We were in a wide entrance area. Black leatherette, with silver rivets holding everything together. Concealed lighting. Framed posters of toned and tanned bodies scantily clad in leather and chains. To the left I could see a barroom. Those tall, high-stem tables that you stand at rather than sit, sprouting from the floor like black dahlias. Cozy booths in back. To the right a larger space, mostly shrouded in darkness. A tangle of lighting equipment barnacled to the ceiling. The insipid scent of rainforest air freshener ineptly trying to mask the darker stench of musk and booze.
‘Thinking of joining?’
I looked back. ‘I’m here on official police business.’ I said. ‘Are you the owner? The manager?’
I saw the corner of her mouth curl. She was entertained by the thought. ‘Try general dog’s body. My boyfriend owns the place. I do all the running around.’
‘Boyfriend? I thought …’
The curl turned into a smirk. ‘You’re straight, right?’
‘To the point, I guess.’
‘Well, there’s no golden rule that says you have to be gay to run a gay club. You straights are so quick to stereotype. My boyfriend and me, we’re bi. As in bi-sexual. But we could easily be straight. Like you. And still run this place.’
I took a photo of Samuels out of my pocket. A close-up of him taken at a university fete. ‘Have you seen this man before?’
She tipped her head forward to get a closer look. Her long black hair cascaded over her arms like a lace shawl. The narrow strip of skin visible in her center parting was snow white.
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘That’s Jeff. He’s in here every weekend.’
‘Was he here this weekend?’
‘Come to think of it, no. Jeff’s cool. Is he in trouble?’
‘He’s dead.’
Pale skin going paler. Turquoise eyes widening. ‘Oh. Jeez. Bummer. I mean, real bummer. He was a good guy. How? When?’
‘Saturday morning. Not from natural causes. That’s all I can tell you. How well did you know him?’
‘Only as much as you get to know any of the regulars. We try and keep our relationship with our patrons strictly business. But friendly. You know? We maintain a strict privacy code.’
‘How long’s he been coming here?’
She looked down to the floor, then back. ‘About two years, I think. Yep, at least two years. Jeff was popular. Funny. Bought plenty of drinks for everyone. As you can imagine, he had a lot of friends.’
‘Any enemies?’
I saw the question run through her eyes. This girl was no freshly-cut daisy. She could see where I was heading and immediately cut me off at the pass:
‘Definitely not. No way. At least not here. You’re thinking his sexuality had something to do with his murder?’
Until this morning, until the little girl had been discovered underneath the 7th Street Bridge, I might have thought that way. Now I wasn’t so sure.
‘I don’t believe it. Everybody loved Jeff. He was the original nice guy. Totally wizzywig.’
She saw my frown and added:
‘What You See Is What You Get.’
‘A computer term.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Yes. It is. I’m a gamer. Mostly MMORPG.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘There I go again.’
‘What about Jeff,’ I said, ‘any jealous lovers?’
She shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. But then I only saw him for a handful of hours on Saturday nights. I have no idea what he did with the rest of his week.’
‘Anything else?’ I said. ‘Anything at all that sticks out when you think about him?’
I saw her think some more. Eyes went down to the floor, Stayed there a moment. Then came back to me again. ‘Maybe this isn’t relevant, but there was this one guy here five or six weeks back. He and Jeff were having words. In there, in one of the booths. It got a little heated. I’d never seen Jeff lose his temper before. I swear they were on the verge of throwing punches. Weird.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘I have no idea. I was busy tending the bar. They were asked to leave and they did. They continued to argue out on the street. Somebody called the cops and the other guy ran for it before they showed.’
‘This other guy, he a regular too?’
‘No. I never saw him before or after that night.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Maybe six foot. Slim. One-fifty pounds. Dark hair. A nose like yours.’
Unconsciously, I touched my crooked nose – the result of too many collisions with criminals.
I pointed to a CCTV camera at the back of the entrance area. ‘Does your security system record?’
‘Yes. But we only keep the tapes for a month. Insurance purposes. Then we tape over them. There is one other thing: I think this new guy might have known one of the other regulars. He was having a drink with Roxy. Right before the argument with Jeff.’
‘Roxy who?’
