Wrong Time to Die (Sam Leroy Book 2)

by Philip Cox

  ‘You think he might have that much clout?’

  ‘Remember, Ray, Catalina’s a small island. You tend to find that smaller conurbations get rather parochial; in that everybody knows everybody else’s business and someone like Prescott could just click his fingers and the police come running. It wouldn’t happen on the mainland.’ He paused. ‘I was being ironic there, by the way; but it’s more acute in some parts. You know what I mean?’

  Quinn nodded.

  Leroy continued, ‘So I figure not that Ferrer was warning us off but that he was pissed as we didn’t follow protocol.’ His phone rang. ‘Shit,’ he said, looking at the number calling. ‘It’s Perez.’

  Quinn stared out of the window while Leroy took the call. In the distance, he could see the faint outline of the shore.

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant?’

  ‘……….’

  ‘That’s right. Quinn and I are just on our way back.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘We did, yes. Murray Hutchinson used to work there. We were just after what he actually did there.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘Yes, he spoke to us as well.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘We were on our way to see him then.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘Okay. Fair point. I’ll do that next time.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘Okay, Lieutenant.’ He ended the call and turned to Quinn.

  ‘No prizes for guessing what he wanted,’ said Quinn.

  ‘No. He had just gotten off the phone from the Sheriff himself. The Sheriff had just gotten off the phone from one of his deputies - Ferrer - complaining that we had failed to follow protocol by not speaking to him before we spoke to Prescott.’

  ‘Jeez, that’s so petty.’

  ‘That’s more or less what Perez said. But people like Ferrer tend to get territorial. Probably not got much to do, so lets little things like that piss him off. If the positions were reversed, we’d say, “yeah, whatever,” and get on with something more important. Perez just said to be careful when dealing with him or anybody in the Sheriff’s department. He doesn’t want any interdepartmental feuds.’

  Quinn nodded. ‘So does that change your view on Ferrer?’

  ‘Not really. We’ll just have to keep all this in mind in our dealings with Prescott. And the charity in general, to be on the safe side.’

  Quinn agreed.

  They spent the rest of the short voyage in silence, Leroy dozing in his seat. Sixty-five minutes after leaving Avalon, the Starship Express was docking at the Long Beach terminal. By an unspoken agreement, Quinn drove back to the City, and as they headed back up the 405, Leroy opened the envelope containing the copies of Hutchinson’s personnel file.

  ‘What are you looking through?’ Quinn asked.

  ‘The file on Hutchinson. Just looking down the details of his time at the Mission. What he did there.’

  ‘And?’

  Leroy took a deep breath. ‘Joined the Mission, yeah - around thirty years ago.’

  ‘That ties in with what we know already; with when he left the military.’

  ‘Hm. His first job there was an administration assistant.’

  ‘Gotta start somewhere.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s some come-down. Lieutenant-Colonel to administration assistant. He did that for three years. Then it says he was an outreach counsellor for 5½ years.’

  ‘Outreach counsellor?’

  Leroy looked up and stared at the freeway traffic for a moment. ‘Prescott said he spent some time with co-workers at the depots. Maybe that’s what he meant.

  ‘Next he was a local manager. Did that for nineteen years; then a district manager for around five years; then CEO for seven. I guess Prescott took over when Hutchinson retired.’

  Quinn asked, ‘When he was working with the kids at the train and bus depots - you asked Prescott if there were any rumours of impropriety: is that what you were getting at?’

  ‘Kind of. I was figuring that if there had been any shenanigans with the kids, then we might be talking about a revenge attack. But the timing’s all wrong: he was doing that nearly thirty years ago. I’m no profiler, but I can’t see what happened to the Hutchinsons being carried out by someone in their thirties or forties.’

  ‘We need to speak with some of his colleagues.’

  ‘We need to find out who they are first.’

  ‘You want to go back, or shall we call Prescott?’

