Staring into the Darkness (Urban & Brazil Book 1)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Tea, Erik?’ Ruby called from the kitchen.

  ‘Coming.’ He made a detour into the bathroom and swilled his face.

  ‘Problem?’ Ruby said as he sat at the kitchen table and picked up the cup of tea.

  ‘One of my detectives has called in sick, so I need to be in two places at the same time.’

  ‘What about Katie?’

  ‘Katie isn’t a detective and doesn’t work for the Los Angeles Police Department.’

  ‘She’d tell you otherwise.’

  The corner of his lip creased upwards. ‘Yes, she probably would.’ He considered the possibility. It was only asking questions of the Mother Superior, nothing dangerous. All she had to do was catch a cab up there, ask the questions, record the information and come back home. Yes, it was a reasonable compromise. And Katie had said she wasn’t doing anything today. He’d walk along the corridor and ask her after he’d got himself ready. ‘Thanks, Ruby. I’ll go and ask her when I’m dressed.’

  ‘You ready for breakfast?’

  ‘I’ll wash and dress first, I think. As you heard and saw, it was a bad night.’

  ‘Every night’s a bad night, Erik. Some worse than others.’

  ‘Yes. I should imagine you’ll be glad to see me move out?’

  She came and hugged him then, pushing his face in-between her substantial breasts. ‘You’re the son I never had, Erik. And if you’ve got a problem, then it’s my problem as well. They often say that a problem shared is a problem halved. Well, I’m going to speak to some people today and see if we can’t halve your problem by getting you some help. It’s not right that the government should ask you to do terrible things in the war and then expect you to carry on with your life as if nothing happened.’

  ‘You don’t need . . .’

  ‘As I used to tell my Shimon, if I want a discussion about it I’ll let you know.’

  He guessed there was going to be no discussion about it.

  After he’d had a strip-wash, put on clean clothes and eaten his breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast, he walked along the corridor and knocked on Katie’s door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Erik.’

  The door opened.

  Katie was standing there in a champagne-coloured silk dressing gown over matching pyjamas. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have a problem.’

  ‘Only one? You’d better come in then.’ She led the way along the hallway and into the living room. ‘Can I get you tea, coffee or breakfast?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘What’s this problem?’

  ‘Remember I said last night that one of my detectives was going to see the Mother Superior at Boyle Heights orphanage at eleven o’clock about Anthony Taylor’s stay there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The detective called in sick.’

  ‘And what can I do about it?’

  ‘You could go there in his stead.’

  ‘And speak to the Mother Superior?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will she speak to me? I’m not a detective or a police officer – yet.’

  ‘Yet! What does that mean?’

  ‘I think I might join the police department.’

  ‘There are very few women police officers in the Los Angeles Police Department.’

  ‘But there are some?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘And I’d like to be a homicide detective.’

  ‘There are no female detectives – homicide or otherwise.’

  ‘Well, maybe there should be.’

  ‘Maybe there should.’

  ‘I knew you’d help me.’

  ‘Help you?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘I’m a newly-promoted Sergeant without any influence on women police officer recruitment, or women detectives for that matter.’

  ‘But you know me, we’re working this case together, you could put in a good word for me?’

  ‘Officially, we’re not working any case together. I’m a police officer, you’re a civilian, I don’t know you.’

  ‘And you expect me to help you today?’

  ‘As I recall, you’re the one who’s now in charge of this investigation, you’re the one who wants to find her sister’s killer, and you’re the one with nothing to do today.’

  ‘Maybe I could go to the orphanage, but maybe you could help me as well?’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help you.’

  ‘That’s all I ask.’

  ‘What’s this crazy idea you’ve got to become a police officer all of a sudden, anyway?’

  ‘Yesterday, I was wondering what to do with the rest of my life after we’ve solved this case, and while I was in the general store shopping I saw a police recruitment poster for women police officers and I thought that I’d like to be a homicide detective.’

  ‘Even though there aren’t any female homicide detectives?’

  ‘I’ll be the first one then.’

  ‘Of course you will. Well, I’ll do what I can to help you become a police officer if that’s really what you want to be, but never speak of this investigation, because neither of us are doing what we’re doing.’

  ‘I understand. And talking of speaking – will the Mother Superior speak to me about Anthony Taylor?’

  ‘Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll write her a note stating that you’re there on my behalf.’

  ‘All right. She might still refuse though.’

  ‘I know, but it’s the best we can do. I’m sure with your talent for persuasion, you’ll be able to prise the information out of her.’

  ‘I’ll try my best.’

  ‘I know you will.’ When she handed him a pad and pen, he wrote a brief note explaining the reason why Katie was there instead of Detective Carl Seger and signed it. ‘There, let’s hope she’s a reasonable woman.’

  Katie grunted. ‘There aren’t many of those about.’

  ‘I know, but maybe we’ll get lucky.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marilyn was ready to leave with the picnic basket in her hand when she opened the door of Apartment 4E at 700 South Saint Andrews Plaza in Leimert Park.

