Chapter Nineteen

Nickel Diner, Los Angeles…December 7, 9:30am

          Ruby stopped by my usual spot at the end of the long Formica counter and warmed up my coffee. I grunted a thank you without looking up from the sports page. I was busy getting the G2 on the Jets/Patriots game that was the Monday Night Football game this week. I was pretty sure I’d be betting on the Pats over my beloved Jets as I tend to bet with the odds and not with my heart. A practice that has saved me hundreds if not thousands over the years. Besides, Sanchez versus Brady? Gimmie a break, the Patriots will eat the Jets lunch. I could feel the waitress’ staring at me, patiently waiting for a proper response. I looked up sheepishly and gave her a weak grin.

“Sorry doll, I meant to say thank you so much Ruby Jean,” I said batting my eyes for affect. She tapped the top of my head with a menu and walked away to tend to the other patrons. “You’re a class act Whitey,” she said over her shoulder.

I watched her chit chat with a fella that I assumed was a businessman given the suit and tie he was wearing. She topped off his coffee cup as she flirted. Rosario “Ruby Jean” Baker was a handsome woman, clearly Hispanic, who I’m guessing married outside her linage given the Baker surname. Handsome is how I describe middle aged women who were obviously hot back in the day. Sexist? Chauvinistic? Yeah, no doubt, but in my defense, I mean it as a compliment. I’m careful to leave thoughts like those in my head though, no sense in inviting trouble. She wore her dark hair in a long-braided ponytail accented by a red ribbon at the end. Taller than the average Hispanic female she stood five foot ten inches with a slender figure toned by the ten-hour shifts that she spent working at jobs like this since she was fifteen in west Texas. Ruby must have caught me staring in her peripheral vision as she gave me a wry smile. She winked at the businessman and walked back my way.

“You didn’t eat much today Whitey, are you watching your waistline gumshoe?”

I stuffed the last bite of my English muffin, loaded with butter and jam into my grill and washed it down with a big gulp of fresh coffee. “Nah, you know how it is doll-face, a fella has to be lean and mean these days to chase after ambulances,” I replied chocking down the last of my breakfast. That brought a giggle from Ruby as well as from a few nearby diners.

“Relax Whitey, you still look pretty good for a geezer,” she said placing a glass of ice water in front of me.

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered, taking a long drink. I fished a twenty from my shirt pocket and left it on the counter. Swiveling to my right I hopped down from my seat and headed for the front door, ignoring the cat calls from the peanut gallery.

“Awww, don’t go away mad honey, I was just teasing you,” Ruby said still giggling, She added a cheerful, “Have a nice day.”

I waved goodbye without turning around and exited onto Main Street. Traffic was light due to all the construction going on around town. LA was finally crawling out of the collapse caused by the crash of the housing market in 2008 and the subsequent economic downturn that followed. Actually, the economy was beginning to show signs of life and projects that were stalled were being jump-started all over the city. It was a welcome relief for businesses like the Nickel Diner who had suffered during the year long absence of the normal hustle and bustle of a thriving commerce and its steady flow of hungry workers. I pulled out a pair of cheap car wash sunglasses and shaded my baby blues from the morning glare. Foot traffic was picking up and I looked up and down the street before turning right to walk back to my car which I had parked near 6^th street. I wanted to make a quick stop at my flat at the Alexandria Hotel on 5^th and Spring Street to fetch a fresh spiral notebook for my interview with Sister Patricia at Immaculate Heart of Mary.  

The moment I turned toward 6^th street I caught a fast-moving blur in my peripheral vision. Actually, I heard whatever it was before I saw any image. A nanosecond later I was nearly knocked onto my backside. I instantly recognized the hit and run skateboarding terrorist. Before I could holler an expletive, she kicked her board downward and braked hard about twenty feet ahead of me. She wasted no time scolding me first.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going ya fossil,” she bellowed.

“Come on ‘lil bit’, you could have broken my ankle,” I replied sternly, catching my breath and recovering my dignity.

“Forget your ankle, look what you did to my ride dude,” she said, holding up her skateboard to show significant cosmetic damage to the back end of her custom ride.

“You owe me man,” she barked. Adding quickly, “Are you oaky Whitey?”

