No Place to Die (Sam Leroy Book 3)

by Philip Cox

  Reluctantly, Quinn dragged the still paralysed Johansson to the door while Leroy ran through the smoke to the kitchen. The kitchen door was open and bizarrely the flames had not taken hold here as badly as other parts of the house. Clearly the fire had not started here.

  ‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Anybody here?’ As if anyone could have heard him over the roar and crackle of the fire.

  He turned and headed to the door, turning round briefly at the sound of a crash, as the kitchen ceiling caved in. Still coughing, he ran out into the cool night air. Two fire department trucks were now on the scene, and six or seven firefighters were tackling the blaze. He saw that Lieutenant Perez had arrived, and saw Rudi Johansson sprawled on the grass, coughing.

  Leroy looked around.

  No Ray Quinn.

  ‘Where’s Quinn?’ he shouted at anybody who was listening. ‘Where’s Ray?’

  Perez ran over to him. ‘Sam, he went back in for you.’

  Frantically, Leroy looked back at the burning house. The roof was almost destroyed, the cross beams showing against the flames, like a grotesque rib cage.

  Leroy swung round to one of the firefighters. ‘Douse me!’

  ‘Wha -?’ asked the fireman, still looking up at the direction of water from his hose.

  ‘Douse me, hose me!’

  Knowing better than to argue, the firefighter turned his hose on Leroy. The fierce jet of water knocked Leroy over and back at least six feet. Now drenched, he ran back into the house.

  ‘Sam, no!’ Perez called out as the firefighter aimed his jet of water back at the burning roof.

  Inside, the temperature was rapidly rising. Once it reaches 1100 degrees, you will have flashover. At that point, everything is now in flames. Oxygen is sucked out, consumed by the sudden combustion. Windows shatter. Flames shoot out of doors and windows. The whole place fills with hot, thick, deadly smoke and is by now impenetrable.

  A helicopter was hovering overhead, making sure this blaze would make prime-time news, and the crowd on the street had grown.

  The patrolwoman who had driven Perez to the scene began to cry.

  ‘Sweet Jesus,’ the lieutenant whispered, watching helplessly as the roof finally gave way, its burning beams crashing into the house below.

  Chapter 48

  Andrew Dudley and Katherine Huth high-fived each other as they passed the 905 intersection. In a few short minutes the freeway on which they were travelling, the I-805, would be merging with the I-5, which would take them to the border. Once through the checkpoint, the I-5 would become the MEX-1, and they would be home free.

  ‘Here we are, baby,’ he said. ‘San Ysidro. Almost there. Then we head for my contact just outside of Tijuana, and we’re history.’

  There is, of course, an extradition treaty between Mexico and the United States, but the authorities would need to catch them first.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ she asked. ‘About being history, I mean?’

  ‘Listen,’ Dudley said, oozing confidence and reassurance. ‘The cops would have guessed we’d have gone to the house. By the time they and the Fire Department, whoever checks that stuff, realise we weren’t in the fire, then we’ll have gotten over the border, met up with my guy, gotten ourselves new identities, and be heading off.

  ‘We won’t stay in Mexico: it’s too close, and the authorities will most likely be trying to kiss the President’s ass, so we can head south, try somewhere like Guatemala, or Honduras. For the time being, the money’s no object.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘We can get ourselves a nice little adobe by the sea, and spend the next few years taking it easy. You okay with all this?’

  ‘Yeah; sure I am. It’s just sudden, that’s all.’

  ‘That got forced on us. That asshole from Alabama started that chain reaction. But it was always going to happen, eventually. Just sooner than I expected.’

  ‘Will we get over the border okay?’

  ‘Sure we will. It’s always been much easier to go south than to come back; you know that.’ He put his hand on hers. ‘Speaking of going south…’

  She took his hand away. ‘Let’s get over the border first. Andy - what’s that?’

  ‘Looks like… Shit!’

  ‘They for us?’

  ‘Maybe they are, maybe they’re not. But they won’t be looking for wheels like this.’ When they set off from Burbank, Dudley had eschewed the Ford Mustang in the garage, and had taken a less conspicuous Roadtrek 210.

