by P. A. Brown
“No, he isn’t. And if you’d stop horning in on us I wouldn’t care what you did.”
“Des and I are old friends, that’s it. It never was anything else.” Not entirely true. For a two-month period, during their sophomore year at UCLA, he and Des had tried to take their new friendship to another level. It had failed so miserably they had sworn never to try anything so foolish again.
“Yeah, right. I see the way he looks at you.”
The dial tone filled his ear. Chris held the phone away from him and stared at it.
Becky popped her head around the corner. “You aren’t going to do something stupid, are you?”
“Who, me? Never.” Chris quickly hung up and swept his fingers through his spiked hair. “Stupid how?”
“I’ve heard some things about Ruben...”
“Oh?” Chris straightened, Kyle forgotten. “Juicy things? Tell.”
“I heard he’s a real hard-ass. Doesn’t give slack to anybody.”
“Boring. Is that all?”
“He’s also a raving homophobe.”
Chris shrugged. “Him and all the other Republicans. Anything else?”
“He apparently disowned his own sister when she came out. When she died last year he refused to go to her funeral.” She lowered her voice. “Refused to let anyone else in the family go, either. Said anyone who went was out of his will. Disowned.”
“So anybody go?”
“Never heard. Want to bet Tommy’s daddy didn’t? Maybe DataTEK is Tommy’s reward.”
“Well there’s a cheery thought.”
“Ain’t it?”
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CHAPTER 9
Monday, 11:20 am Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando Road, Los Angeles
WHAT DID I see in Bellamere’s vehicle?
David grabbed coffee from the pot, which had the dubious distinction of always being full. He sipped and grimaced. Even copious amounts of cream couldn’t cut the bitterness of squad-room coffee.
The words of the elf man who had found the last body returned. The man he had claimed to see had been blond, driving a golden vehicle. David and Martinez had been quick to assume he meant yellow. But what if he had truly meant golden?
As in Prasecca metallic?
And what had he seen behind the driver’s seat in the back of Chris’s SUV?
Eyeglasses?
Jason Blake had worn glasses. That had been in the initial report.
His desk was its usual clutter of half-finished reports and must-read documents. A new one lay on top of the Jason Blake report. It was Blake’s autopsy.
A sticky note was attached to it. Martinez had scribbled a hasty “Check the tox report” in his sloppy handwriting. While David’s fevered mind worked over the possibilities, he skimmed the autopsy. “Substantial quantities of chlorophenyl dimethylamino cycolhexanone hydrochloride present in the victim’s liver and stomach.”
“Nice, eh?” Martinez slid his rump gingerly onto the edge of David’s desk, almost dislodging a stack of paperwork. David caught the papers and moved them out of danger.
“Well, at least we know how he immobilizes them.”
“Ketamine,” David muttered. “Special K.”
“Raver’s drug,” Martinez said. “Think our victims are being picked up in raves?”
“It’s also big in the gay scene. I think it’s time we paid a visit to this Nosh Pit.”
“Madre de dios. ”
David looked at him sharply, but Martinez wasn’t even looking at him. Instead he was eyeing one of the new female junior D’s.
“Your wife catches you looking at that and you and your cojones have got some serious explaining to do.”
Martinez grinned. “No harm looking, right? You telling me that’s illegal?”
David glanced across the room at the tall, statuesque blond. Thank God she was ignoring them. He forced himself to smile, flipping back through the report as though that distracted him.
“Probably is in some states. Now about this.” He tapped the paperwork in front of him. “We need to put some D’s out in the more popular clubs.”
“Talk about being popular—man, you’re ratings are gonna go through the roof when you assign that one.”
“They’ll survive.”
“Guys should get hazard pay. They touch you and your dick falls off. Talk about the heebie-jeebies.”
David knew his partner didn’t really believe that. No one was that ignorant in this day and age. But he knew it reflected a view shared by many in the department. The new tolerant attitude only went skin-deep with many of the older cops. They remembered all too well when nobody had to tolerate anyone who wasn’t “normal.”
Martinez was grinning, and David braced himself for his next dig. “Maybe this is one of those cases where you can’t ask the rank and file to do what you wouldn’t do yourself.”
David picked up the report and read through it again. “You talked to Lopez about the others? I want to make sure they run tox screens on all of them.”
“Sure,” Martinez said. “Said she’d have them to us early next week. So, you gonna do it?”
David’s jaw clenched and he stared down at the tox report. “Sure, why not?”
“You get hit on, I don’t want to know, okay?” Martinez laughed all the way back to his own desk.
David pulled up Jason Blake’s murder book. The older brother lived in Orange County. He had provided most of the background for the report. It was woefully thin, so it didn’t take David long to find the entry.
Brother remarked that Blake wore glasses for astigmatism. Neither the glasses, nor any other item of clothing, had been recovered. The report described the glasses. The description matched the glasses in Chris’s vehicle.
David knew he’d never get a search warrant. All he had were suspicious circumstances. No probable cause. No evidence even the most pro-cop judge would look at.
So it was time to find the evidence. Laine dialed the Orange County number.
