by Philip Cox
‘Ray Quinn? He’s still doing okay.’
‘Still happily married?’
Leroy sighed. Subtlety was not one of his mother’s strongest suits.
‘He’s still married. Not sure about the happily.’
‘Oh dear. I’ll get the dessert.’
She gathered up the dirty plates and trotted out into the kitchen with them, returning presently with two bowls of apple pie – home-made, of course – and ice cream. They ate in silence, then Leroy helped her clear up.
‘That doesn’t work,’ she said, as Leroy tried to load the dishwasher.
‘For how long?’
‘A few months. I don’t need it; there’s only me here. You have one?’
‘No, but there’s only me there.’
She looked up at him, and he knew when he was beaten.
‘I’ll check it out tomorrow,’ he told her.
‘Just as you wish,’ she replied, sorting out the plates and cutlery.
Once they had finished the dishes, Leroy checked the time. It was seven thirty.
‘What is it?’ Maggie asked.
‘The time. It’s seven thirty. That means four thirty on the West Coast. Too early to call Ray.’
‘Call him about what?’
‘Just to touch base with him at the end of the day. I’ll call him around eleven: it’ll be eight there; he’ll be done by then.’
‘That’s over three hours away. You got any other plans for this evening?’
‘No, unless you have anything for me. I guess you have a list of jobs for me to do tomorrow?’
‘I do, but I was going to wait until the morning.’
‘In that case I’ll just chill. My body’s still on Pacific Time. I’ll unpack what stuff I did bring, check emails, and go through stuff for the house. What about you? What did you have planned for the evening?’
‘I guess I’ll do what I usually do. Sit in front of the TV, doze off, then wake up and go to bed.’
‘I guess I’ll go up and do what I need to do. I’ll call Ray from down here, so I don’t wake you.’
‘You won’t wake me. You know where everything is,’ she said, as she switched on the TV and sat down in the old rocking chair she had in the living room. ‘If our paths don’t cross till morning, then I’ll say good night now. Sleep well.’
‘I’m not going to sleep yet,’ he replied, leaning on the doorframe. ‘But yeah, good night.’
‘Oh, Sam,’ she said as he turned to go upstairs.
‘Yes, Mom?’
‘It’s good to have you home.’
He paused, smiled down at her, and went upstairs. Back in his bedroom he sat down on the edge of the bed.
Home.
His mother still considered this to be his home.
He recalled the day he left here, the day he started the long drive across to Los Angeles. He still remembered the route he took. The 70 to St Louis, then the old Route 66 all the way to the west coast. It was the romantic in him. It took him three days, with his belongings loaded in the trunk and the back seat. That was the only time he had ever made the trip by road. But he was young then; now it would be by air, every time.
He had lived in LA for years now, made his life there. Was on the cusp of buying a house there: what other evidence could there be that he was settled there?
So why was it true, he asked himself as he lay on the bed, his head resting on his hands, that after all these years, he still, deep down, felt this was home?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was a few minutes after eleven Eastern Time when Leroy called Quinn. He had remained in his bedroom all evening, checking his emails and looking through details of the Venice house. He may even have dozed a little. He thought he could hear the television on downstairs; he was not sure what time his mother usually went to bed.
Quinn started by giving Leroy an update on what he had done that day.
‘I loaded the interview records first, as you said.’
‘Good man. Anything jump out at you?’
‘The only thing that jumped out at me was that nobody – including Bridger – saw anything or heard anything.’
‘I was afraid you’d say that. I’m disappointed in Bridger.’
‘Why was he so special, more than the others?’
‘I figured as an ex-cop, he might have seen something or heard something that might have been significant, which wouldn’t have registered with the others.’
‘That’s too bad. After I’d done that, I drove up to the scene.’
‘Okay. Did Rosenberg get you back up?’
‘Yeah, I spoke to him, and he said he’d arrange for a car to meet me there,’ Quinn replied, being economical with the truth.
‘And?’
‘When I got there, I thought I’d check out the ’hood on one of my maps Apps, and you know what, Sam? There’s residential streets not far from the scene.’
‘You’re kidding? Why the hell didn’t we cover that already?’
‘You wouldn’t know from standing there on Mulholland. I expect we would have done, eventually; we just focussed elsewhere first.’
‘Maybe. I hope we would’ve. Stupid! Hold on, I’m getting a map up now. Okay, I see: some streets down below and some further up the hillside, looking down on the canyon. Any luck there? I’m guessing not: otherwise you’d be more upbeat.’
‘I called at around fifty houses,’ Quinn reported. ‘All but two, three were occupied. They were all surprised that anybody would take a dog for a walk where Wheat did. Apparently there’ve been cougar sightings these last few months, so they all give the place a wide berth. About a dozen or so had dogs, and they either walk the dogs on the streets - there were sidewalks – or take the dogs to a park. Runyon Canyon Park seemed the most popular.’
‘Then Martin Wheat was a tad unorthodox, unconventional, wasn’t he? Just because nobody else took their dogs there, I’m guessing he wouldn’t see why he wouldn’t. Plus, maybe as he had two dogs, and they were tough breeds, weren’t they?’
