Dying For LA

by Ian Jones

  ‘OK,’ Keane said, ‘so can we tie any of these three men together?’

  ‘Not really,’ Judy said, ‘but we do think it’s possible that Kong and Byeon knew each other. There is some footage that’s been found at the Metro station two days ago, my guys have been working real hard on this. Kong is seen with another man, and take a look, I think that’s Byeon. They were checking the place out, so we were right; this wasn’t a chance thing last night.’

  Printed photos were passed around, they all looked, and everyone agreed, there were two grainy pictures, in one the two men were looking down the stairs and in the other side by side on the platform, it was definitely Kong looking straight up at the camera and the other man wasn’t clear but his build was like Byeon.

  ‘There are more; we got these shots from Seattle PD.’

  She passed round more prints, there was a mugshot of Kong, standard, and then two other photographs, one of him running down a street; the picture taken from high up and then another of him walking with two other men, taken from a patrol car camera. Kong was on the left, and the man in the centre looked similar to Byeon. It could be.

  ‘Also, Byeon had an old greyhound ticket in the pocket of his jacket. From Sacramento, dated October,’ Judy told them.

  Warner whistled.

  ‘So, he been here four months? Maybe all of them came in from out of town?’

  ‘Plenty of time to start making friends,’ Keane stated.

  ‘For sure,’ Warner added.

  ‘And we got one more thing, which is again about Kong, indirectly. His record shows an associate in Seattle, one Rico Perez, Puerto Rican, thirty-two. He’s got a record for armed robbery among other things. Now this is only interesting for one reason. The PD got called to a fight at a bar in Echo Park, five or six guys involved. Perez was detained but released. This was end of January.’

  ‘So Perez is here in the city?’ Keane asked.

  ‘Seems so, well at least last month he was.’

  They all looked at each other.

  ‘We need to find this Perez,’ John said.

  ‘Four million people in the city, give or take,’ Keane said ruefully.

  John nodded.

  ‘I get that, but it’s a start. If he was detained, he would have given his details, right?’ he looked at Judy, who triumphantly produced yet another sheet of paper.

  Keane looked at it.

  ‘Lynwood, that figures,’ he said.

  Warner stood up, chair creaking as his bulk moved out.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  Sammy kept looking at her mobile, but eventually gave it up. She would have to be patient, let Frost do his thing, whatever that was. She was tired, she had been working until three in the morning and back in the office at eight. She looked across at Simon who was busy tapping away on the keyboard of his PC.

  ‘I’m clocking off for a while,’ she told him.

  He gave her a big smile.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘If Moran asks, tell him to go fuck himself.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I won’t be doing that, but I’ll think of something.’

  She blew him a kiss and walked out the newsroom, and across reception, anticipating the whole time that Moran would appear and start giving her a hard time. But he didn’t, and she rode the lift down to the car park under the building. She climbed in her BMW and got going, heading home.

  She was renting an apartment in Pomona, and she liked it well enough, apart from the journey. But today was pretty clear, the rush hour had not yet started so she made good time. Once inside she kicked off her shoes and went in to the bedroom, standing in front of the mirror, scrutinising herself, something which she had been doing every day for as long as she could remember. Her reflection looked back at her, well presented, perfectly made up.

  She would never admit it but Moran’s open hostility had shaken her badly. She had been well aware of her power over men since she was a teenager, and used it well, she was always confident and assured. Her second divorce had been difficult, not because of personal feelings or any sense of loss but because it had been so loudly played out in public. In fact, she had read about her impending divorce before anything had even been said between them. Of course, she and Jason had gone out and said all the right things, they loved each other but decided this was the only way forward, they would always be very good friends etc., but this was the best thing for both of them. Please could everyone respect their privacy during this difficult time, etc. The reality was they had nothing in common, the initial fire had quickly died away and they both had numerous affairs. She hadn’t taken any of hers seriously at all, they had been a welcome distraction from her unhappy home life at the time, but Jason had decided he wanted a twenty-three-year-old pole dancer more than he wanted her. She had taken the LA Plus job because the timing was perfect and Indianapolis was suddenly way too small. Looking in the mirror she thought about Jason, the first time in forever, they had met when The Colts were flying high and he was the star, described in hushed terms as the best fullback in the NFL. She interviewed the team several times and it had seemed almost inevitable, the spark was obvious. When they got married, she was thirty-five and she had believed this was it, her life was mapped out. She had been happy, excited. A year in and everything was different already, but they made it work. Kind of. Publicly, anyway. Or so she thought.

  But she realised too late that deep down she had known early on. They had both had.

  She sighed and took off her dress and hung it up in the wardrobe carefully, then returned to stand in front of the mirror again, critically looking at her reflection, now in her underwear. Forty-three years old, and in the public eye for twenty-four of them. Body of an eighteen-year-old Jason used to tell her. No plastic surgery, and she didn’t have to hit the gym much. But she wasn’t feeling so good about herself anymore. She had moved here to start again, in a city where there was a long line of people just waiting for her to fail, and Moran was right at the front.