  ‘I’ll talk to Perez first. I have a funny feeling we may need a court order to get Prescott to co-operate. It’s one angle.’

  Soon, they were pulling in to the police parking lot on Butler Avenue. As Quinn switched off the engine, Leroy said, ‘We’ll give this line of enquiry until tomorrow night, unless anything else comes to light. You dig around and see what you can find out about the Mission: any names of anyone who might have gotten involved with them. Go back as far, if you can, as when Hutchinson joined them. Also, see what you can find out about Mrs H: this could be all about her; you never know. I’m going to speak with Perez about getting a court order for Hutchinson’s co-workers. I’ll also search the database about any complaints of indecent assault, that type of thing, concerning the Mission.’

  ‘Man, that’s going to be a huge list.’

  ‘I know, but I’ll try and filter it down. Might get a couple of hours sleep somewhere as well.’ Leroy got out and walked round to the driver’s side.

  Quinn’s phone bleeped. He checked it.

  ‘Anything?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘It’s just Holly, saying she’s missing me.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, get a room, you two. You’re not newly-weds any more.’

  Quinn laughed as Leroy’s phone rang.

  ‘It’s Bill Farmer,’ Leroy said, excitedly. ‘I told you he’s come through for me.’

  Quinn remained in the driver’s seat while Leroy spoke to Farmer.

  ‘Hey, Bill. What you got for me?’

  ‘……….’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘……….’

  ‘All right. Thanks, Bill.’

  Leroy hung up and stared down at his partner.

  ‘What?’ asked Quinn.

  NINETEEN

  JULIA MOORE LEANED back in her seat and suppressed a yawn. Not that what she was watching was uninteresting; far from it. It was just that the lack of sleep from last night was catching up with her.

  The timetable for Garfield Avenue Elementary School showed that this morning, the fourth grade would be giving their attention to visual and performing arts. According to the syllabus for the California State Board of Education, this comprises artistic perception, creative expression, historical and cultural context, aesthetic valuing, and connections, relationships, and applications.

  It was this fourth area to which Julia Moore’s class was giving attention today. The School Principal had arranged a half day trip to the Culver City Academy of Visual and Performing Arts. One of the tutors at the college was leading a session entitled Connections and Applications. From one of the seats in the back row of one of the theatres in the Academy, she watched as the tutor divided the class into groups of six, got each group to study a painting, and then, in their groups, figure out how to interpret the painting through dance and movement. When they returned to Garfield Avenue that afternoon, they would be writing a paragraph or two on their experience.

  Julia was particularly interested in how one of the four groups was interpreting a painting of a landscape somewhere in the Sierras as a scene from one of the Star Wars movies - imperial storm troopers and Jedi knights: she could not wait to read their paragraphs this afternoon.

  As she watched the groups in action, her thoughts drifted to Sam. Sam in the context of what Gloria had said yesterday. There was no way he could be cheating on her, but nevertheless she felt she needed to talk to him, to hear his voice. A poor substitute to spending time with him, in bed or out of bed, but it was better than nothing, and s
ince they met, she had learned to make do with that poor substitute.

  She was also still slightly unsettled by that strange little man in the silver sedan the previous day. ‘Bound to be nothing,’ the Principal said when she told him about it that morning. ‘I’ll alert the security guards, and they can keep their eyes open. But I’m sure you’re worrying unnecessarily, Julia. Maybe that’s what comes when you’re going out with a cop.’ Julia told him she was sure he was right, and got on with that morning’s trip.

  He could, of course, just been a parent. A parent from a relationship which had ended, and the mother had been given custody. Up to sixth grade, the school would only release a child to an appropriate adult: a parent or somebody authorised by the parent. In cases where the parents had split up, the school had details, often provided by a court order, of to whom they could release a child. Anybody not on that order would not be given the child, even if he or she was the parent.