  She looked beautiful in a canary yellow lace embroidered summer dress, but a shadow crossed her face as she looked him up and down.

  ‘What?’ he asked, looking down at his dark grey double-breasted suit, off-white shirt and green-patterned tie.

  ‘It’s twenty-three degrees outside.’

  ‘I have the roof down.’

  ‘One thing Henry knew how to do was dress. I’m not saying you don’t, because I know you’re wearing a dead man’s clothes, but you’re not going to be comfortable in this heat dressed like that. Come with me.’

  She led him through the apartment and into a second bedroom. ‘Take those clothes off and lay them on the bed.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.’

  He hesitated.

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘I’m not the man I used to be.’

  ‘This isn’t an audition. We had that the other night and you got the part.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes. So take your clothes off.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘No, you can keep your shorts on.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Maybe next time you can take them off.’ She opened a wardrobe to reveal a good selection of clothes hanging from a rail, took out a short-sleeved cotton shirt with red and grey stripes over a white background and handed it to him. ‘Try that on.’

  ‘Are you sure? It looks new.’

  ‘I think Henry wore it twice. If you don’t wear it, I’ll donate it to charity. I should have done it already, but I never . . . Anyway, put it on. Let me see what you look like.’

  He unbuttoned the shirt, shrugged into it and buttoned it up.

  ‘I like it. Do you like it?’

  ‘I lik
e it fine.’

  She handed him a pair of blue and black checked slacks and a black belt. ‘Henry was slightly taller than you, but not by much. Try them on.’

  He stepped into the slacks. If Henry was taller, he couldn’t have been by much, because the slacks were just the right length. Henry was obviously stouter around the waist, but the belt solved that problem.

  Marilyn opened the other door of the wardrobe to reveal a full-length mirror and shelves stacked with more folded clothes. ‘What do you think?’

  He looked nearly human. Tears ran down his cheeks. ‘Sorry.’

  She waved his apology away. ‘Don’t go getting the idea that you look anything like Henry in his clothes, because you don’t. I’m not sentimental about clothes, but there’s no point in having them stuffed in a wardrobe while you’re walking around looking like you’ve just come out of prison.’

  ‘Very kind.’

  ‘As you know, a Chief Librarian has many responsibilities and one of those is to make sure her members are dressed appropriately. Are you ready?’

  ‘Do you think I’m ready?’

  ‘You’re ready.’

  He felt like a new man.

  They left the apartment and caught the elevator down to the ground floor.

  ‘I like it,’ she said when she saw his Mercury.

  ‘I took it out of storage on Friday in preparation for our trip to Santa Monica Beach.’

  ‘Which you cancelled?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, I nearly had to cancel our trip out today.’ He told her what had happened and his remedy.

  ‘I look forward to meeting your Katie.’

  ‘She’s hardly my Katie. She’s her own person, believe me.’

  He pulled out into traffic and headed northbound on Interstate-5 through Santa Clarita and the Los Padres National Forest to Bakersfield.

  ***

  Saint Vincent de Paul’s Convent and Orphans Asylum in Boyle Heights was a five-storey brick L-shaped building with several chimneys sitting atop the roof, dormer windows on the façade and a tower at the entrance that was flanked by newly-planted date palm trees.

  ‘Can you wait for me?’ Katie said to the cabbie.

  ‘Any idea how long you’ll be, lady?’

  ‘Possibly an hour. It may be less, but no more.’

  ‘I’ll have a doze.’

  She climbed the steps that led up to the enormous arched entryway at the bottom of the tower, took hold of the plaited cord and jangled the bell.

  A woman’s face appeared on the other side of a wrought-iron grill in the heavy right-hand wooden door. ‘Yes?’

  She thought about using her own name, but Katie Brazil wasn’t expected. ‘Detective Carl Seger to see the Mother Superior.’

  The eyes behind the grill wrinkled up. ‘Carl Seger?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been taken ill, so I’m here in his stead.’

  ‘And your name is?’

  ‘Katie Brazil.’

  ‘Just one moment.’ The grill closed.

  It was more like five minutes rather than a moment, but eventually the door opened.

  ‘Mother Superior will see you.’

  She walked through into the spacious lobby, waited while the nun closed and bolted the door behind her, then followed her across the lobby and along a corridor to an office with a sign on the door that read:

  MOTHER SUPERIOR

  M. JOSEPHA

  The nun tapped on the door like a church mouse.

  A thunderous bellow said, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Sister Ursula, Mother Superior. I have the lady here.’

  ‘Well, don’t stand out there like a serving wench – come in, come in.’

  Sister Ursula opened the door and ushered Katie inside.

  ‘You can go, Sister Ursula, but don’t go far. If I need you, I don’t want to send out a search party.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Superior.’

  The nun left and closed the door.

