safe for a few minutes while
everyone ate in silence. A power catnap was just what the doctor
ordered, and I was almost out when I felt the sharp sting of a
baton across the soles of my shoes.

“
WHAT THE…”
I hollered as I
scrambled to my feet!

“Snap out of it Roode, the LT said to cut you
loose before he got into work. Said he saw enough of you’re ugly
puss last night,” Deputy Blackburn said with a wicked grin. He
leaned against the bars and watched me hop up and down holding my
left foot which was still smarting from the baton tap.

“You enjoying yourself Bob,” I asked
dryly?

“Ah, you know how it is Whitey, we aim to
please hoss,” he answered with an even bigger grin.

“Natch,” I replied walking past him toward
the open cell door.

He giggled like the dumb-ass hillbilly he was
and followed me out of the cell and on up the stairs at the end of
the short hallway. We paused at the heavy door at the top and
waited to be buzzed into the mantrap. The door unlocked
automatically when the green light came on and we walked inside
together. It was pretty cramped quarters and I actually felt bad
for Blackburn having to breathe my stink, I could barely stand my
own self! He reached around me and pressed a button on the squawk
box behind me.

“Come on man; shake a leg out there will ya!
Whitey here is pretty ripe, I can actually smell my nose hairs
burning,” Blackburn pleaded. The door buzzed and slid open before
he could heap on any more humiliation onto what was left of my
self-esteem.

“Let’s go stinky, I want you on the street
and out of my airspace before I lose my breakfast,” Blackburn
ordered.

He gave me a firm but friendly nudge with his
night stick and I exited quickly, without bothering to look back or
trade quips with the big lug. I just casually flipped him off as I
walked over to the property cage to collect my personal items and
bus fare. I could hear Blackburn howling with laughter as he went
back into the mantrap to return to his duties. I listened to the
clerk count out my small wad of cash (small in denomination that
is) and then identify each item before I signed the receipt. I
couldn’t wait to get the flock outta there! My first stop post lock
up would be my flat for a long hot shower and then I planned to hit
The Pantry over on Ninth for a proper breakfast and some quiet time
to figure out my next move.

I had stewed all night on the blue thread
theme and couldn’t help wondering why Oscar and the blue crew were
so protective of this particular case. Something didn’t smell right
and given my current hygienically altered state that was saying a
lot! I decided before I’d taken ten steps out of the building and
sucked in my first few gulps of
fresh air
(a bit of an
oxymoron considering that I lived in Los Angeles), that I would
ping on my ace in the hole over at USC Medical Center and call in a
couple of favors she owed me. Judy Looney (a.k.a. Looney Tunes)
taught forensic science at the University and was also a
regular

Consultant on most of the big-time murder
cases in the area. No doubt there would be some conflict of
interest here given the fact that she was probably already involved
in Oscar’s investigation, but she was also a close (and I mean
close) friend of my ex-wife Ronald, I mean Rhonda,
no
, I
guess I do mean Ronald? Oh bag it, that gender bending concept just
frustrates the crap outta me! Suffice to say that she was more than
just a regular at my monthly poker games; she was a regular at my
ex’s parlor games as well, nuff said.

Judy was the exception to the rule that
“those who can’t…teach”
she was in fact the guru of forensic
science. Her classes weren’t filled freckle faced undergrads; her
classes were filled with forensic scientists sent by cities from
around the country and beyond to learn her approach to the craft if
you will. To say she was brilliant would be an understatement.
Luckily for me she was also still in the closet and I’m not above
using my inside information as leverage when I need a favor. So
after my shower, shave, and meal Looney Tunes and I would be having
a wee chat about the little blue threads in my pocket and whatever
tell-tale crud and DNA might be soaked into them. My gut has always
been a good barometer when it came to hunches and right now it was
growling audibly. It was more than hunger pains, it was fear. Of
what I had no idea, but it felt very real nonetheless, why?

****

( “five to one baby, one in five, no one here gets
out alive…”)…The Doors…1972

Chapter Seven

Time is relative…nowhere in particular, Los
Angeles

Are you enjoying following around this
pissant Whitey Roode?
Yes,
I’m talking to you silly goose!
You’re the one turning the pages aren’t you? Don’t be shy, my words
won’t hurt you. They may make you feel a little queer, but they
can’t harm you,
well
, the words that is. Quite a character
don’t you think? He amuses me, and for that reason alone I think
I’ll let him live a while longer. Sometimes it’s more fun to be the
mouse instead of the cat, am I right? I mean it’s certainly more
exciting, fearing the unexpected. For me, that happens so rarely. I
rather enjoy the change of pace.
Still;
when the time is
right, when he’s close to solving the puzzle that is me, it will be
my blade that he discovers in the end. Pity, but as they say, all
good things must come to an end. They also say
(whoever they
are)
that no good deed goes unpunished. Sad, but true in
Whitey’s case, I’ll miss him, poor thing.