‘Dobermans, I think. Pretty tough.’
‘Dobermans. Right. Maybe he figured with two Dobermans by his side, no mountain lion’s gonna come within a hundred yards of them.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, nobody in those houses above the canyon or down below heard or saw anything. I left my number with them, asked them to call if they saw or heard anything from now on, or if they remembered anything, to call me. I slipped my number through the doors that didn’t answer, with a note, also.’
‘Good work, Ray. So, let’s think this through. The neighbours are a dead end, the cast and the crew of Wheat’s company are a dead end, the ex-cop security guard is a dead end. I say that unless we get a lucky break over the weekend, Tuesday we start checking out Mrs Wheat.’
‘The current Mrs Wheat, or both?’
‘Has to be both. You know what, Ray? I think they both have their little secrets - that type generally do - which may or may not have a bearing on the case.’
‘What about the Chase Underwood murder?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. My gut tells me there’s no connection, other than he and Wheat were exchanging bodily fluids. We’ve gone into that case already, and come up with nothing. I’m thinking his murder is too far in the past. If Martin Wheat was going to be murdered as some kind of coda to Underwood, then surely he’d have been killed long ago. And both Mrs Wheats, especially number one, have their own money, connections, resources, and so on.’
‘Sure,’ said Quinn.
‘You speak with Perez today?’ Leroy asked.
‘Yeah, this morning. He just asked for an update on the case, which I gave him.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He just nodded, closed his eyes, as he does. He also suggested we turn our attention to the wives.’
‘Makes sense, Ray.’
‘He also said to tell you the IA guys have gone. Did you call them back? I saw the post-it on your screen.’
‘N
ah, I didn’t. There’s nothing I could tell them.’
‘The lieutenant said the complaint, whoever made it and whoever it was about, has been dropped.’
‘Good. It was probably bullshit anyway. Look, Ray - it’s eleven thirty here now; I’ll let you go. Any plans for the weekend?’
‘Some. Holly wants our bedroom decorated, so we’re off to Home Depot or somewhere tomorrow, and I want to catch the ball game in the afternoon. Sunday I’ll be decorating, and I also have some work I need to do out back, in the yard. Then the next day, we have to go to her father’s Memorial Day barbeque.’
‘And I expect you’re really looking forward to that?’
‘Very funny. What about you?’
‘My mother says she has a list of jobs around the house for me to do tomorrow. Sunday we’re visiting my sister’s for their Memorial Day barbeque. Only a day early, as I’m flying back to LA Monday.’
‘Well, enjoy.’
‘You too, see you Tuesday morning.’
Quinn had taken the call in his back yard. He stepped back indoors where Holly was watching TV.
‘Why does Sam have to call you so late?’ she asked. ‘It’s past eight thirty.’
‘It’s past eleven thirty where he is. He’s visiting his family in New York. He is my boss, remember.’ He flopped down onto a chair, next to Holly.
She said, ‘So, at last we have a holiday weekend when you’re not working. We’re headed over to my parents’ Monday.’
‘For the barbeque. Yes, I know.’
‘And Mom said they are going to call in tomorrow after lunch.’
‘Oh. Well, your dad and I can watch the ball game together.’
‘That’s not very sociable.’
‘It’s a guy thing. You wouldn’t understand.’
Quinn sat back at closed his eyes. He could just visualise the expression on Sam’s face when he told him about Monday’s barbeque.
As much as Ray Quinn loved his wife, sometimes he did envy his partner.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
As he stepped out of the shower, Leroy noticed the smell. The smell of bacon cooking.
That meant only one thing.
Breakfast.
As he towelled himself and dressed, he realised how hungry he was. He went downstairs to the kitchen where his mother was at the stove, fussing over two large skillets. In one skillet, several pieces of bacon were sizzling, and the other was filled with eggs, which she was vigorously stirring. She looked round as he arrived.
‘Anything I can do?’ he asked.
‘You can make the coffee,’ she said.
‘Coffee coming up.’ He knew where she kept everything.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ she asked, as he stood waiting for the water to heat up.
Leroy laughed.
‘Like a baby,’ he said. ‘I was off as soon as my head touched the pillow.’
‘Did you talk to your friend?’
‘My friend? Oh, you mean Ray? Yes, I did. But he’s my partner, not my friend.’
‘Whatever,’ his mother said sweetly. ‘Here – have your eggs.’
He finished the coffee, poured two cups, and sat down. His mother passed him a plate full of bacon and scrambled eggs then joined him.
‘This is good’, he said, as he loaded a second heap of eggs onto his fork.
‘I bet you skip breakfast.’
‘I always have coffee before I leave home,’ he said.
She tutted.
‘Coffee’s not breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You should eat something in the morning.’
‘Sometimes I pick something up on the way to the station.’
‘Like what?’
Leroy shrugged.
‘A breakfast burrito, or cereal bar. There’s a great place on Iowa that does takeout ranchos huevos.’
‘Junk?’
‘No, Mom. Street food.’
‘Like I said: junk. Your father was the same. All those hot dogs and bagels.’
Leroy said nothing. He just smiled, and took some bacon. He could never fathom how his mother always made him feel about eleven years old.
