by Robert Ellis
PRAISE FOR ROBERT ELLIS
Murder Season
“Murder Season: a terrific sick-soul-of-LA thriller. Before you can say Chinatown we are immersed in a tale of mind-boggling corruption where virtually every character in the book—with the exception of Lena—has a hidden agenda. Ellis is a master plotter. Along the way we meet wonderful characters.”
—Connecticut Post, Hearst Media News Group
“Within the space of a few books, Ellis has demonstrated that rare ability to skillfully navigate his readers through a complex plot filled with interesting, dangerous, and surprising characters.”
—Bookreporter.com
“Best Mystery/Crime Novels of 2011.”
—Deadly Pleasures Mystery Magazine
“Top Twelve Books of 2011.”
—Miami Examiner
The Lost Witness
“Scorching. Deliciously twisted. Nothing is what it appears to be. Ellis succeeds masterfully in both playing fair and pulling surprise after surprise in a story that feels like a runaway car plunging down a mountain road full of switchbacks.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Ellis serves up a killer crime tale with riveting characters and relentless twists.”
—Booklist, starred review
“Ellis piles on the Hollywood atmosphere and procedural detail, and the end revelation is expertly timed and genuinely shocking.”
—The Guardian (UK)
“The Lost Witness is a tough thriller that makes Ellis a name to watch.”
—The Evening Telegraph (UK)
“The Lost Witness is another gripping story by a writer who knows the seamy LA underworld well.”
—Toronto Sun
City of Fire
“Los Angeles, under a cloud of acrid smoke . . . Robert Ellis’s City of Fire is a gripping, spooky crime novel.”
—The New York Times Hot List Pick
“City of Fire is my kind of crime novel. Gritty, tight and assured. Riding with Detective Lena Gamble through the hills of Los Angeles is something I could get used to. She’s tough, smart, and most of all, she’s real.”
—Michael Connelly
“City of Fire by Robert Ellis is a no-holds-barred barn burner of a thriller that blends Los Angeles–style crime fiction à la Michael Connelly with pulse-pounding Dean Koontzian psychological suspense. Like Connelly’s gritty Bosch saga, City of Fire features a tough but deeply flawed protagonist, a tantalizingly complex plot, fully realized—and realistic—characters, and most of all, a palpable intensity. And if that weren’t enough, the bombshell plot twist at the novel’s conclusion makes this an absolute must-read for thriller aficionados.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Robert Ellis’s brisk, complex City of Fire is hot stuff. Ellis excels at vivid writing and the expert plotting keeps the reader off-kilter. Ellis takes the police procedural and makes it a tale of personal corruption and desire, where right and wrong overlap. Here, the answers aren’t easy as Lena wonders about ‘blowback . . . what the truth could do to a soul.’ LA, which is written about so often, seems fresh in the hands of an original storyteller such as Ellis.”
—Best Mysteries of 2007, Oline H. Cogdill, South Florida Sun-Sentinel
“City of Fire begins like a roller coaster, building tension, anxiety and fear. Then it plunges at full speed, spiraling and twisting through scenes that will have hearts pounding and fingers flying through the pages. But there is no smooth braking to a stop in this book. It careens to the end and then flies off the rail with a shocking twist that will leave readers stunned. Robert Ellis is a master of suspense.”
—Mystery Scene
ALSO BY ROBERT ELLIS
Murder Season
The Lost Witness
City of Fire
The Dead Room
Access to Power
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Robert Ellis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477827727
ISBN-10: 1477827722
Cover design by Marc Cohen
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014959519
This novel is dedicated to my friend Denny Donahue
CONTENTS
START READING
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“The power to guess the unseen from the seen, to trace the implications of things, to judge the whole piece by the pattern, the condition of feeling life in general so completely that you are well on your way to knowing any particular corner of it—this cluster of gifts may almost be said to constitute experience.”
—Henry James
CHAPTER 1
Matthew Trevor Jones shivered as he walked down the sidewalk and entered the restaurant. He could feel a cool breeze sweep across the back of his neck, the door snapping shut behind him. When the cold air finally dissipated, he started toward the bar, searching for a familiar face but not finding one.
It was Tuesday night, and he could smell corned beef and cabbage, fifty-dollar steaks with twice-baked potatoes, and that long list of other scents and fragrances that usually accompany a crowded dining room. He could feel his body warming up to it all, the tension of the day beginning to fade and die out.