  ‘Sit,’ the Mother Superior said, pointing to a hard-backed chair in front of her desk. She was a large woman under a black habit, a starch-white cornette and a large wooden cross around her neck.

  Katie sat.

  ‘I was expecting a Detective Carl Seger.’

  ‘Yes.’ She handed the Mother Superior the note that Erik had written.

  The Mother Superior read it. ‘There’s no police department stamp on it.’

  ‘It was early this morning. We live in the same apartment block.’

  ‘And I’m expected to believe that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Katie Brazil.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I used to teach elementary school history in Kettle River, Minnesota, but now I don’t do anything.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Somebody murdered my sister. I’ve come to Los Angeles to find out who.’

  ‘A woman police officer?’

  ‘No, but I’m considering applying.’

  ‘And you want to know about Anthony Taylor who came here in 1916?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He came here following the death of his mother. I’m sure you’re aware of the starlet murders over the past two years?’

  ‘We’re not completely isolated, Miss Brazil.’

  ‘We’ve discovered that the current murders are remarkably similar to his mother’s murder in 1916, which he witnessed.’

  ‘And you think he’s the killer?’

  ‘It’s one possibility that we’re looking into.’

  ‘You keep saying “we”. How are you involved if you’re not a police officer?’

  ‘I’m helping. The detectives are all male and they’d lost their way. They needed the organisational skills of a woman.’

  ‘Our records are confidential.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I like you, Miss Brazil.’ She aimed her mouth at the door and bellowed, ‘Sister Ursula.’

  Sister Ursula came in. ‘Yes, Mother Superior?’

  ‘I want you to take Miss Brazil to the archives, find the record book for 1916, let her look through it and stay with her.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Superior.’

  She looked at Katie. ‘Take notes only.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You can go.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother Superior.’

  Katie followed Sister Ursula out of the office.

  ‘This way,’ Sister Ursula said.

  ‘The Mother Superior is a bit scary, isn’t she?’

  ‘Underneath, she’s really lovely.’

  ‘I don’t think I could work for her.’

  Sister Ursula crossed herself. ‘We’re not working for the Mother Superior, we’re working for God.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The nun led her along labyrinthine corridors to a wooden door and a set of concrete spiral steps, which they descended into a dimly-lit arched basement containing a jumble of items including heavy wood and brass crosses, bibles, goblets, candelabra and bottles of wine, but also taking up space in one corner were rows of metal shelving units containing the convent and orphanage records.

  It didn’t take Sister Ursula long to find the record book for 1916, found the date February 11 and passed it to Katie.

  Katie’s brow furrowed. ‘He was only here for five days?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  ‘What does “R” mean?’

  ‘Runaway.’

  ‘He ran away?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  ‘Is there any other information about him?’

  ‘We have his file, but I’m sure that if he was here for only five days then there won’t be much in it.’

  ‘Can we take a look?’

  ‘The Mother Superior didn’t say . . .’

  ‘You’ll be doing a good thing, Sister Ursula.’ Katie told her the reason why she was here.

  ‘Yes, all right.’

&n
bsp; She followed the nun to another row of shelves full of dusty brown files.

  Sister Ursula walked along the shelves until she found “1916”, and then riffled through the files. ‘Yes, here we are: “Anthony Taylor”.’

  She handed the file to Katie.

  There was an admission sheet with some of Anthony Taylor’s details on it:

  APPLICATION FOR ADMISSION

  Los Angeles, California, February 11th, 1916.

  I Mary J. Wickford, the undersigned Family Care Worker of Los Angeles Family Services, hereby make application for the admission of said Anthony Taylor as an inmate of Saint Vincent de Paul’s Convent and Orphans Asylum in Boyle Heights . . .

  Name and age of child? Anthony Taylor, 6 years.

  When and where born? May 5th; Fort Lee, New Jersey

  Legitimate or illegitimate? Illegitimate.

  Father’s name? Unknown.

  Mother’s name? Jeanne Taylor.

  Is either parent living? No.

  Give address. N/A.

  Has child any other relations? No.

  Give address. N/A.

  Complexion: Light, Eyes: Brown, Hair: Fair, Height: 46.5 inches, Weight: 45 pounds.

  There was nothing else in the file.

  ‘No photograph?’ she asked.

  ‘No. We didn’t start taking photographs of new inmates until 1932.’

  She pointed to a name on the admission sheet under WITNESSES. ‘Is Sister Augustin still here?’

  ‘Oh yes. She has a garden plot at the back of the orphanage, which produces all our vegetables. In fact, more than we need, so a couple of the other nuns sell them at the market.’

  ‘Would it be possible to talk to her?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Sister Augustin has been here since the beginning. She’s really old, but nobody seems to know how old she is.’

  Sister Ursula put the file back on the shelf and led Katie up to ground level, where they navigated along more corridors the length of the building, down another set of winding concrete steps, through a large kitchen and out through a back door into an industrial-sized vegetable garden.