‘Here’s the list,’ Maggie said as she slipped a piece of paper over to him. ‘There’s not much on there.’
Leroy scanned the list. She was right: there was not much on there. Cut the lawns out back and front; fix some shelves in the garage; move the washing machine so his mother could clean behind it; get some boxes down from the attic. Last on the list was to pick up some groceries from the store.
‘I’ll take care of these,’ he said. ‘I thought there might have been more. There’s nothing else?’
‘No, that’s all. Anything pressing, I get Richard to do it when he and Justine come to visit. You want some toast to finish off?’
Leroy had eaten enough, far more than he would normally eat in the morning, but his mother had already laid a slice of toast in front of him, so he felt unable to decline. After consuming the toast, jelly, and a second cup of coffee, he wiped his mouth, and stood up.
‘I’ll help clean up then I’ll get started.’
‘No, it’s all right. I’ll clean up here.’
While his mother busied herself with the dishes, Leroy made a start on the list. He began in the garage, where two shelves holding jars of screws and nails had become loose. Some stuff had already fallen off one shelf which was hanging at an angle. His father always kept a well-stocked set of powers tools, which Leroy was able to easily locate and use. He cleared the shelves, unscrewed them, refitted the shelves so they were perfectly horizontal, and loaded them. While he was in the garage, he got the lawnmower and cut the front and back lawns. As he finished the back lawns and sat on one of the chairs out back, his mother appeared with a mug of coffee.
‘More coffee already?’ he asked.
‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ she reminded him. He hadn’t realised the time had gone by so quickly.
‘I’ll finish this, then come in and move the washing machine.’
‘There’s no rush. I’m just putting together some salad and slaw to take over tomorrow.’ With that she returned indoors.
Leroy sat alone in his mother’s back yard, enjoying the New York sun and his mother’s coffee. He reflected on what he would have been doing this Saturday morning had he been at home. He came to the conclusion he could well have been doing the same thing. Unless he had been called out, he might have slept in, although not for too long. If he was honest, he would have probably taken some work home, stuff to do with the case they were working on. That was something he always told his partner he should never do, that he needed some time to recharge his batteries. Not, of course, letting Ray know he was doing exactly that. He might have gone for a run: down to the beach, then along the water’s edge, either to the pier, or in the other direction as far as the marina. He had brought running shoes and clothes: he should have time to go for a run later. It would only be around the streets, but he knew the neighbourhood. He finished his coffee, put the lawnmower away, and took the empty mug indoors to move the washing machine. As he pulled the appliance away from its spot, he said, ‘I’ll drive down to the store presently. What did you want down from the attic?’
Maggie shook her head.
‘It’s fine. I’d forgotten Richard had already gotten it down. It was a box of old recipe books. I’d put it in your sister’s old room. He got the box down in January when he put the Holiday decorations back up there.’
‘That’s good. I’ll head off to get the groceries, then.’
His mother’s grocery store was the Stop & Shop on 26th Avenue. Not exactly round the corner, but not a million miles away. He asked how she normally did her shopping.
‘I normally get the bus. I don’t usually have much to carry; if I do, I’ll get a cab back here. Sometimes I go shopping with Regina Nixon. Her husband drives, so they pick me up and drop me off. We get lunch at the cafeteria there some days.’
‘You know you can go on
line, and have it delivered?’
‘I know, I’ve tried it. I couldn’t figure how to do it on the machine. I gave a list to Justine, and she arranged it for me once, but I need my trips to Stop & Shop so I can get out of the house. I enjoy the bus rides, and I enjoy wandering around the stores.’
Fair point.
‘Well, promise me you’ll think about it when the weather gets bad.’
‘I will. I promise. Your sister says the same thing.’
‘That’s good,’ he said as he stood up. ‘You got a list?’
*****
Thirty minutes later and Leroy was pushing a cart around the 26th Avenue Stop & Shop store. He hoped that the list was this size as she had left things for him to get, and that on her solitary trips here, there were far fewer items for her to get.
As he wandered down the aisles - he was impressed how everything on the list was exactly in the order of the aisles, avoiding any backtracking - he wondered whether to call Ray, see how he was getting on. But then, he decided, there was no point. He spoke to him the night before; it was the weekend, neither of them was on duty that day, unless something came up to do with the case which couldn’t wait until Monday, or until Tuesday that particular weekend. And if it did, Quinn would have to deal with it; Leroy was almost three thousand miles away.
Now he had reached the cashier. His mother had given him cash for the groceries, refusing to let him get them. The cash she had given him wasn’t quite enough, so he used his card to pay the whole amount, and pocketed the cash. That would save him the need to go to an ATM over the next few days.
He left the store, and wheeled the cart across the lot to where he had left the rental car. As he loaded the groceries into the trunk, he wondered why he even contemplated calling Ray. He never did that over a weekend when he was in LA, unless it was an emergency to do with their case. So why think about it now? Probably because he was in a different setting, not at home in California. And, as he had pointed out to his mother earlier, and not for the first time, he and Ray were partners, not friends.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ray Quinn was not having the best of Saturdays.