  Dudley slowed down to fifty-five to pass the patrol car, which had in fact stopped in front of another vehicle which had broken down. In the distance, they could see the border: with a sense of anticipation and excitement, Dudley pressed down on the gas.

  The row of booths had to be only a mile away.

  Half a mile away, and five police vehicles appeared from a side road, lights flashing, sirens wailing. In the lead car, the officer in front was waving a flashlight for them to pull over.

  Dudley pulled over and stopped. The lead car stopped in front and the driver got out.

  They could see the border not five hundred yards away.

  Dudley’s foot hovered over the gas pedal.

  ‘Well, my darling,’ he asked. ‘Is this our Thelma and Louise moment?’

  Chapter 49

  The fire had taken hold.

  Perez watched on helplessly as the roof collapsed, shooting flames and sparks high into the air. The Fire Chief had called the television network as he was concerned the draught from the helicopter blades might fan the flames.

  He could hear some of the neighbours talking: one of the women was wailing that there were two cops in there. The patrolwoman with him fought hard to contain her tears.

  He looked round as two ambulances arrived on the scene; then back at the house.

  It would not be long before the second floor collapsed.

  The lieutenant’s radio crackled: still staring mesmerised into the conflagration, he answered. It was the news that Dudley and Huth had been apprehended just yards from the Mexican border. Now they were being brought back to Los Angeles. Perez took the call with no emotion in his voice, just staring with disbelief into the flames.

  ‘Look!’

  He was brought out of his trance by the cry of one of the neighbours.

  In the burning house’s doorway, amidst the black, acrid smoke billowing out of the inferno, and backlit by the flames inside, was a shape. It was moving. Its form was indistinct at first, then became clearer. One figure, limping, and carrying another on its back, fireman’s lift style.

  ‘Gracias a Dios,’ Perez whispered, rushing forward with two of the firefighters.

  The limping form was that of Sam Leroy, carrying his partner on his back.

  Then, suddenly: flashpoint.

  The temperature inside the house hit 1100 Fahrenheit. Those outside could hear the loud rush of air. The windows blew out and jets of fire shot out of the empty spaces. Leroy and Quinn were knocked to the ground by the backdraft: one of the firemen turned his hose on them, immediately extinguishing the flames on the back of Leroy’s coat. Leroy yelled in pain as Perez dragged him away from the house; one of the firefighters did the same to the unconscious Quinn.

  The Fire Department was beginning to gain control over the blaze, but not before the second floor collapsed with a deafening roar. More flames and smoke burst out of the windows.

  The paramedics from one of the ambulances had already taken Johansson; now they rushed over to Quinn, turned him on his back and began CPR.

  Leroy was conscious: black with soot and drenched with the water from the hose, he crawled over to his partner. Nodded to the paramedic who told him, ‘He’ll be okay.’

  He sat up, rubbing his injured leg.

  Then threw up.

  Chapter 50

  West L.A. Station was busy that night. For 2am, at any rate.

  As well as the normal clientele of pushers, drunks, hookers, a team of FBI invest
igators had been on an operation in the area, and had made five arrests. They had requested that the five be held at West L.A. while transportation could be arranged, and this was agreed. Plus, there were Chong Lee, Pinky, Perky, and now Katherine Huth and Andrew Dudley. Rudi Johansson had been taken to the Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center on South Buena Vista Street, as had Leroy and Quinn. All three were slightly more than ‘walking wounded’, but were no longer in the ER.

  The hospital had not been able to tell yet when Leroy and Quinn would be able to be discharged: as it was not feasible to hold the five suspects until either had been released, Perez began the interrogation himself.

  Huth and Dudley were of course being held separately, and would be interrogated separately. Unlike Chong Lee, they had both insisted on having an attorney present, and so Perez was forced to wait until Dudley’s attorney had arrived. This attorney would be acting for both Dudley and Huth.

  ‘No surprise there,’ Perez remarked when told this.

