Murder by Design

by J. P. Bowie

  “Jesus, Sam.” Justin’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He stroked Justin’s face gently. “It was a long time ago and I’m over it really.”

  “No, you’re not. How could you be? All these terrible things happening to you? Oh, Sam…” He lay on top of him and kissed his lips and throat. “Sam, Sam,” he crooned. “I wish I could make you forget. I can’t but let me help you make it better, if only for a little while.”

  “I didn’t mean to turn this into a pity party,” Sam said. “I just wanted to let you know what caused the E.D. and how much you have done to end it…to make me whole.”

  “And I’m not doing this out of pity.” Justin straddled Sam’s thighs. “I’m doing this because in a very short space of time you’ve become my hero.”

  Sam chuckled. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I don’t think you realize just what a great guy you are. Well…” He lowered his head to kiss Sam’s chest. “I’m gonna remind you of that fact every chance I get,” he added before trailing his lips up to Sam’s mouth.

  Sam sighed into their kiss. The feel of Justin’s warm, lithe body pressed to his was like a balm to his very soul.

  * * * *

  Justin wasn’t particularly looking forward to going back to work at Esteban Fashions, but it was a job, after all, and until he could find one where he’d feel more appreciated, it would have to do. He just hoped Maria wasn’t in one of her bitchy moods. He often wondered how Paula had put up with her continual carping over the years she’d worked for her. It had to be galling to not only listen to Maria complaining about the employees and their terrible standard of work but of Paula’s own lack of drive and unwillingness to discipline the staff.

  All that was in Maria’s mind only, and Justin didn’t doubt for a second that she added, ‘especially Justin’ to the lack of discipline complaint. She must be one unhappy woman…and hell to live with, I bet.

  He could of course block all of this out by reliving the wonderful hours he’d spent with Sam last night. Up until the moment he’d had to leave so quickly, anyway. He wondered if Sam was as woozy from lack of sleep as Justin was this morning. No, bet he’s not. He’d also bet that Sam ‘on the job’ was a power to be reckoned with, just as he was in bed.

  God, that story he’d told him last night…unbelievable. Only he did believe it, and when he’d called Sam his hero, he’d meant it from the heart. The sex they’d had after Sam’s revelation had been truly fantastic. What Justin found unbelievable was Sam’s insistence that it was all because of him…Justin. He’d love to take credit, but it was so easy to show how much he enjoyed making love to Sam. He couldn’t imagine anyone thinking otherwise. Whoever Sam had felt he’d disappointed in the past must have had their own hang-ups.

  That night, a week ago, in the bar, Justin had gazed into Sam’s eyes and felt his heart turn over, and now each time they met, which, as far as Justin was concerned, wasn’t nearly frequent enough, he felt himself being drawn closer and closer to the hot detective.

  If Sam thinks that I’m responsible for his prowess between the sheets, then that’s fine with me. I just hope he lets me prove it again and again.

  The quiet chuckle that slipped from his lips was cut short by the sharp buzz of the intercom on his desk.

  “Justin?”

  Who else? “Yes, Maria.”

  “Come into my office, please.”

  “Right away.”

  Groaning, he rose from his desk and marched smartly down the hall to the Dragon Lady’s lair. Paula had hooted when he’d used that description of Maria’s office but had warned him not to use it too often.

  ‘Too many little snitches around here,’ she’d told him.

  He tapped lightly on the door. “Good morning, Maria.”

  “Come in and sit down.”

  He glanced around as he entered. No Paula. Uh oh, this can’t be good…

  “The designs you left for me to see…” Maria pursed her lips and paused. “I don’t like them.”

  “Really?” Justin arched an eyebrow. “You couldn’t wait to get your hands on them the other day.”

  “I also don’t like your tone.”

  “And I don’t like the way you think you can insult my work,” Justin snapped. “Look, I don’t consider myself to be, say, world class, but I know I’m good and I know other people think so too. Tell me what it is you don’t like about them and I’ll see if I can fix them to your satisfaction.”

  “I don’t like anything about them. They’re not good enough for Esteban.”