A cool-sounding woman answered the phone with the words “Gilbert, Michelson and Gabronni,” and acknowledged that Mr. Blake was a partner there. She rung his extension and a male voice said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Blake.” David pulled up a new database entry form on his desktop PC and entered the day’s date while he listened to Blake ask who was there. Before answering he entered Richard Blake’s name and his relationship to the deceased. “This is Detective Laine. We spoke—”
“I remember,” Richard Blake interrupted him. “Are you calling to tell me you have someone in custody for killing my brother?”
“I’d like to meet with you,” David said, rubbing his temple with the tips of his fingers.
“I can come out to your workplace if that’s more convenient—”
“I hear there have been others. Is that true?”
“Mr. Blake—”
“Is it true?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake. I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation. As a lawyer, you must be aware of that.”
“Lawyer,” Blake spat. “I’m an entertainment lawyer. I handle spoiled, nihilistic musicians who think every word out of their empty minds is a pearl of unaccounted wisdom.” Blake sucked in a breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Do you really think it’s going to do any good talking to me again?”
Several seconds of silence floated down the phone line. David was sure the man was going to hang up, then he sighed again.
“Fine, come by my office at two. I’ll keep my calendar clear for the rest of the day.”
*****
Richard Blake was a heavy-set, dark-haired man of at least thirty-five who wore his custom-made suits with ill grace. He looked more like a beefy truck driver than an entertainment lawyer with a wealthy, if uncultured, clientele.
He came around the melamine desk and held out his hand. David took it. Blake’s handshake was firm. He waved David to a chair.
David flipped open his notepad. “Firs
t of all, would you have a recent photograph of Jay?”
“Sure, I can probably dig one up.” Blake grimaced and pressed his fingers together.
“Sorry. I just keep thinking of Jay...Jesus! Who could do something like that to another human being? I guess you see this sort of thing all the time. You must be used to it.”
“No, sir,” David said. “You never get used to it. Never want to.”
“Poor Jay. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he really was a sweet kid. Guys used to tell him he was cute and sexy.” He shook his dark head. “He always thought he was going to meet some swank angel who would take him in and rescue him. I told him the kind of guys he met out there weren’t interested in saving anyone. He’d always say sure, he knew that, but then another opportunistic troll would whisper a few sweet words in his ear and he’d be off again.”
“You know the names of any of these men?”
“No. Never wanted to.” Blake leaned forward, his elbows on the gleaming desktop.
“You have to understand, I never approved of Jay’s lifestyle, but he was my brother. I wasn’t going to abandon him, too.”
Blake’s fingers worried the silver pen, as though they would snap it in two.
“My—our parents could never reconcile themselves to what Jay was. They were old-fashioned. I think they blamed themselves for his ‘condition,’ like those old notions that homosexuality was caused by a weak father and a domineering mother, which if you ever met my family is a laugh. Mom couldn’t dominate a strand of spaghetti and there was never anything weak about my father. He worked in the merchant marines during the war, then stayed on the ships until we were born, when he took a job down at the docks. Jay never could do anything to please the old man. You have children, detective?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I have two. Boys. And let me tell you, detective, I can’t say either one of them is what I would have expected in any child of mine. But that doesn’t stop me from loving them with everything I’ve got.”
“Did they know your brother?”
“Sure, Jay loved those kids. I guess he knew he’d never have any of his own.”
“Jay have problems with people?”
“He was a gay teenager,” Blake said dryly. “What do you think?”
“He have trouble with anyone in particular? Get into fights, that sort of thing?”
“I wouldn’t say he got into fights. He got beat up a lot in high school—all those civilized savages who thought it was cool to bash a kid because he was different.”
“Anyone ever get into trouble for that?”
“You wondering if some homophobic asshole got revenge on Jay for getting him in trouble?”
“It happens.”
“I’m sure it does. Just not to Jay. He never would point fingers. He’d just shrug and say he knew what he was, and he knew what they were and anyone who thought he was the loser missed the point all together.”
“You gave me the names of a couple of friends last time. Can you think of anyone else I might speak with?”
“You really think you have a hope in hell of finding this guy?”
“I intend to try, sir.”
*****
Leroy Gillie was a slight, taciturn youth wearing a clown-motif T-shirt and baggy jeans that rode so low they exposed several inches of red and black boxers. According to Richard Blake, he had been Jay’s closest straight friend. Leroy barely glanced at David. He fed coins into a Coke machine, popped the tab on his drink, and slid sideways into a molded plastic chair.
“You the cop?” Leroy took a deep drink of Coke, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each chug. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Richie said you’re on Jay’s case.”
“How well did you know Jay?” David asked.
“We were best buds in school. At least until he started letting on that he was, you know, gay.” Leroy made a face and glanced away. “After that, we didn’t really hang out much.”
“Why is that?”
“He was gay. If we were buds, everyone’d think I’m gay.”
“And you’re not. Gay, that is?”
“Shit no.” Leroy looked around frantically as though someone might overhear the question. “I’m not a fag.”