  The attorney, a supercilious, well-tailored twenty-something to whom Perez took an instant dislike, arrived at 9am. He was, of course, refreshed having had a full night’s sleep: Perez, on the other hand, had been up all night, only managing to grab a couple of hours on the couch in his office. His only consolation was that it was unlikely Dudley and Huth had gotten their full eight hours.

  Andrew Dudley first.

  The attorney sat next to his client, across the table from Perez. The lieutenant leaned forward. ‘Let’s cut to the chase, Dudley: did you kill William Kirk?’

  Dudley looked to his attorney, who showed no reaction, then back to Perez. ‘Who?’

  ‘Did you decapitate him? Did you cut off his head?’

  ‘Lieutenant,’ the attorney cut in. ‘My client knows the meaning of decapitation. With all due respect, I think my client has answered your question.’

  ‘With all due respect,’ Perez countered, ‘your client hasn’t answered my question. I asked if he killed William Kirk. The reply would be yes or no.’

  Dudley looked to the attorney again and back to Perez. ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘Did Katherine Huth?’

  ‘You’ll need to ask her.’

  ‘What about Evald Mets?’

  Dudley said nothing.

  ‘You know - knew - Evald Mets? You must have: he worked for you.’

  ‘Yes, of course I knew Evald. His murder was a tragedy. Why aren’t you out there looking for his killer, rather than asking me these ridiculous questions?’

  The attorney put a restraining hand on Dudley’s arm.

  ‘Let’s park those two murders for now,’ Perez said quietly. ‘First, tell me what you and Ms Huth were doing hurrying to the Mexican border in the middle of the night.’

  Another glance to the attorney, who briefly closed his eyes. More subtle than a nod.

  ‘Ms Huth and I… we are an item. We planned a trip there.’

  ‘At midnight?’

  ‘The freeways are quieter at that time.’

  ‘With a trunk containing…’ Perez glanced down at his notes. ‘Four hundred and seventy-eight thousand dollars? In cash?’

  Dudley leaned over and whispered in the attorney’s ear; the attorney reciprocated, then spoke.

  ‘My client wishes to invoke his constitutional right to plead the fifth amendment.’

  Perez sat back. He was not surprised. ‘So you were fleeing the country?’

  ‘My client didn’t say that.’

  ‘What about the fire at your house?’

  ‘A fire? At my house? When?’

  ‘Which of course you knew nothing about.’

  Dudley held up his hands. ‘This is all news to me.’

  ‘And Rudi Johansson? He died in the fire, you know.’

  The arrogant expression left Dudley’s face for a second, then returned.

  ‘I told you, I have no knowledge of a fire at my house. I was not there, remember?’

  Perez continued, ‘You see, if it can be established that the fire was started deliberately, then it’s murder. You know we have the death penalty in California?’

  The attorney spoke. ‘Lieutenant, please do not try to threaten my client. As you know, the State has not carried out an execution in over ten years.’

  ‘That is true,’ replied Perez, ‘but as you know, Proposition 66, which California voters approved in 2016, seeks to speed up the process. So,’ - as he spoke he leaned forward and looked Dudley in the eye - ‘if you and Huth are found guilty of murder, I will make it my personal mission in life to fast-track you both so they lethally inject your ass with all due speed.’

  Dudley was starting to look uncomfortable.

  ‘Lieutenant, I must protest,’ spluttered the attorney. ‘This is absolutely -’

  ‘Shut up,’ Dudley said to the attorney, while still staring back at Perez. ‘Look, Lieutenant: I want to tell you some things.’

  Chapter 51

  Room 319 at the Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center was busy. In addition to the official occupant of the room, Ray Quinn, who was lying in the bed, Sam Leroy, also dressed in a hospital gown but with a brown walking cane, was present. Also in the room were Lieutenant Perez, Russell Hobson, the ME and one of Leroy’s oldest friends, and Holly Quinn with Julia Moore. Quinn had been affected by the partially burned particles in the smoke. Some had gotten lodged in his lungs. Irritation to the lungs and digestive system was a possibility, so the doctors wanted to keep him in for a few more days. Leroy’s symptoms were less severe: he had inhaled some toxic gases which were causing itchy eyes and a sore throat. The doctor said this was caused by inhaling phosgene, which had been given off by burning vinyl. He had also torn ligaments in one leg, when he stumbled down the burning stairs, and by the impact of the flashover.

