by Philip Cox
‘That’s him.’ Leaning in the doorway, Leroy updated Perez on the investigation so far.
‘Any thoughts?’ Perez asked.
‘None yet. Too early to tell. Nobody’s missing him much, even the wife, for what that’s worth.’
‘I’d be more suspicious if anyone was showing too much grief.’
‘Or maybe they’d think that, and so they’re not showing much emotion.’
‘What?’
Leroy rubbed the bridge of his nose.
‘Nothing. It’s been a long day. Don’t stay too late on those.’
‘I won’t. Night, Sam.’ Perez returned to his spreadsheets.
‘Have a good one, Roman.’
Wearily, Leroy walked down the corridor to the main door. He had no intention of telling Perez where he was headed now. He realised he had not eaten for hours and was hungry. He paused for a second by the sandwich vending machine then decided he was not in the mood for another inedible turkey sandwich. He would pick up some street food on the way over to Culver City.
A quick restroom trip and he was back in his own car. He checked his phone for any messages, trawled down a list of personal emails, deleting each one as he went along. Pulling out onto the street, he paused to allow two patrol cars to pass. He waited a couple of seconds, then left the parking lot, beginning his journey to see Jasmine Washington.
CHAPTER NINE
Leroy had called Jasmine Washington from his car when he realised he would be late getting to her Culver City home. There was some traffic problem at Venice and Sepulveda - he could not tell what it was - that held him up for twenty minutes. He finally arrived shortly after nine.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ he said as she let him in and showed him to her living room.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Leroy,’ she said. ‘I don’t sleep much. Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘No, I’m good,’ Leroy replied, then decided that a cup of strong black coffee would be beneficial. While she was in her kitchen making coffee, he looked around her room. Her house was a small, California-style bungalow, with a sloping roof and exposed rafters.. There was a small dormer window directly above the door, and Leroy wondered if that had been Jordan’s bedroom. The décor showed that it had not been decorated for many years, and could use some maintenance, but it was amazingly tidy and looked spotlessly clean. There was a large, heavy dresser along one wall; on the dresser were five photographs of a young boy. Her son. Some were specially posed portraits, others were of Jordan with his parents.
‘Cookie?’ she asked, as she brought him a large mug of steaming coffee. He declined.
‘How are you, Jasmine?’ Leroy asked as she sat down opposite him. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘I get by. I take each day at a time.’
‘And your husband? You said you were no longer together.’
She took a deep breath and sat up straight.
‘My husband no longer lives here. My husband now lives with another woman.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
She closed her eyes momentarily.
‘Two years ago my husband told me he had been having an affair with the mother of one of the children at Jordan’s school. He had been seeing her for a year. I asked him why: he told me I was grieving for Jordan too much; that I was neglecting him. This other woman, he said, could give him what he needed.’
‘Are you in contact with him?’
‘Now our son is gone, and he is with another woman, what is there for us to maintain contact about? He wants a divorce, but I am refusing. I know he will get what he wants in time, but I believe I married for life.’
‘Tell me,’ said Leroy while sipping his coffee, ‘did you have any counselling? LAPD policy is to arrange for bereavement counselling to be offered. Did we do that?’
She smiled.
‘The other detectives gave us a card with a number to call. Joseph - my husband - wanted us to call them, but I said no. I didn’t see how talking about things, about our feelings, is going to bring Jordan back to me. I still don’t. I trust in the Lord to see me through this.’
Leroy slowly nodded his head.
‘You said when you called me that you had been to see Robert Trejo.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I got a call from the prison governor telling me he was now in hospital, that he didn’t have long left, and that he wanted to talk to me before he passed on. I wasn’t sure what I should do, so Pastor James said I should go see him.’
‘Pastor James?’
‘Yes, from my church. Pastor James Fillmore.’
‘I see.’
‘Pastor James said he felt that Trejo wanted to confess to me before he died, that he wanted my forgiveness, and that he felt he wanted to tell me where he had put my Jordan. There was no way I could have gotten up to the hospital on my own - the taxi fare would have been a fortune - so Pastor James took me.’
‘Did Pastor James go in with you?’
‘No, he waited outside. But when I saw Trejo, he was sleeping. The doctors said I needed to wait. I did wait, but Pastor James had to get back to the church after a while, so I left with him, not knowing what Trejo wanted to say.’
‘So you sat alone with Trejo? For how long?’
‘Two hours, maybe more. And we weren’t alone. An officer from the prison sat in the corner, and nurses came in now and again to check their machines. I sat asking for guidance and help from God. Pastor James said I should try to forgive Trejo for what he had done. I prayed for the strength to do that, but I still could not. Still cannot. He took away my only son, and if he hadn’t done that, Joseph and I would still be together.’ She paused, taking a Kleenex from her cardigan sleeve and blew her nose.
‘So you never spoke to Trejo?’
‘No, I had to come back with Pastor James. But later the prison governor called me to say that Trejo had died, and that before he died he kept repeating, “not the boy, not the boy, not the boy.”’
‘Which you took as meaning not Jordan?’
She nodded, brushing her nose with the Kleenex.
