No Place to Die (Sam Leroy Book 3)

by Philip Cox

  Once Khan had gone, Leroy turned to his partner. ‘Let’s get started. Ray: you begin checking databases using those parameters Sudeep talked about: age, race, and like that. I’ll finish working on the mugshot so we have a likeness to verify to if we get a match.’

  ‘We’re bound to get several matches.’

  ‘I know, so that’s where as complete a face as possible will come in. Check California records first, then go out of State. I think we should pan out once California’s done: Arizona, Nevada, not Oregon yet – his skin colour suggests to me not from a northern State – New Mexico, Utah. He doesn’t look Hispanic, but check with INS: he could have arrived over the border or through LAX.’

  Quinn nodded. ‘Once you’ve got a completed face, Sam, we could try social media as well. That DeepFace technology Facebook runs is apparently ninety-seven percent accurate.’

  Leroy raised his eyebrows. ‘Really. The stuff the Feds use is only about eighty. Good call, Ray. Yes, and I’ll give the MPU a call back, see if they have anything for us, in exchange for Evald Mets.’

  ‘Okay.’ Quinn straightened up and turned to face the screen.

  Leroy said, ‘I’ll go get us a coffee and pastry. Let’s hope for a break.’ On the way to the vending machine he paused. ‘Our John Doe is in there somewhere,’ he said, pointing to Quinn’s screen. ‘You wanna know something, Ray? Whoever finds him first, the other one buys the drinks.’

  Chapter 25

  It was 11pm. Leroy and Quinn were still searching, and had found nothing.

  To be more precise, they had found plenty of possibles, using the search parameters Sudeep Khan suggested, but none of the mugshots matched the picture of their victim. Some were close, but not close enough.

  Leroy leaned on his elbows and rubbed his eyes. ‘This is hopeless,’ he said.

  Quinn spoke as he examined a mugshot on the screen. ‘We’re going to be here all night.’

  Leroy sat back. ‘No, we’re not.’

  Quinn paused and looked over.

  ‘We’ve been here long enough today. Leave it for now.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure. It’s so late we’re in danger of missing something. Go home to your wife.’

  Quinn did not need telling twice. Switching off his computer, he stood up and picked up his car keys. ‘You not going home to Julia?’

  Leroy shook his head. ‘To tell you the truth, Ray, I don’t think there is a Julia anymore.’

  Quinn seemed surprised. ‘Hey, man: what’s up? Is that what you were talking about before?’

  Leroy continued studying his screen as he replied. ‘Yeah.’

  Quinn sat back down again. ‘So…?’

  ‘I don’t know. We seem to be kind of drifting apart the last few months. Not finding so much in common, you know. Not being so interested in each other, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s nobody else, is there?’

  ‘Only this job. As far as I’m concerned, anyway.’

  ‘When’d you last see each other?’

  ‘The other night. I got back to my place, bushed. She had let herself in, to cook dinner. She started to talk about somebody she had worked with - another teacher - who’d just died of cancer. I seemed more interested in my day.’

  ‘That went well, then.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Then I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke later, she’d just gone home. No note, no nothing. She was clearly pissed.’

  ‘And you’ve not heard from her since?’

  Leroy shook his head.

  ‘You tried to contact her?’

  Leroy shook his head.

  ‘How do you feel about all this, then? About her?’

  ‘I’m still fond of her, I guess. But I’m not sure where things were headed. I don’t want a repeat of last time.’

  ‘But Sam, that was a long time ago.’

  ‘I know.’ Leroy paused. ‘Ray, you get off to your wife. Tell her I said hi.’

  Quinn picked up his keys again. ‘I will. Don’t work too late, Sam.’

  ‘I won’t. Just another half hour or so.’

  Quinn paused as he was leaving. ‘Why don’t you give her a call now? Or a text? Just say you’re sorry about the other night. Couldn’t hurt, could it?’

  ‘Yeah, I may do. Night, Ray.’

  Leroy watched Quinn leave the room. Looked back at his screen. Then picked up his phone. Stared at it a few seconds, holding it in his hand as if he was checking its weight. Then shook his head and put it back on his desk.