‘We don’t ask. It’s none of our business. Some of our clientele are sensitive. They use pseudonyms. It’s Wednesday tomorrow. Which means it’s theme night. If you want to question Roxy in person that’s your best chance.’
‘Okay. Now back-track a little. You said weird. In what way was it weird?’
25
___________________________
The message light on my answering machine was flashing when I got home. A red robotic eye winking in the dark. No message recorded. No number left on Caller ID either. Like this for months. I’d put it down to a network malfunction. Meant to get it fixed along with a lot of other things. Never had.
I deleted the entry.
It was after 9 p.m..
I dropped house keys in the dish and switched on lights. Thought about
The Undertaker
as I tucked into the take-out I’d started eating at 3 a.m. this morning. I hadn’t had the stomach for it earlier. Wasn’t sure if I had now.
And, yes, I’d already decided to adopt Harry’s moniker for the killer.
There were three words that came to mind when I thought about
The Undertaker
: cool, composed and methodical. No hairs out of place. No buttons undone. Not convinced CSU would find any useable DNA. He’d taken his time at both crime scenes. Staged everything neat and tidy. This guy was smart. Not genius smart. Scary smart. The worst kind.
My cell phone rang:
The Mayor’s Office.
It was a strange time for anyone to be calling on official business. I put the phone to my ear.
‘Yes?’
‘I hope you’re satisfied, detective.’
‘Dr Perry? It’s late. I’m busy.’
‘Now you know my secret.’
‘This really isn’t a good time.’
‘Congratulations on forcing the information out of Kimmi. I have no idea how you achieved it, but I trust you will respect my privacy and be discreet.’
I didn’t owe Perry a dime. He was a sanctimonious SOB who used his affiliation with the Mayor for his own ill-gotten gains.
‘Dr Perry, you’re lucky you’re not under arrest.’ I said. ‘You had Ms. Hu break into a sealed crime scene to remove incriminating evidence.’
‘Incriminating, yes. But not in the case of Jeffrey’s murder.’
He didn’t get it. Thought he was above the law.
The house phone rang.
‘Goodbye, Dr Perry.’ I said and hung up.
I reached over the couch. Picked up: ‘Yes, Eleanor?’
‘Don’t sound so exasperated.’ She said. ‘I’m the best friend you have in this world, Gabe. Don’t you forget that.’
‘Somehow I don’t think you’ll let me. What do you want?’
‘Will you be at Winston’s later? We have a date, remember?’
I made a snorting sound. ‘I’m planning an early night.’
‘With your condition?’
‘What condition is that, Eleanor?’
‘Well, actually you have two, sweetheart: insomnia and denial. And both are fixable. Anyway, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’
I did. But I had other plans.
26
___________________________
Predators prowled here at night: in the built-up foothills overlooking the city. The nocturnal hunters had been here long before the first human settlers had traveled west to these shores in search of freedom and wealth. Before the rolling forests had been torn down and towers of metal-and-glass thrown up in their place. But primordial compasses held true. Across this manmade terrain, silent killers still followed primeval hunting paths. Patterns etched into genes. As if the concrete topography wasn’t even here at all.
The man was garbed completely in black. Face camouflaged. Skin-tight driving gloves that allowed for better dexterity. He was standing beneath a tree. An old leaning oak. On the rim of a manicured lawn the size of a soccer pitch. He was surrounded by shrubbery. Enveloped in the rich odors of rotting earth. He’d stood here the best part of an hour. Maybe two; he wasn’t keeping track. Stock still. Cloaked in darkness. Observing.
There was a coyote out on the dewy grass. Standing in the fading moonlight. Staring at him with dark, indifferent eyes. No fear. No threat. Completely relaxed. It had paused its nightly trek across the velvety lawn to assess whether the man was friend or foe.
Behind it, the monolithic mansion house was silhouetted against the creeping light of dawn.
The man wondered what it would be like to live here. Away from the polluted city. Where the air was clean. With its great views down over the Hollywood Hills and out to Catalina on a clear day. Wondered what price had to be paid to own a slice of this very exclusive American pie.
Men had killed for much less.
He dug his hands in his pockets and fingered their contents. In the left, a fist of cigarettes. In the right, a sprig of syringes.