  She needed to prove herself, that she wasn’t just a pretty face. As that clearly wasn’t working.

  If she could find this British guy, that would do it. She wouldn’t need to feel so second rate. They had done a great job in the aftermath of the Metro attack, she knew it. The other channels had barely turned up in comparison. If she could just track this man down and run a piece on him she could name her price, and the nationals would come calling. Moran would have no choice but to back her. She thought about Jimmy Frost and his blatant leering, knowing what he believed was on the table. She shook her head and looked away, she would have to toughen up.

  Whatever it takes, she told herself. This was a fresh start, and could be the last one she would ever get. Whatever it takes.

  ***

  They were driving down Alameda Street when Keane’s mobile started to warble. Warner was driving with Judy next to him, John and Keane in the back. They all automatically checked their phones.

  ‘Me!’ Keane announced and held it to his ear.

  ‘Hello.’

  He listened for a while and then gestured for something to write with. Judy produced a pad and pen and Keane started writing, listening intently, grunting and nodding. It took a while but eventually he asked for everything to be emailed across and hung up the call, the notepad had a long list written on the page.

  ‘OK, we got the IDs of the victims. The five women, and we know who they all are.’

  He scrutinised the list.

  ‘First look nothing of any real interest. The two that stand out are a Deanna Hayter and a Madeline White. Deanna was thirty-three and just married an army major three weeks ago. Madeline was forty and a high-class hooker. Of the other women, I got a doctor, a nurse and a restaurant manager.’

  ‘Any records?’ Judy asked.

  ‘Well, that is interesting because both Deanna and Madeline do, but nothing on the others.’

  ‘What for?’ John asked.

  ‘
Madeline is straightforward, she worked Vegas for years, so she got a string of soliciting misdemeanours, no real prison time. Deanna was a stripper, again in Vegas. Her maiden name is Clark. She’s also got priors for soliciting, but doesn’t look serious. Seems like they were friends, from their final locations they were the two women close to John on the platform.’

  ‘Deanna Hayter just married an army major?’ Judy asked.

  ‘Yeah. In Vegas. I don’t have any real details, but he has been informed.’

  ‘What about the other three women, Ron?’ asked Warner.

  ‘Right, Christa Vorchek, forty-eight, married, one daughter, she was a doctor. Fiona Bright, thirty-one, married, no kids, a nurse. Her and Christa were travelling together, they just ended a shift at USC hospital. Then there was Jane Elliot, thirty, unmarried, manages the Deluxe Grill. Staff there say she left before her shift ended, she wasn’t feeling too good.’

  ‘Hmmm, anything in that I wonder. You know, that she left early,’ Judy wondered.

  ‘Could be I guess,’ Keane scribbled a note on the pad. ‘So, assuming for now Christa and Fiona are in the clear we got Deanna, Madeline and Jane to look into, or have I missed something?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no,’ Judy replied.

  The rabbit warren of Imperial Courts slid past the windows of the car, and then further down Warner turned left and with several turns followed a couple of streets before pulling over to the kerb.

  ‘Got to be careful here,’ Warner said grimly. ‘These motherfuckers always got a point to prove.’

  John looked around. It was a street among several similar with low single storey houses on both sides, all of them identical. On several porches groups of young people were sitting, male and female, mostly black. They looked relaxed, but isolated in their respective groups. A motorbike came down the road from the opposite direction, and pulled a wheelie halfway along, the bike almost completely upright, rider with his head hanging off the side, no crash helmet. Several people whooped and cheered.

  ‘What number you got?’ asked Keane.

  ‘I got 1163,’ Judy replied, and Warner rolled slowly down the street as they checked the numbers, until he stopped dead. They were looking at two burnt-out houses, side by side.

  ‘That’s it,’ Warner told them, pointing at the left-hand ruin.

  They got out the car and walked over. It was obvious the fires had occurred a long time previously. Both sites were little more than burnt scattered bricks and remains of timbers, but there were weeds and long grass everywhere.

  ‘Real clever right? Let’s go,’ Warner urged, aware they were attracting interest. He knew only too well how quickly the local residents could react, and most of them would be carrying guns.

  They got back in the car and drove off.

  ‘Well, I know Kong got arrested for arson, but I don’t think we can make that work,’ John said as they cruised back to Santa Monica.

  Keane shook his head.

  ‘No way, that’s got to be five years old, probably more.’

  ‘It shows how organised they are, Perez must have shown his ID, and that was what he had. Already set up and ready to go.’ Judy said.

  ‘Probably his passport, and he just gave that address. But yeah, it proves they know what they’re doing, 1163 would have checked out through the system as valid, nothing on the PD computers to say the place is a pile of ash.’ Warner told them.

  ‘So, we got nothing,’ Keane sullenly repeated what he had told them earlier but John shook his head.