  He needed more coffee. Stretching, he stood up and wandered out to the vending machine. Got another strong black coffee, extra sugar, took a sip, and began to wander back to his desk.

  He had got no more than twelve feet when he heard his name being called out. It was Quinn’s voice. He looked around and saw his partner hurrying back to Homicide Room. A uniformed officer was a few feet behind him.

  ‘What’s up?’ Leroy asked. ‘You forget something?’

  Quinn shook his head. He was slightly breathless. ‘Sam,’ he gasped, ‘I think I’ve found our man.’

  Chapter 26

  Leroy noticed Officer Ross coming up behind Quinn. ‘He’s the killer?’ he asked.

  Quinn shook his head. ‘Come listen to this,’ he said, leading Leroy back to their desks. Ross followed. He perched on the edge of his desk. ‘Tell Detective Leroy what you told me.’

  Leroy perched on his own desk, clutching his paper cup.

  Ross took a deep breath. He was holding a letter-sized brown envelope. ‘You see, Detectives, I was over at the Stocker Hotel, Downtown. I don’t know if you guys know the place.’

  ‘Vaguely,’ said Leroy. ‘Was this on your own time, or on patrol?’

  ‘Kind of both. I used to be working out of that Division before I got transferred here. While I was over there I kind of made a contact with one of the clerks there; you know the kind of thing: she’d tip me off if there was anything not kosher going on. Drugs, disorder, if any faces checked in that we might be interested in.’

  Leroy nodded. ‘And you kept up this contact when you moved over here. On duty or off duty? Just out of interest.’

  Ross blushed and glanced down at his feet. ‘Mainly off duty now.’

  Quinn said, ‘Harry, just tell Detective Leroy what you told me.’

  Ross coughed. ‘I was over there earlier today, just chatting over a coffee. Kirstine - that’s her name – was telling me what they do when somebody fails to check out.’

  ‘How do you mean fails to check out?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘It’s like this,’ Ross explained. ‘These days, apparently seventy-five percent of bookings are made online, using a credit card. Especially a place like the Stocker, which caters almost exclusively for people visiting the Convention Center, folks in town on business, so the rooms are paid for in advance. The hotel retains the card details which they use to charge for incidentals, like the minibar, room service and so on. When the guest leaves, they hand their key in, the hotel says there’s these extras, please sign here, have a nice day, thank you for staying and be on your way. Or, the guest can check out online or via the TV in the room, or just drop their card in a slot on the reception desk. Housekeeping knows when a guest is due to check out, so they know when to change the sheets and towels and stuff.’

  ‘I get all that,’ said Leroy. ‘So what do you mean by fails to check out?’

  ‘That’s what I’m coming to. If the maid lets herself into the room on the day the guest is due to leave - and she’ll wait until after noon – and the guy’s stuff is still there, she’ll tell reception and they’ll call the guest to ask what the hell’s going on, we thought you were leaving today. Now, nine times out of ten the guest will give them some bullshit excuse and say I can’t leave yet and the hotel will say no problem, we’ll just charge you another night. The problem comes if they can’t get hold of the guest, but the room’s booked for another guest that night. In a case like that, the maid packs up all th
e guest’s stuff and the case is stored with the concierge. The bill’s already been settled as the guest’s card’s been charged. They’ll try to contact the guest a few times more, to say come get your stuff, it’s taking up space. If they get no answer after a week or so, the case goes out with the trash.’

  Leroy finished his coffee. ‘I think I kind of know all this, Harry; what did your friend have for you? Any particular guest?’

  Ross nodded his head vigorously. He was a career patrolman: fifty years old if he was a day, grey, receding hair, no more than five feet tall, no less than four feet around the waist. ‘She was telling me that they were storing the bags from some guy who’d checked in a couple of days earlier. When they went through his stuff they found this in a drawer.’ He passed Leroy the brown envelope.

  Leroy took the envelope and pulled out the contents. Took one look, said, ‘Ah,’ and passed it to Quinn.

  ‘He had those in his room?’

  ‘He did. Kirstine’s manager told her to shred them, said there’s no way she was going to keep filth like that lying about.’