  “Bullshit. Since when? I’ve been designing this cheap stuff for over a year. Your sales have gone up since you took me on. What? D’you think I’m an idiot and I don’t know what you’re doing? You want me to flounce outta here and leave my stuff behind. Well, that ain’t gonna happen, Mrs. Esteban. I won’t resign. You can fire me again if you like and pay my unemployment along with a severance settlement in lieu of my sales commissions. But I really have to wonder at your work ethics. Firing me, rehiring me and threatening to fire me again all in the space of a few days!”

  “You are an arrogant little shit!”

  “And you are—okay, I’m too nice a guy to tell you what I think of you.” He got up from his seat opposite her. “Although the word ‘shrew’ comes to mind. Let me know what your decision is gonna be, but I’d talk it over with Paula, if I were you. She, at least, has some business savvy.”

  He left Maria seething at her desk and closed the door quietly behind him. He’d have loved to have slammed it, but that would be bringing himself down to her level. What a bitch. No wonder her hubby can’t stand her.

  Paula caught up with him in the hallway. “I heard what went on in there,” she said. “Don’t worry, she’s not going to fire you.”

  “You know, Paula, at this point I really don’t give a damn. She’s become impossible to work for. I don’t appreciate having my work insulted like that. The woman has no class.”

  Paula’s cell rang at that moment and Justin was puzzled when she glanced at the screen and frowned but didn’t take the call.

  “Problem?”

  “Oh, no…I’ll deal with it later.” She patted his arm. “Don’t let her get to you, Justin. We all know your work is exemplary.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll take an early lunch break. Clear my head a bit. I’ll see you later. Bye.”

  “Bye, Justin.”

  * * * *

  Sam and Martin cruised around the streets near where Joey’s body had been found. Sam wondered if Joey’s death would stop some of the hustlers from coming out for a while, or did they have that ‘it won’t happen to me’ syndrome so prevalent among street kids?

  “There he is,” Martin muttered. “You think he’ll talk to us?”

  “We can but try,” Sam said, lowering his window as they drew up alongside the young hustler. “Hey, Rolando…”

  He’d given the car an expectant look at first then, on seeing Sam, he scowled and started to walk away.

  “Wait up, Rolando.” Sam was out of the car and trailing behind him. “We want to talk to you about Joey Carter.”

  “He’s dead.” Rolando swung around to face Sam. “What’s to talk about unless it’s to tell me you found the fucker that killed him?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you that, yet.” Sam stared into Rolando’s gray eyes. “We want to catch his killer. If there’s anything you can tell us, please do. Do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against him…enough to kill him?”

  Rolando shook his head. “Could’ve been anybody. A pimp, a john, a cop.” He met Sam’s stare with a hostile look. “You guys all stick together, cover for one another. I seen you the other night, y’know, chasing that cop with the kid outta the park. He’s been here before, and that punk kid and his punk friends. They tried to beat the shit outta some of us one night. Four of ’em, but we took the fuckers down and they ran like the fucking cowards they are. They set th
at kid up the other night. Some friends he has—”

  “Wait, you’re saying Detective Sanders’ nephew and friends of his were up here messing with you guys?” Martin gripped Sam’s arm. “Sanders has to be out of his freakin’ mind.”

  “Was he trying to stop the attack?” Sam asked.

  “No, that mofo was encouraging them till we had them on the run. Then he grabbed the kid you saw him with and drove off.”

  “Rolando…” Sam kept his voice low. “Why didn’t you tell us about this the other night?”

  “Because cops never believe us, ’specially if it’s about another cop. All they do is harass us or try to proposition us for a free blowjob. You think we want this life, Detective? Maybe Joey’s better off.” He glared at Sam. “He tried to kill himself, you know, a few weeks ago.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Rolando.”

  “Yeah, well it’s too late now for sorry. A bit like thoughts and prayers isn’t it?” He walked away before Sam could say anything further, and Sam watched him go, feeling like shit.

  “Damn,” he muttered, and Martin echoed him.