  Another, maybe more serious scenario, was where one of the parents - normally but not exclusively the mother - and the child or children had been moved to a place of safety, away from an abusive partner. Here the consequences of the abusive partner visiting the school could be catastrophic. At school functions, concerts, shows, nativity plays, parents are permitted to take photographs on the understanding that they do not upload the pictures to the internet. The previous year, a parent had done this. The picture naturally had included his own child, but also a boy who had been moved to Garfield Avenue when he and his mother had been relocated from Phoenix. The father, who had just completed a sentence for assaulting the boy’s mother, saw the picture on a social media site and soon found the school. It took three officers to restrain the man and the mother and child had had to be relocated again. It was only by the grace of God that the man had not been armed.

  Slightly less sinister had been situations where parents who had been denied access or whose children had tragically died still drive to the school gates and carry out the same ritual as they had before.

  So, the driver of the silver sedan could have been one of those. Or could just be a weirdo who liked hanging around schools: either way, Julia felt she did the right thing by reporting it to the Principal; he would have alerted security and that would have been the end of the matter. Yet she was still convinced she had seen the guy before. Maybe he was a parent.

  Her reverie was broken by the sound of applause. The sessions had finished. As the groups of pupils merged together into one mass and Pamela, one of the teaching assistants, began to gather them up, the tutor walked up the steps to where Julia was sitting.

  ‘Well, Ms Moore,’ he enquired, ‘what did you think? I thought they performed very well, considering their age.’

  Julia stood and picked up her bag. She looked down at her class as they massed around the foot of the stage. ‘Yes, I agree.’

  ‘The group at the end,’ the tutor continued, ‘impressed me the most. The painting they were assigned was Godber’s Destiny at the Frontier, and their interpretation of the battle between the Cavalry and Indians was very….unique.’

  Not totally sure what he meant, Julia replied, ‘Yes. I was quite intrigued how one of the other groups managed to interpret a landscape into a scene from Star Wars.’

  ‘Mm,’ the tutor muttered, not entirely approvingly. ‘They told me the landscape reminded them of the Planet Naboo, or something.’

  ‘I’m not really a fan,’ Julia said. ‘More into Lord of the Rings.’

  ‘I’m afraid neither genre appeals to me,’ the tutor sniffed. ‘That aside, I appreciate you taking the time out to bring your class over here. I hope they found it valuable.’

  ‘I’m sure they did. I’ll send you copies of the assignments they’ll be doing this afternoon.’

  ‘Please do. You all have a good day, now.’

  With that, the tutor left Julia and disappeared through a side door. Julia made her way down the steps and joined Pamela, who was still marshalling the class. Once they had gotten the children into one line, Julia and Pamela took them out of the auditorium, and led them through the Academy hall, and out of the main doors, checking out with the security gate on the way. The yellow Thomas Built school bus was waiting for them on Elenda Avenue. Julia greeted the driver, and she and Pamela began the task of supervising the children as they climbed aboard, a few of them still re-enacting the Jedi-storm trooper battles.

  ‘In your seats. Quickly,’ Julia called out then glanced around. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she exclaimed.

  Pamela swung. ‘What’s -?’ she asked. ‘Julia - where are you going?’

  Julia was striding across the road to where a silver sedan was parked.

  TWENTY

  LEROY AND QUINN were walking across the LAPD parking lot.

  ‘Well of course it’s bullshit,’ Leroy said. ‘I can tell when I’m being stonewalled.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Quinn asked.

  Leroy pushed open the glass entrance doors. ‘I’ll speak with Perez about it when I arrange the warrant for the other employees at the Mission. ‘If Bill Farmer gets the brush off with all his connections, Perez’ll have to earn his pay check and speak to someone higher up.’

  ‘Maybe they have genuinely lost the information,’ Quinn suggested.

  ‘Give me a break. Someone’s got something to hide, trust me. Look: you get on with finding out anything you can about Avalon Mission; exactly what it does, and anybody who might have had any dealings with the organization. Then see what you can find out about Hutchinson’s wife - if anything. I’ll go talk to the lieutenant about that court order. He’ll probably want to talk some more about my lack of protocol with the Sheriff’s Office. Then I might get a couple of hours sleep.’