“Did it surprise you that Jay was?”
“I knew this guy for years, man. We were in first grade together. How could he be a faggot?”
“That bother you?”
Leroy chugged the rest of his Coke, crushing the can with one fist, and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “Yeah, I hated not being buds anymore. But what could I do?
Assholes were already calling me names cause they knew we was friends.”
David scribbled. “These assholes got names? Any of them ever give Jay a hard time?”
“They’re assholes. What do you think?”
“It ever go beyond name-calling? Any of them ever get physical?”
Leroy shrugged, his skinny shoulders rolling loosely. “Jay’d show up with a black eye or a split lip. But he’d never say who done it. He’d always say he might be a faggot but he weren’t no pussy,” Leroy said “He took a lot of shit.”
“Think any of them might have got more serious? Maybe someone who thought Jay was hitting on him.”
“You think one of them pussies kacked Jay? Not a chance.”
“Ever see Jay with anyone?”
“Like a boyfriend?”
“Like that.”
Leroy fidgeted in his chair, plucking at the short strands of hair on the side of his head.
His face twisted into a grimace. “Me and Jay went into Hollywood once,” he said. “We was going to a new Vin Diesel flick. Coupla guys stopped him on the street. Real friendly like. One of them wanted Jay to go with him. But me and Jay wanted to see this movie, so he said no. One guy, he weren’t very happy ’bout it.”
“What did they look like? Do you remember?”
Again Leroy’s face screwed up. “One was a black guy, but it was the other one that got nasty when Jay said no.”
“Was he black too?”
“Him? Nah, he was blond, looked like a West Hollywood pansy. All dressed up fancy, expensive shit. Jay told me later his jeans cost eight hundred bucks. Who the hell spends eight hundred bucks on a pair of fuckin’ jeans?”
“Was he driving or did you see them on the street?”
“They was walking, like us.”
“When did this happen, Leroy? How long ago?”
“Last summer, I think. It was after we graduated. I think maybe my girl was back in school—she’s in grade eleven this year, only repeated one grade. Like Jay ’n’ me.”
“So she was back in school.” David steered him back to the topic at hand. “So it had to be after September, that right?”
“September? Sure. Musta been. Before Halloween, though. That was the last time Jay ’n’ me did anything together.” Leroy fidgeted and grimaced. “He wanted us to go to West Hollywood for the Halloween parade, but why would I wanna see a bunch of flaming queens goin’ down the street dressed as girls? Buncha sickos. I told him I ain’t doin’ that.”
“Did Jay go anyway?”
“He stayed here, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. After that we stopped hangin’ out so much.”
“This guy you saw in Hollywood. Would you recognize him again?”
“I dunno. It’s been awhile. You think he might’ve had something to do with Jay?”
Leroy straightened. “Think he’s the one did Jay? No way, man, he was too fuckin’ soft. A real queer boy.”
“At this point I’m just trying to find anyone who might have known Jay. That’s all.
What about specific bars Jay hung out in. He ever give you any names?”
David watched as the younger man dug into his memory. His eyes squinted as he stared over David’s left shoulder.
“There was one place...Nosh something. Dumb name. Pit, the Nosh Pit, that was it.”
Leroy plucked
at the loose folds of his jeans. “You really think you gonna find out who killed Jay? You do, I want five minutes with him.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gillie. I appreciate you giving me this time.”
He seemed reluctant to let David go.
“Think you’ll find him?”
David tucked his notebook back into his pocket. “We’ll find him.”
“What’s gonna happen to him when you do?”
“He’ll get due process.”
“Sure,” Leroy said. “You gotta say that, don’t you? After what he done, he don’t deserve—what’d you call it?—due process.”
David handed over one of his cards, and watched as Leroy labored over the printed words. His lips moved over David’s full name and rank.
“If you think of anything else,” David said, “you’ll let me know?”
“Sure.”
“If I come by with some pictures, would you look them over and see if there’s anyone you recognize?”
“Like a lineup? Could you get me into a real lineup? You tell me who to finger and I’ll make sure the asshole don’t walk.”
“It doesn’t quite work that way,” David said gently.
“I won’t tell.” Leroy stared down at the painted cement floor. He sighed. “You’re not gonna get him, are you?”
The kid seemed so downhearted, David had to reassure him. “Sure we will. We’ve already got some leads—”
“No!” Leroy sprang to his feet. David tensed. “Even if you do, my dad says the bleeding-heart liberals will make everyone feel sorry for the ass-wipe and let him off. He ought to die for what he done to Jay, but you watch, they won’t do nothing to him. You watch.” Leroy sniffed and wiped his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “They’ll let him off. Like they always do.”
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CHAPTER 10
Monday, 6:35 pm, The Nosh Pit, Hyperion Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
THE NOSH PIT was jammed. The air was thick with testosterone, poppers, and a dozen conflicting colognes. The bar was packed two deep, the mood still jovial, without the taint of desperation that crept in as last call approached. Ramsey was wiping down the spotless mahogany and leather bar with a rag. He waved at Chris and pointed off to his right.