  “Fucking Sanders, man,” he said. “We have to report this. Get the captain to question him.”

  Sam nodded and pulled out his cell. “He’s on night duty. I’ll tell him we have to see him soon as we get back to the precinct.”

  * * * *

  Hoskins stared at them his expression one of anger mixed with disbelief.

  “We might have found it harder to believe, Captain, if we hadn’t seen him in the park with his nephew a couple of nights ago,” Sam said while Hoskins slumped back in his chair and gazed into space.

  “He’s been on report a couple of times previous, but not for anything like this.” Hoskins twiddled with the pen in his hand. “How involved d’you think he is?”

  Martin shook his head. “Hard to say. It could be just harassing the kids, or…it could something more.”

  “Regardless, what he’s up to with his nephew and buddies is illegal,” Sam snapped. “The guy is a disgrace to the department and should be fired at the very least.”

  Hoskins nodded. “I’ll have him brought in and put on suspension till we get all the facts. You think Mackie’s in on this?”

  “Rolando only mentioned Sanders as being at the scene of the attack, but Mackie did drive Sanders and the nephew from the park the other night,” Sam said.

  “And he did hear Kirby grip say he and his buds were fixing to beat up some hustlers and he didn’t say a word,” Martin added. “Didn’t even flinch.”

  “Maybe he was too surprised to say anything,” Sam suggested.

  Hoskins arched an eyebrow. “Kirby grip?”

  “The nephew’s name is Kirby,” Martin explained. “I added the ‘grip’ to piss the little bigot off.”

  “Oh.” Hoskins’ mouth quirked at the corner while he twiddled with his pen some more. “Well, I’ll question Mackie separately. I’ll have them brought in for questioning tomorrow morning. You two will not be present but you may be called in at some point. I don’t want Sanders to know you’re in on this…yet.”

  “Okay, Captain.”

  On the way out, Sam said, “We better get back to the park.”

  “You don’t think Sanders is gonna show up again, do you?”

  “No, even he couldn’t be that dumb.”

  “Maybe he killed Joey Carter,” Martin mused.

  “The guy’s a creep, but I don’t think he’s a murderer, Martin. He’s just a homophobe using what power he thinks he has to impress his nephew. The kid goes along with it ’cause he can in turn impress his friends and they think they can’t get in trouble ’cause Uncle Eliot is a cop.”

  Martin nodded as they climbed into their car. “I’m still gonna punch his lights out after they fire him. I just hope Mackie’s not involved.”

  Chapter Eight

  The park was quiet as they cruised the perimeter. Only a couple of boys, one tall and black, the other white and about a head shorter, stood smoking and shooting the breeze on one corner. They eyed the car with suspicion at first but then the shorter of the two approached after a minute or so had gone by.

  “You guys lookin’ for some action?” he asked.

  “We’re cops,” Martin said.

  “Shit!” The kid turned to run, but Sam got out of the car and yelled, “Wait. We won’t book you. Just need to ask a couple of questions.”

  The taller of the two took off at a fast clip, but the one who’d propositioned them faced Sam and shrugged. “What kinda questions? How much for a bj?”

  Sam took in the fair hair and the pug nose. “You Mikey?”

  “Yeah.” He gave Sam a teasing smile.

  “Mikey, we’ve been looking for you.”

  “Oh yeah? So now you’ve found me. You’re kinda hot. You don’t look like you’d kill me.”

  Sam shook his head. “You guys take a lot of chances. After what happened to Joey, I thought you would be more careful.”

  “That’s why I was with Clyde. We figured safety in numbers, ya know?”

  “You were a friend of Joey Carter.”

  Mikey’s face fell. “Yeah. Joey… Fuckin’ shame, but he should’ve been more careful who he hung out with. ’Specially the big dude I seen him with sometimes.”

  “This big dude. You know who he is?”

  “Think his name is Dwight. Him and his bro are dealers. They come sniffing around the park looking to sell some shit, get a free blowjob. They’re big and rough, scary dudes. I blew one of them one night and never again. He almost broke my neck…then the mofo stiffed me. I told Joey to have nothing to do with them, but he seemed to like Dwight.”