The moment was exceedingly pleasant.
When his friend had suggested that they meet at Musso & Frank to celebrate his promotion to Hollywood Homicide, Matt thought about the pricey menu, but only for a second or two. He was excited about his new job as a homicide d
etective—stoked to be working in Hollywood in spite of the commute he would be facing every day between here and his house on the Westside. But even more, Musso & Frank was the oldest grill in LA, and he loved everything about the place: the waitstaff storming in and out of the kitchen, the sound of loud chatter, of laughter, forks and knives and plates being gathered and stacked—that thunderous din that somehow seemed so soothing as it struck the wood-paneled walls and laughed out loud, refusing to be dampened or quieted or shut down. He knew that he had just entered a restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, but everything about the place smacked of New York. Everything about it reminded him of train rides into the city as a teenager and the modest home in New Jersey where he had been raised by his aunt. Everything about it brought back memories of his aunt and their life together. At least the good ones.
The front door swung open.
Matt turned and watched a young couple enter, the woman smiling at the maître d’ as she smoothed back her blond hair. Even though he didn’t recognize her, Matt guessed that she might be an actress. People were eyeing her from their tables as if she was, and no one looked away as she strolled down the aisle with her friend toward an open table that seemed more private than the rest. From the sleepy look in the young woman’s eyes, the glint, the joy, the easy way she carried her body—and from where Matt stood, it was a better than decent body—he could tell she liked attention.
He watched her take her seat before turning away to check the time. It was early. Hughes wouldn’t show for another twenty minutes, maybe even a half hour. Spotting an empty stool at the bar, Matt sat down and ordered a beer, then noticed his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the touch screen, hoping that it might be Hughes. Instead, he found the name of his new supervisor, Lieutenant Bob Grace, blinking on the display. They had met for the first time earlier in the day. Grace had given Matt a tour of the Hollywood station, shown him where his desk would be in the morning, and introduced him to his new partner, Denny Cabrera, who only had fifteen minutes because he was on his way to court.
Matt took in a nervous breath and exhaled as he stepped away from the bar to take the call.
“Sounds like you’re celebrating,” Grace said.
“Not yet.”
“So everything’s cool? You’re still good?”
Matt could hear the worry in his supervisor’s voice. It seemed obvious that Grace wanted to know if he had been drinking. But even more, it seemed clear that he needed to know he could trust Matt’s answer.
“Everything’s good,” Matt said. “I just got here, Lieutenant. What’s up? What can I do?”
Grace cleared his throat. “You were supposed to start tomorrow, Jones. I know that’s how we left it. But I’m in deep shit, and I need you tonight.”
“What’s happened?”
“Somebody’s been murdered in Hollywood. That’s all I know. That’s all it takes.”
Matt glanced at the blonde seated with her friend, both caught up in the good mood of the room and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Where?” he asked.
“Between Yucca and Hollywood on North Cherokee. You can’t miss it. You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there.”
“I’m still in Hollywood,” Matt said. “I’m only a block away.”
“That’s even better. Listen, Jones, I realize I’m throwing you into the fire on this one, but it can’t be helped. We’ve had a bad week. You and Cabrera are all I’ve got left tonight.”
All I’ve got left . . .
Matt understood what Grace meant and didn’t take it as a slight. Cabrera was almost as green as Matt, with just three months under his belt working in Hollywood. Between the economy and the budget cutbacks that had come out of Washington and Sacramento, cops had been pulled off the street, and crime had become a burgeoning industry. Both detectives had been fast-tracked to Homicide.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said to Grace. “Where’s Cabrera?”
“He just walked out of the squad room. He’ll be there in five minutes. So will the coroner’s investigator and the crime lab. They were shutting down another crime scene when the call came in. They’re coming from Melrose. Everybody’s close by.”
“Then I better get going.”
“Listen, Jones. This is your first . . .”
Grace stopped talking. Even through the loud din, Matt could sense his supervisor’s concern fermenting in the break.
“My first what?” Matt said, feigning naïveté.
Grace remained quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.
“You know what I’m saying, Matt. Just take it easy. If you’ve got any questions, call me, no matter what time it is, okay?”
“Okay. We’ll touch base later.”