--

Ahmanson Center for Biological Research,
USC…Tuesday, Feb 17, 2009…8am

--

Mornings are always hectic on campus,
especially Tuesday mornings. You would think Mondays would be the
one, but not USC, the University of Spoiled Children. Most of the
kids around here needed an extra day to recover from the weekend.
That didn’t matter to Judy Looney, her routine was the same day in
and day out. Jump out of bed right after the second snooze alarm,
pee, hop in and out of the cold shower,
pee again
, brush
your teeth with one hand and swirl a q-tip in your ear with the
other. Then gargle with a healthy dose of Listerine,
cool mint
of course
, and throw together an outfit from the pile of
clothes on the floor, whatever passes the sniff test that is. And
viola
, Showtime! At least that was Judy Looney’s routine,
just as it had been since leaving boring and dreary Nebraska for
exciting and sunny California, some twenty years ago. This Monday
would not be any different as the snooze alarm screamed for the
second time.

“
SHIT,”
Judy exclaimed, suddenly wide
awake!

Leaping out of her toasty warm trundle bed
Judy scurried down the hall to the bathroom. I know what you’re
thinking, what’s a forty something college professor doing sleeping
on a bed designed for a teenybopper? Well, the short answer is that
emotionally she was perpetually sixteen at best. The long
complicated answer was that college professors made squat, and the
brilliant ones tended to make even less than that due to the fact
that they were usually too wrapped up in their projects to worry
about trivial little things like say,
oh I don’t know
, like
making a living maybe? Incredible,
I know
, but
that was her lifestyle, God bless her. To be honest, I sort of
envied her, a dyed in the wool, womb to tomb egghead without a care
in the world!

As she scrubbed her face in the shower, Judy
recited the day’s agenda. She shivered under the steady stream of
icy cold water, while her perky set of 34 Cs bounced like gelatin
on a plate, and warbled a long
brrrrrrr
. Thermal shock
showers were just one of many routines she had brought with her
from the farm, like starting the day early, like when it was still
night. I guess there’s nothing like a little hypothermia to clear
the cobwebs from your brain. Turning away from the showerhead she
leaned back and put her head under the falling ice pellets to rinse
the conditioner out of her hair. Then, wrapping her hair in that
turban-like manner, the one that all girls know how to do from
birth, she stepped out of the tub and got herself powdered and
dressed in nanoseconds. I bet that would have been something to
see, but I digress. If only I had had the foresight to come to her
place instead of her office on campus, I might have had an
opportunity to tickle that bisexual funny bone of hers? In any
event, she arrived to work with wet hair and a mouth full of a half
chewed Assiago bagel which had been smothered in cream cheese. You
know, on second thought maybe it was a good thing meeting on campus
after all, because this broad was no Miss Manners!

Dr. Judith Looney opened the door and fell
into her small office more than walking into it. It was sort of
like an aircraft carrier landing, a controlled crash! She dropped
an arm full of books and papers onto her already cluttered desk and
flopped into an old leather chair that had seen better days. You
know, I’ve always heard that an unorganized workspace usually means
a hyper organized mind, and darned if she proved that as soon as
she spoke.

“Practicing breaking and entering this
morning are you,” she asked, noticing me sitting on a beat up sofa
across from her desk?

“You know how impatient I am,” I replied.

“Look Whitey, I’ve got a class in 14 minutes,
but because you’re Ronnie’s former fella I’ll give you 5 minutes to
speak your mind while I look around for my lecture notes,” she
explained, her eyes never acknowledging me.

“Oh yeah, nice to see you again, sorry,” Judy
added finally looking up.

“Ditto, sweetheart, and I’ll make this
quick,” I replied getting up from my seat.

“Promises, promises,” she answered
sarcastically!

“Clock’s ticking gumshoe, talk fast,” she
added as she stuffed her lecture notes into an old tattered
briefcase that she’d inherited from her father (the original Dr.
Looney) after graduating from Stanford’s Medical School, and
collapsed into her chair.

“Since you put it that way, here’s the sitch.
I’m working a murder case for mutual friends. You know them, from
poker night, the Mahu couple, Jay and Lu.”

“Yeah, so, what about them?”

“The stiff is Jay’s niece, an FOB from
Shanghai. She was supposed to be here to attend school but
apparently changed her plans once she got here, taking Jay and Lu’s
tuition money and starting her own business,” I explained.

“What kind of business,” asked Judy?

“The kind that gets you dead,” I
answered.

“Tick tock Whitey, I haven’t got time for 20
questions?”

“Right, well she wasn’t a spy, and she didn’t
sell drugs,” I continued.

“Ergo she was in the flesh business, I get
it. Let’s see, was she a stripper, a hooker, an escort, or
what?”

“I suspect all of the above. At any rate,
suffice to say she obviously stepped on somebody’s toes,” I
replied, slightly annoyed with her attitude.

“So what do you want from me?

“I need you to run these fibers through your
wiz-bang watch-ya-ma-call-it machines and tell me all there is to
tell,” I answered, tossing her the sandwich bag containing the blue
threads I took from Sally’s apartment last night. She took the bag
and gave me an
“is that all”
look, rolling her eyes and
shrugging her shoulders.

“Ah, you realize that my wiz-bang equipment,
as
you
call it, belongs to the State of California, and that
I could lose my tenure doing g-jobs for the likes of you?”

“Come on Judy, after all I’ve done for you? I
mean, didn’t I look the other way when you started screwing my ex,
or whatever you call what the two of you were doing in my own bed
while I was out risking life and limb on the mean streets of Los
Angeles? That has to be worth something, right,” I pleaded?