  Sam glanced at Martin, who had got out of the car. “Describe him for us.”

  “I’d say he’s way over six feet, taller even than you guys. He has red hair, the one called Dwight.”

  “You remember what this Dwight was wearing the night you saw him with Joey?”

  “I think he was wearing like a bomber jacket, kinda tweedy lookin’. That’s all I could see before they walked away together. We didn’t notice Joey hadn’t come back…we were kinda busy, ya know.”

  Martin sighed. “You guys…”

  Sam understood Martin’s despair, but he also understood the situation Mikey and others had found themselves in. “You have family, Mikey?” He knew the answer before Mikey shook his head.

  “Naw, my dad threw me and my mom out. He’d found another woman and couldn’t afford us, he said. My mom died of a drug overdose about a year ago. I’ve been on my own since then ’cept for Clyde. We have a room together.”

  “Can’t you guys get a decent job instead of putting your lives in danger out here?”

  Mikey stared at Martin and laughed. “There’s no jobs if you didn’t graduate high school ’cept maybe McDonald’s or Walmart. No thanks. This ain’t the greatest, but at least I don’t have to answer to some fat blowhard telling me what to do. Out here, I’m my own boss. Sometimes the john isn’t bad lookin’ and gives us an extra twenty.”

  Sam looked up as a figure approached. “You Clyde?”

  “Yeah, whatcha doin’ to my bro?”

  “It’s okay,” Mikey said. He let Clyde put a protective arm around him. “For cops, they’re not so bad.”

  “Listen, guys, would you come to the precinct with us and make a statement, look at some mugshots?” Sam knew what the answer would probably be, but he had to try. “I promise you won’t get into any trouble.”

  Both boys tensed. “Naw, can’t do that.” Clyde was the first to refuse, shaking his head for emphasis. “No way, sorry.” He started to back up dragging Mikey with him until they broke into a run, leaving Sam and Martin staring after them. Before long they’d disappeared into the street’s dark shadows.

  * * * *

  “’Kay, Gus, see what wizardry you can drum up from this description.” Sam handed Gus a note with what little they had on Joey’s possible killer.

 
“Brothers, one maybe named Dwight. Six feet five or maybe more, red hair, drug related.” Gus squinted up at him. “What the hell is this?”

  “A long shot,” Sam told him. “An eyewitness account of a possible killer. Make it work, O Gus, master of the database. If it can be done, you’re the man to do it.”

  “Huh. Okay, no hovering. I’ll bring you what I got if I find anything.”

  “We’ll be by the coffee station, trying not to get poisoned,” Martin told him, but Gus was already too involved to hear.

  “He does love a challenge,” Sam said as they strolled over to the coffee station.

  They didn’t have long to wait. “Hey, detectives.” Gus waved them over to his computer on their return. “We might have hit paydirt with a couple of these. Take a looksee.”

  Sam studied the mugshots Gus had brought up on his screen. “Interesting. The one on the left did three years for burglary and pushing drugs, the one on the right five years for drugs and aggravated assault. But look at the faces. They’re definitely brothers, maybe even twins, even though they have different last names.”

  “Yeah, Dwight Rothman and Darius Hellman,” Martin said, his hand on Sam’s shoulder as he leaned in closer to the screen. “Current status, Rothman has one year left of a three-year parole and Hellman just got out by the looks of things. He’s on parole for the next five years.”

  “And they have the same address.”

  Martin grinned at him. “That’s convenient. We only have one call to make.”

  * * * *

  The address on Rugby Drive in West Hollywood was a ground floor apartment in a white stuccoed building surrounded by flaming red bougainvillea and yucca plants.

  “Doesn’t quite fit, does it?” Sam muttered as they got out of the car and walked up the short path to a wrought-iron gate. He pushed the gate open and approached the door to apartment 1C. His knock was answered by an elderly woman’s voice quavering “Who is it?”

  “LAPD detectives, ma’am. You have a minute?”

  The door opened a fraction and the old lady peeked out. “Yes?”