  Alcohol was banned in the hospital, so any toasts had to be with mineral water. Perez held up his in a white plastic cup.

  ‘Well, here’s to the successful end to an investigation.’

  Leroy held up his cup. ‘Here’s to you for getting the confessions. Back to behind your desk now?’

  ‘Guess so, but it’s a good experience being on the front line again. Like those managers at Wal-Mart who spend a day on the shop floor every so often.’

  ‘Nice analogy, Lieutenant,’ laughed Hobson. ‘At this point, I need to head back. See you soon, guys.’

  ‘Before you go, Doctor,’ Perez said, ‘I just need to say that by running back into a burning house not once, but twice, Detective Leroy here did one of the most reckless and foolhardy things I’ve ever seen a police officer do.’ He paused for effect. ‘And one of the bravest.’

  ‘I think he deserves a medal,’ Holly Quinn said, holding her husband’s hand. ‘Or some kind of commendation.’

  ‘I wouldn’t turn down a raise,’ Leroy said.

  Perez looked over at him. ‘A commendation is better for the budget,’ he replied with a huge grin on his face.

  At that point Leroy’s phone bleeped. He checked the screen and read the text message. It was from Sally Duvall: glad 2 hear u ok. call if u need any tlc ;) xx. He smiled and returned to the home screen.

  ‘What was it?’ Julia asked.

  Leroy slipped the phone back inside his gown. ‘Nothing. Just good wishes from an old partner.’

  ‘I think it’s time I left as well,’ Perez said, after Hobson departed.

  ‘Before you go, Lieutenant,’ Leroy asked, ‘just how did you get the confessions?’

  Perez sat at the foot of Quinn’s bed and folded his arms.

  ‘Well, it started with Johansson. The poor bastard was so traumatized by the experience of being in the fire: may have been some gratitude to you for saving his life; being pissed at Dudley and Huth for leaving him there. When Huth saw Lee being arrested, she called Dudley and Johansson and they arranged to meet up at Dudley’s house. They began to burn all the hard copies of photographs they had – when they were picked up at the border, Dudley had a thumb drive with copies on. Nice piec
e of evidence. There was an argument about Johansson’s share now that Evald Mets - who Dudley had ordered Johansson to kill - had gone. That’s how the fire started: Johansson was knocked half-unconscious. By the time he had gotten it together, he was trapped in the blaze.

  ‘Backtracking a tad, they had a nice little racket going on. Huth would identify any family men who had booked into the hotel on business. Those girls would set them up in a kind of honey trap, then Lee would set up the blackmail. Apparently, there are a dozen or so others we haven’t looked at yet, but the details are on the thumb drive. So Hightower and Kirk were by no means the only ones.

  ‘When Kirk pulled the gun on Lee, that set alarm bells ringing. Lee called Dudley, who arranged for Huth to pull the trigger; Mets and Johansson who both worked for Dudley at the restaurant, and were - are – illegals, turned up in Johansson’s pick-up to get rid of the body.

  ‘They took him up to Mount Lee - no relation - at first. Dudley had told them to dismember the body. That way, he told them, the body parts would be easier to dispose of. Smaller parts would be taken care of by wildlife.

  ‘But when they cut off the head, they started to panic, Johansson said out of disgust, so in their panic, tossed the body in a dumpster.’

  ‘Leaving the head on Mount Lee,’ said Leroy.

  ‘Yes. They had just gotten the body in the dumpster, when Harry Webb arrived. Apparently Mets went into panic overdrive at that point: rather than doing as Johansson told him and just quietly driving away, he thought he was getting himself in the clear by ‘finding’ the body.’

  ‘And that cost him his life?’ Quinn said.

  ‘It did. Johansson said Dudley was concerned that Mets would go to us, so told him to deal with him.’

  ‘And now he’s turned State’s Evidence,’ said Leroy. ‘Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘He’s here. Second floor, under guard. Wants to plea bargain.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. What about Huth and Dudley?’