‘Have you talked to your husband about this? Or to Pastor James?’
‘I have not been in contact with my husband. He has walked away from us all, from me and from Jordan. Did you know, when he left, he took no pictures of Jordan at all? Nothing.’
‘What about Pastor James? Did you tell him?’
‘I did. He said I should tell the police, as there might have been a miscarriage of justice. Of a man being sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He offered to go with me to the police station, but I remembered you had been very kind to me at the time. You gave me your card with your number and said to call you if I needed anything.’
‘I’m glad you did, Jasmine.’ Right now, Leroy wished he had never given her his number. Giving his number to a crime victim was something he did frequently, but the people very rarely took up his offer.
‘So what are you going to do? What is going to happen? The detective working with you said they would continue with the investigation, and he would call me to ask questions, but I have heard nothing for ages. Well over a year.’
‘It wasn’t my case, Jasmine. I was just seconded to assist the two detectives for a while, while my own partner was away. The two detectives dealing with the investigation are no longer with the Department, they’ve both retired.’
‘I thought they were rather old, at the time,’ Jasmine Washington said.
‘Yes. My recollection is that when they retired, the investigation into Jordan’s disappearance - there was no actual charge of murder at that time as no body had been found - was passed to a different unit. It was the view of the investigating officers, and the District Attorney’s Office, that Trejo had abducted and murdered Jordan. There was no physical evidence in respect of Jordan, but there was plenty in the cases of the others, the MO was the same.’
‘MO?’
‘What was done in each case, how it was done. MO stands for
modus operandi. It’s Latin. Everything was the same, so everything pointed to Trejo having abducted Jordan. They were able to find where he had put the others, but he was already in custody when Jordan’s disappearance came to light. He had only just been arrested – he must have taken Jordan immediately prior to his arrest, and continually refused to tell us where Jordan was. At no time did he say he didn’t take Jordan. He always refused to say anything during the interrogations. And during the trial.’
‘So because he was already arrested, Jordan’s case was closed? Is that what you’re saying? That my son didn’t matter, now that you had your man. What about my son’s body? Why didn’t they look for him? Was it because he was black?’
‘No, Jasmine. Nothing like that,’ Leroy tried to reassure her. He was sure that at detective level, the victim’s race did not impact on how the case was handled; he could not guarantee that was the case elsewhere. ‘The case isn’t closed. It never was. There are many investigations, dozens, where everything goes cold, where the enquiries dry up, lead nowhere. They just don’t move forward for weeks, months, even years. And those detectives have new cases coming on stream all the time. The longer a case remains outstanding, the less likely it is it will be solved.’
‘That doesn’t help me, Mr Leroy. What’s that word they use all the time? Closure?’
Leroy nodded.
‘How can I have closure as they put it with my Jordan lying out there somewhere?’ Still clutching the Kleenex, she wrung her hands. ‘We had a funeral, eventually, but with an empty casket. Can you imagine that? I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m never going to see my little boy again, but I want to know where he is. I need to know what happened. And if Robert Trejo didn’t take my little boy, then the person who did is still walking around out there, a free man.’ She blew her nose again and kept the tissue up against her nostrils.
‘What I’m saying is,’ Leroy explained, ‘that the case was never closed. It was passed, and this was when the two detectives, Jones, and Khan, finally retired, to a special unit dealing with open unsolved cases. The cases which go to this unit are reviewed regularly to make sure nothing is overlooked. For example, they will compare the details of your son’s case with any current investigations. Something there might help them. Sometimes advances in technology mean that something comes to light which wouldn’t have done so when the investigation was first set up.’
‘So you’re saying that whoever did take my boy might have done it again? Might have killed other boys?’
‘Yes, and if there is even the smallest similarity in MO, they will refer back to Jordan.’
Jasmine Washington tipped her head to one side.
‘So it’s possible that whoever it was might already be in jail for killing somebody else?’
‘It’s possible, yes; but I’m not going to make any assumptions.’
‘So will you help me? What can you do?’
‘I’m going to take a look at the details of the case. I know Jones and Khan have been over it, the open unsolved detectives also, but a fresh pair of eyes might spot something they didn’t. But it won’t be my primary case, so things will take longer. Are you okay with that?’
She nodded.
‘I understand, Mr Leroy.’
‘And I’ll keep in touch with you, keep you up to date. Even if nothing’s come to light. I promise. So you won’t need to call me, unless you recall anything.’
‘I don’t think that’s likely. I spoke to the other detectives many times. I think we covered everything.’
‘I’ll let you get on, Jasmine. It’s getting late.’
‘I appreciate all this, Mr Leroy.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Leroy replied as he stood up. ‘I’ll do what I can. But no promises. You do appreciate that, Jasmine, don’t you? It’s okay, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’
‘I need to bolt the door once you’ve gone,’ she said, following him to the door.
‘One more thing,’ Leroy said as he stood in the doorway. ‘I expect I will need to talk to your husband. Do you know where I can contact him?’
She paused a moment.
‘I don’t know where he and that woman are living. But I know where he works. He works, or used to work, at the Denny’s on Jefferson and Overland. Do you know where that is?’