“Thanks,” Grace said. “And I’ll make this up to you. I promise. Now keep your eyes open and be safe.”
Matt ended the call. As he hurried out the front door, he sent a quick text message to Hughes. All it said was: Dinner off. Call me. His fingers were trembling. He felt that cold breeze working the back of his neck again. Halfway across the sidewalk, he realized that he’d just stepped out of the warmth and into the wind.
CHAPTER 2
You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there . . .
Matt kept replaying the words in his head. He should have asked Grace what the hell he meant, but his head had been spinning through most of the conversation. By the time he thought about it, he was already out the door hustling over to his car, parked at the curb. Now his stomach was churning and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
He popped open the trunk, pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his head, and got into his windbreaker. Starting down the sidewalk, he tried to keep a measured pace, which was difficult because he could see the flashing lights from the first-response units beating against the side of a building on North Cherokee Avenue. He lowered his gaze, passing a souvenir shop on the corner. Inside the store he could see a middle-aged couple standing before the window display filled with hundreds of fake Oscar statuettes. Ordinarily, the sight of tourists picking out their Oscar would have given him a lift, but tonight no longer seemed very ordinary.
You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there . . .
The truth was that Matt didn’t understand why he felt so anxious, no matter what his supervisor may have had in mind. It was something about being on a homicide investigation. Some odd combination of excitement and terror that didn’t make any sense but kept following him, just as it did a few years back when he left his uniform behind and started working narcotics.
He turned the corner and gazed up the tree-lined street. It looked like the murder had occurred in the middle of the block in what appeared to be a near-empty parking lot. Four patrol units had barricaded the street with their cars. While two cops were stringing crime-scene tape from tree to tree, another five were asking onlookers to back down and move to the corner on Hollywood Boulevard.
You’ll see why it’s so fucked up when you get there . . .
It seemed more than odd that so many cops had arrived on foot this quickly. The number of bicycles parked on the sidewalk didn’t fit either. But as Matt cleared the trees and glanced across the street, he caught the sign in the storefront and knew in an instant why Grace had been so rattled.
It was an LAPD community station.
The murder had been committed in a parking lot directly across the street and within fifty yards of the station’s glass doors. The only barrier between the two locations was a wrought-iron fence about six feet high and a hedge bordering the parking lot. Matt read the sign painted beneath the LAPD logo on the storefront window.
Because We Care.
If you couldn’t find a safe spot outside a police station in Los Angeles, where could you?
He tried to let the thought go, but still, this was the City of Angels, and the answer had a certain sting to it. One that he knew would make the
late-night news and embarrass the department.
He turned away and spotted a cop with a clipboard standing by the entrance to the parking lot. Digging his badge out of his pocket, he signed in, then ducked beneath the yellow crime-scene tape. A photographer was already on scene, ripping off rapid-fire shots of a black SUV, the white-hot light from his flash unit pulsating all over the vehicle and what was obviously ground zero. The truck from the Scientific Investigation Division was already here as well. Large blue tarps were being stretched across the perimeter to block the scene from the television cameras that were beginning to assemble on the corner.
When Matt heard someone call out his name, he turned back and saw his new partner hurrying toward him.
“You think it’s him?” Cabrera said with his eyes locked on the SUV.
Matt shrugged. “Who?”
“The stickup guy. The three-piece bandit. You think he finally shot somebody?”
“It’s a little soon, isn’t it?”
“I’m just saying . . .”
Matt gave him a look. “I know exactly what you’re saying. We just got here, Cabrera. Who the hell knows?”
It was a bad exchange for a first exchange with a new partner, and Matt knew it. He turned back to the SUV, his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped around the shell casings littering the asphalt. There was something unusual about them but it didn’t cut through, the condition of the SUV too mesmerizing. It looked like every window in the vehicle had been shot out. Three rounds had pierced the driver’s-side door. Still, he couldn’t see who was inside the car. When he finally got close enough to ease his head through the window, he got the view he had been looking for in all its harshness, then flinched before he could catch himself.
What was left of the victim appeared to be stretched across the front seats on its back. In spite of the multiple gunshot wounds to the face, chest, and shoulders, in spite of the blood splashed all over the body and interior of the car, in spite of the blanket of shattered glass the corpse was wearing from head to toe, Matt’s best guess was that the victim underneath was male. Still, it was only a guess.