  ‘Sam, there you are. You want come in?’

  They turned to see Lieutenant Perez standing outside his office. He was in his shirtsleeves, tie loosened. He beckoned for Leroy to follow him.

  ‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ Leroy said to Quinn.

  ‘No; you come in as well, Ray,’ Perez called out from behind his desk. ‘Close the door,’ he said, as Leroy and Quinn stood in front of his desk. ‘Sit down.’

  Leroy and Quinn looked at each other and sat down.

  Perez said, ‘I know your feelings about this, Sam, but I have been speaking to the FBI Academy about the Hutchinson case.’

  Leroy spoke angrily, ‘But I said -’

  Perez waved his hand. ‘Hold your horses, Sam. I’m not muscling in; neither are they. I just wanted to get an extra perspective on the case for you. Save you having to speak to your own mystery point of contact there.’

  Leroy exhaled. ‘So what did they say?’

  Perez pointed to his phone. Leroy noticed a yellow light flashing. ‘Agent Calloway is on hold. We were speaking just as you arrived.’

  Leroy shifted in his chair as Perez reached over and pressed two keys, one to release the call, the other to put the phone onto speaker. ‘Agent Calloway?’ the lieutenant asked. ‘Are you still there? Thanks for holding.’

  ‘No problem, sir.’

  ‘I have Detectives Leroy and Quinn here with me. They are leading the Hutchinson case.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Detectives. Agent Calloway here. Nick.’

  ‘Sam Leroy, and my partner here is Ray Quinn.’

  ‘Sam, Ray. Good to meet you.’

  Perez spoke next. ‘Agent Calloway - Nick - was in the process of giving me his thoughts on the Hutchinsons’ murder. Nick, would you mind going over what you told me, again for the benefit of Sam and Ray?’

  ‘No problem. First of all, Sam and Ray, the usual disclaimer. The process of criminal investigative analysis is not some kind of magic wand: it doesn’t give you a list of suspects; it just gives you an indication of the type of person you might want to look out for. It’s based on what we know already, which isn’t that much, to be honest. And it’s not one hundred percent foolproof. The more data we have, the more detailed a picture we can build
up.’

  ‘We get that, Nick,’ Perez said. He looked up at Leroy and Quinn. ‘Nick also said that at this stage we don’t know if we have a serial killer here, so his thoughts are very much based on experience and could change either way if more information comes to light.’

  ‘Or he kills again,’ said Leroy.

  ‘Mm,’ Perez grunted.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Sam,’ Calloway said, his voice echoing through the speaker. ‘Let’s just hope that you don’t have a serial killer on your hands. You might want to log onto LEO - unless you’ve done it already – and check through ViCAP.’

  ViCAP is part of the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime and is basically a national repository for violent crimes. The database, which includes information on homicides, sexual assaults, missing persons, and unidentified human remains, is available through Law Enforcement Online.

  ‘No, we haven’t yet,’ Perez said, looking at Leroy to check if this was true. Leroy nodded.

  ‘Well, you might want to try that,’ said Calloway, ‘but in the meantime, here are my thoughts on what Lieutenant Perez has told me.’

  Perez sat up, reached over his desk for a yellow legal pad and remained poised, pen in hand.

  ‘First of all,’ continued Calloway, ‘this crime was organized. It was premeditated and carefully planned, which would explain why so little evidence was found at the crime scene. In general, offenders such as these are antisocial, but they know right from wrong; they are not insane, and they will show little remorse.

  ‘Now, you may or you may not have a serial killer on your hands. Lieutenant Perez says that you’ve not had any similar crimes - and I’m talking about the victims’ injuries - but even serial killers have to start somewhere. All the more reason to check ViCAP. I would say, however, that this does bear some of the hallmarks of a serial killer.