‘I’ll find it,’ said Leroy. ‘Be sure to bolt up after me.’
She nodded to him, and slowly closed the door. He stood for a moment until he heard her bolt the door, then walked over to his car. He sat in the car for a few seconds before starting the ignition, staring out at Jasmine Washington’s little bungalow.
He remembered her from before. A very nice lady.
Sadly, he drove away.
CHAPTER TEN
Quinn had almost arrived at 1663 Butler when Leroy called.
‘Hey Sam, what’s up?’
‘Ray, are you at the station yet?’
‘I’ve just got onto Butler. Be with you in ten.’
‘No, I’m not there. I’ll be in later.’
‘Everything okay, Sam?’
‘Everything’s good. I saw Jasmine Washington last night.’
‘And? What does she want?’
‘She told me she went to see the guy we figured for killing her son, and he told her that he didn’t do it. That was on his deathbed, and he died later.’
‘Man. She believes him?’
‘I think so, yeah. So I’ve said I’ll look at the case again for her.’
‘Sam, when are you going to do that?’
‘Don’t worry. Like I told you last night, I’ll do it on my own time. It’s just that when it was all going on, I said if there was anything she needed to call me.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Not decided yet. It just seems a strange thing to say on your deathbed if it’s not true.’
‘So where are you headed this morning?’
‘I’m on my way to the PAB, the Open-Unsolveds Unit. I want to see the murder book.’
‘Will they be okay with that?’
‘I can’t see them objecting. I’ll give them some bullshit if they get territorial on me. I’ll be with you in a couple hours, I expect.’
‘Roger that. What do you want me to do while you’re there? I’ve just arrived.’
‘I forgot to do this while we were over at the Wheat house; it was Jasmine calling, kind of interrupted my train of thought. Can you call Mrs Wheat, and get the names and contact numbers of any domestic staff they might have, anyone who regularly visits the house? Then start to check them out – LAPD, CODIS, DMV, start there. Then, I left a list of everybody who was at that house yesterday – can you do the same with them?’
‘You got it, Sam. What if the lieutenant asks where you are? I’m figuring you don’t want him to know about the Washington woman.’
‘Jesus, no. Anything I do there will have to be under the radar. Tell him I had to take some personal time. There’s no way anybody there is going to call him.’
‘Sure thing. See you later.’
‘Oh, and Ray: include Mrs Wheat in that list of people to check. And Wheat himself. There might be a connection there.’
By now, Quinn was walking into the station. He got himself a coffee, sat down and booted up his workstation. He looked over at Leroy’s desk, which was always unbelievably tidy compared with his, and saw a sheet from a legal pad jammed under his keyboard. Quinn stretched over and took it; it was the list of Joder Films performers and crew. He would check them out first, as it was only eight thirty, and maybe too early to call Mrs Wheat.
The list comprised, as well as director Kurt Weller, the names of two actresses, one actor, and four crew members. He pictured the individuals they had seen there to make sure everybody had been accounted for. Then he added the name of Lew Bridger, the ex-LAPD security guard.
An hour later, Quinn had finished. He sat back and read through what he had gleaned from the databases.
Kurt Weller had tw
o convictions for DUI, both within the last five years.
One of the actresses had been arrested for walking Hollywood Boulevard.
The actor had been arrested for statutory rape, but was acquitted.
The second actress and all of the crew members had no record, as did Lew Bridger. Quinn double checked to confirm that they had the real names of the performers, not their porn star names.
‘Where’s Leroy?’
Quinn started, and looked up at Lieutenant Perez, who was looming over him. He had gotten so engrossed in what he was doing he had failed to notice the lieutenant.
‘Sorry, Lieutenant, I didn’t see you there. Sam will be in later. He had to take a couple of personal hours.’
‘You mean he’s looking at houses?’
‘Say what? Houses?’
‘Hasn’t he told you? He’s thinking of moving.’
‘Moving? House, or…?’
‘House. Said he’s fed up with that apartment he’s living in. He’s not told you?’
Quinn shook his head.
‘He and I had a couple of beers at Martha’s the other evening,’ Perez explained. ‘He told me then. Says he’s only just started. You two are working on the Wheat murder, aren’t you?’
Quinn confirmed and gave Perez an update on what progress they had made so far.
Perez listened carefully, nodding every so often then said, ‘Tell him to keep me posted on how things are going. When he finally gets in, that is.’
‘Roger that, Lieutenant. Oh, Lieutenant?’ he called Perez back.
‘What is it?’
‘Does the name Lew Bridger mean anything to you?’
Perez frowned.
‘Lew Bridger? A he?’
‘Yes, he was the security guard at the house in Los Feliz. Ex-LAPD.’
‘Lew Bridger,’ Perez mused. ‘It doesn’t ring any bells. Not this division? Old guy?’
‘No, not specially. Sam recognised him, said he got invalided out. Took two bullets in the chest.’
‘He’s lucky to be alive. No, I don’t know him. I’ll see what I can find out. Do you guys think he’s hinky?’
‘Not right now. He was at the house. He says he works for Joder Films regularly, so he’s on the list of persons of interest.’