  ‘Obviously, she hadn’t gotten round to shredding it.’

  Ross shook his head. ‘She told me, “Harry, take a look at these before they go in the trash.” I said, “No, let me take them off your hands. The guys in the squad room might like them.”’

  ‘To brighten up the locker room?’ Quinn asked.

  Sheepishly, Ross replied, ‘Yes, kind of. Off the record.’

  ‘“Off the record”?’ Leroy asked, shaking his head.

  Quinn took over. ‘This is the clincher, Sam. As I was leaving before, I passed by the squad room. I heard all the laughter and went in to see what the guys were so amused by. Look.’ He passed the contents, five or six letter-sized glossy colour photographs, back to Leroy, who flicked through them, more slowly than before. The photographs were of a man, early middle age, with two much younger girls. All three were naked and on a large bed. ‘Locker room?’ Leroy muttered, browsing the pictures.

  ‘Sam,’ said Quinn, ‘look at the guy’s face.’

  Leroy flicked though until he came to a picture where the man’s face was showing. He studied it for a few seconds, then sat down at his desk. Called up the mugshot Hobson had emailed over. He looked up at Quinn.

  ‘It’s him.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘I’ve not been Downtown in a while,’ Leroy said as they left the freeway. ‘No reason to come here.’

  Quinn looked around as they took the exit ramp. ‘My first call as a rookie was down here. A mugging in Olvera Street.’

  ‘Nothing so exciting. I think it was when Julia and I went to something at the Staples Center.’

  ‘By the way,’ Quinn asked. ‘Did you get the chance -?’

  ‘No. Here we are.’

  It was the following morning. It was quite clear that the man in the photographs, or at least those where his face could be seen, was the same man whose head had later found itself yards away from the Hollywood Sign. As Leroy had commented before they went home, the guy certainly went out with a bang.

  Pulling up outside the front entrance, and badging the bemused doorman, they walked through the lobby to the reception desk. A young man behind the desk greeted them, his less than genuine smile vanishing when they identified themselves and asked for the hotel manager.

  After a few moments, they were met by a woman in black matching pants and vest, under which was a crisp white shirt. Her dark hair was intricately plaited in a ponytail. She introduced herself as Katherine Huth, the Duty Manager, and invited them to follow her to her office.

  Once in the office, Leroy asked, ‘I understand that a guest failed to check out on his allotted day, and you are storing his bags.’

  She said nothing, but was clearly surprised by his question.

  Leroy continued, ‘We need to know who he is, and to check his belongings, and his room.’

  She frowned. ‘Don’t you need a warrant for that?’

  Leroy bristled. ‘No, we don’t. We’re interested in the previous occupier of the room, not the current. Our authority doesn’t extend to the current occupant. For example, if we found a hundred grams of cocaine and charged the owner, it would be deemed as inadmissible evidence as the search was illegal in respect of the present occupant. That doesn’t apply to the guy we’re interested in. And as far as the belongings and personal data are concerned, we have probable cause to believe him to be a murder victim. Are we okay with this? Or should I call somebody else?’

  She blushed. ‘Since you put it like that. I’ll just check which room it was, and take you there. What was the guest’s name?’

  ‘That was my second question. Maybe you could print off his registration details.’

  Ms Huth left them for a few moments and returned with a sheet of paper, which she thrust into Quinn’s face. ‘He was in Room 918,’ she said, sniffily. ‘Please come this way.’

  She led them to the ninth floor and paused outside 918. She knocked on the door twice. There was no answer.

  ‘Try again,’ Leroy said.

  She did so again.

  ‘Can you let us in, please?’ Leroy asked.

  Reluctantly, she slid her master key through the slot. The led flashed green and she opened the door.

  As they entered, they heard the toilet flush and a man came out of the bathroom.

  ‘What the hell?’ he demanded.

  Ms Huth was about to reply, but Leroy showed the man his badge. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but we did knock twice.’

  ‘I was in the john. Couldn’t have heard you. What is it?’

  ‘We’re conducting a murder investigation, and we would like to search the room. Nothing to do with you, sir; it relates to the previous occupant.’