  ‘You’re wrong. Let’s focus on the women, got to be something there.’

  Chapter Eight

  By the time they had fought the traffic and they finally got back to the hotel it was past seven, so they decided to go straight out for dinner. They ate at the bar, and afterward Judy wanted to go back to her room. She had a case going to trial in a couple of days and wanted to make sure her team was fully briefed. Warner went with her, he wanted to Skype his family, which left John and Keane sitting at a table next to the window.

  The bar had been done out with a supposedly tropical feel, the staff all wore Hawaiian shirts, there were lots of plastic palm leaves and coconuts everywhere with a simple seafood menu and a long cocktail list.

  ‘This used to be my patch,’ Keane told him. ‘Back in the day, I was a detective here for twelve years and then came back again later as the chief.’

  ‘You’re the chief here? I didn’t realise,’ John replied.

  ‘No, I took a sideways move about five years ago. I’m based in Long Beach now, but I guess that’s why I thought it would be good to set up over here. This place is full of people coming and going, nobody notices a new face.’

  John nodded.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Now I think the same thing.’

  Keane looked at him shrewdly.

  ‘You can look after yourself, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Not sure what you mean.’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean. If it starts getting rough, you don’t hide away. You get stuck in. It’s written all over you.’

  John touched the dressing on his head.

  ‘I suppose so, but no more than anyone else.’

  ‘I ain’t sure about that I got to say. Well, I got an idea of someone we can go see. This guy knows what’s going on, he ain’t someone I trust, not at all, he is an evil motherfucker but he’s always got an ear to the ground. Mostly because he is a sly son of a bitch who walks a fine line, always changing sides. But he could be useful. He’s got slices of this and that all over the city and knows a lot of people, good and bad.’

  ‘OK. Is he local?’

  ‘Yeah, not far. Down near the ocean.’

  They left the bar and walked along the street, the turned down another that led straight onto the beach, the sea was right there, in front of them. Keane stopped outside a bar that looked tiny from the front, just a door and a small window. Inside, it was long and thin, with the bar on the left. There were a few people in there. As John walked across the floor a woman uncurled herself from a stool and went over to him, but then she saw Keane and stopped with a scowl.

  ‘Not tonight Candy, we ain’t buying,’ he told her, and she went back to her seat.

  Keane led the way across to a doorway at the back, with a short narrow staircase leading steeply down.

  ‘Mind your head,’ he said, and went down the steps.

  At the bottom, it was dark, and there was another door, which looked like an afterthought. It all looked very suspicious in John’s view, but Keane didn’t bother to take out his gun, he just pushed hard and walked straight into the room beyond, with John close behind.

  Inside was a small room, with nothing in it but a desk and a two-seat sofa. One wall was covered in stacked cardboard boxes, and there was another small door in the far corner. Sitting at the desk was a squat, wide man in a suit with black hair gelled flat and a big square chin. Two other men were sitting on the sofa, one white and completely covered in tattoos and the other a lanky Mexican. The man behind the desk jumped up.

  ‘What the FUCK?’ he roared and heaved the desk over and grabbed at Keane’s shirt front. The Mexican also leapt up and took a swing at John. Distracted by what was happening with Keane, John managed to duck and the blow landed on the top of his head, immediately he surged forward, grabbing the Mexican by the throat with his left hand and battering him hard in the face with his right, three, four punches, all solid blows, the Mexican flailing around ineffectively.

  The Mexican fell to the floor and John whirled to face Tattoos.

  But the man was standing up and smiling, hands raised. He glanced at John then nodded across the room.

  Keane had his assailant in a headlock and ran toward the rear wall driving the man’s face hard straight into it. He let the man go and pushed him over with his foot. John looked at Tattoos who was doing nothing, still smiling; no threat, and then turned to Keane, confused.

  Keane had a hold of the man’
s collar and hauled him up, then dropped him into his seat.

  The man looked around and scowled.

  ‘Thanks for your fucking help Louie,’ he spat at the tattooed man, blood running from his nose and dripping off his chin.

  ‘Fuck that. Did you see what he did to Paolo? No fucking way, I like my face,’ Louie replied and sat back down on the sofa again, grinning, unconcerned.

  The Mexican was sitting up, head bowed.

  ‘I can’t fucking believe you would just bust in here like this Keane, you fuck,’ the man in the suit said. His cheek was also swelling and his right eye starting to close.

  ‘John, this is Billy Wheeler, commonly known as Billy Whizz, cos he does everything fast. Right Billy?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘That’s not very nice. Me and Billy’s dad go way back, John. But you ain’t quite there yet Billy, are you?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Billy said again, slowly.

  ‘He’s a witty guy, right?’

  With an effort Keane righted the desk and pushed it back so Billy was effectively trapped against the wall behind, then leaned forward.

  ‘Now Billy, I need your help with something. We got some shit going down in this town, you will have heard all about the terrorist attack on the Metro. Well I’m the man been sent to hunt them down, so what do you know?’