  The guest held his arms out. ‘Be my guest. Liberty Hall. I was just about to go downstairs for breakfast.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be long, sir,’ said Quinn reassuringly.

  Leroy and Quinn wandered about the room, giving the place no more than a cursory glance. The room seemed to match the one in the photographs, in particular the imitation painting on the wall, but then most hotel rooms do look the same. Quinn checked the bathroom.

  ‘Sir,’ Leroy asked, ‘when you checked in, was there anything here, in the closet or the drawers, which didn’t belong to you?’

  The guest shook his head. ‘No.’

  Leroy examined the replica canvas hanging on the wall behind the bed, then the ceiling light fitting. ‘Ms Huth,’ he asked, ‘is there any possibility of there being a miniature camera being hidden in the room?’

  ‘What?’ the guest asked.

  ‘There certainly is not!’ she replied, indignantly. ‘Definitely not, no way,’ she said to the guest.

  Quinn allowed himself a smile as he knelt to look under the bed. He noticed a short strip of black duct tape stuck to the bed slats, for no reason. He took a small, clear plastic envelope out of his pocket, reached under the bed and pulled the tape off, carefully slotting it in the container. Leroy watched him, and said to the guest and Ms Huth, ‘Thank you very much for your co-operation, sir. We’ll leave you in peace now.’

  As they took the elevator down to the lobby, Leroy told Ms Huth they needed to see the bags. She led them to the concierge’s room, where the black case lay in a corner.

  Leroy turned to her. ‘Thank you, ma’am. If I need anything else, I’ll let you know.’

  Barely disguising her anger, she swung round on her heels and stormed out, almost knocking the concierge over on her way out. Leroy and Quinn put the bag on a table, unzipped it and checked through the contents. There was only two or three days’ worth of clothes.

  ‘Nothing jumps out,’ Leroy said, ‘but I think we’ll take it back with us to check more thoroughly. We’ll give you a receipt,’ he said to the concierge.

  ‘Not my worry,’ the old man replied. ‘Come the weekend, that’s going in the trash, anyway.’

  They zipped up the b
ag, gave out the receipt, and wheeled it back to their car. Once inside the car, Quinn took out the hotel printout. ‘Our guy has a name now.’

  Leroy looked over and read out the name. ‘William Kirk, 18553 16th Street, Birmingham, Alabama 35223. Alabama? Christ, what was he doing here?’

  ‘There’s nothing to indicate why,’ Quinn said. ‘No business paperwork, laptop, anything. No cell phone, no airline paperwork. The section about licence plate number is blank. He must have flown here, though.’

  ‘Let’s try those numbers.’ Leroy dialled both numbers; both went to voicemail, but he left no message. ‘One’s a cell phone; the other’s bound to be a landline. I wonder: work or office?’

  ‘Trip to Alabama?’ Quinn asked.

  ‘Might have to be. Let’s get his stuff back to HQ. While we’re headed back, Ray, see if you can get onto an airline website; see how much a round trip to Birmingham is.’

  ‘Onto it,’ replied Quinn, as they pulled away. By the time they hit the freeway, Quinn had a price. ‘Here, with Delta. Round trip via Atlanta is $997.’

  ‘What? Jesus, Perez will never agree to that.’

  Chapter 28

  Leroy was right.

  ‘Are you kidding me? A grand for a round trip to Birmingham, Alabama? Per person? No way.’

  Leroy and Quinn were back at the Desk. Quinn was checking through William Kirk’s bag again, and Leroy had gone to see Lieutenant Perez. ‘We’ve no choice, Lieutenant. He’s not picking up on either his landline or cell.’

  ‘I can give the local station a call. They can send somebody round to check the address out,’ Perez said.

  Leroy shook his head. ‘I need to go myself. Surely you understand, Roman?’

  Perez looked up. ‘Two grand’s a lot of money. How long would you be there for?

  ‘No more than a couple of nights.’

  ‘Which means hotel accommodation. I’m guessing you’d want separate rooms.’ He held his hand up. ‘Don’t answer that.’ He paused. ‘Can’t you drive?’

  ‘Phew, that’s a long way. A lot of gas.’