          I shook my head slowly, hands on my hips and composed myself. Reflecting momentarily on the first time I met this kid. Her name was Alesha Borrego also known around the city as ‘lil bit’ for obvious reasons. She was a pretty girl, five foot nothing in her stocking feet with long jet-black hair which she wore tied back in a high ponytail. In fact, sometimes she'd be traveling so fast that ponytail would be flying parallel to the pavement behind her. Alesha was just shy of her 21^st birthday but she looked no older than 14 or 15. Asian genes, her mom (an elementary school teacher) is Vietnamese, and her dad (an aerospace engineer) is full blooded Māori from Wellington New Zealand. So, she came from good stock. And don’t let her appearance fool you, she wasn’t a street kid roaming wild in the city. Alesha was a journalism major at UCLA who rolled around the city looking for storylines she could scribble about and sell to any outlet that showed an interest in her work. Sure, a bit unorthodox but it was a hook that worked pretty well for her.

Which by the way is how we met. About a year ago our paths crossed while she was writing for the Daily Breeze, a local South Bay newspaper, covering a case that I was working while trying to stay a step ahead of my former bosses at the LAPD. She turned out to be harder to shake than the cops. And in spite of her troublesome birddogging, over time she morphed from pest to friend. Since then from time to time I have employed her as an extra pair of eyes and ears to aid me in my line of work. But I digress, back to this moment.

“So, what’s the hurry girl?”

“Just jetting back to my car. I gotta get back to campus for a final exam.”

“I see. What are you doing downtown so early? You’re a long way from Westwood?”

“Well, to be honest I was sort of tailing you. But you took so long to eat your breakfast that I ran outta time.”

“What? Why are you dogging me?”

“I heard you were working for the church on that thing with the priest and his latest flick.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I have my sources gumshoe.”

“Oh no you don’t, you can’t pull that junior reporter shtick with me.”

“Oh, come on Whitey, throw me a bone. I might be able to help you man.”

I stifled an initial instinct to say hell no and quickly thought about it. Maybe there was an angle here. I knew Alesha and her family were devout Catholics and Lord knows (forgive my hypocrisy) I could use a foot in the door or more specifically a fly on the wall. I didn’t know Father Quinn as a priest or a man for that matter which was a disadvantage as I tried to discern the truthfulness of his answers to my questions. In addition, I suspected that Sister Pat was going to be an even tougher nut to crack, and that she might open up easier to a sweet young face rather than my scary mug. I quickly decided that there was an opportunity here.

“Alright squirt, maybe I can use your help. But you need to be discrete, and you have to promise to run any copy by me BEFORE you submit it to your editor. I don’t know who reads that paper of yours, and as you know I’m usually working in the shadow of the LAPD and can’t afford to be tossed in the clink on an obstruction beef. Agreed,” I asked?

Alesha smiled brightly, “Awesome, when can I start?”

“Cool your jets child, let me cypher on it a while. I’ll let you know soon. By the way, which church do you and your folks go to?”

“St. Anthony’s in El Segundo. It’s where I was confirmed.”

“What do know about Immaculate Heart of Mary, downtown?”

“Nothing, never heard of it, why?”

“Not important. How about a priest named Quinn. Father Nicholas Aloysius Quinn to be exact.”

” Oh yeah, Father Nick, I know who he is. His films are shown sometimes at our Parrish on teen nights. Why do you ask? What’s going on?”

“Do you know him personally? Have you ever met him?”

“Nope,”

“I see. What about a nun, Sister Patricia Cromwell?”

“Everyone knows Sister Pat. She does a lot of work at the rescue mission and teens from all the Parishes volunteer there periodically.”

“So, you’ve met her?”

“Not formally, but I’ve seen her enough times to easily recognize her.”

“Would she recognize you?”

“I doubt it, she’s seen hundreds of kids over the years.”

“Okay, good, thanks,” I said looking past her while the wheels turned in my brain.

Alesha snapped her fingers in my face, “Whitey, earth to Whitey,” she said breaking my trance.

“Sorry, good to know Alesha. You better get going if you’re gonna get to class in time for your exam. I’ll be in touch soon, in a day or two, okay?”

“Sounds good, thanks Whitey,” she said, looking at her watch. “Oh shoot, I gotta scoot!”

She tossed her skateboard onto the pavement, jumped on it and sped away, weaving in and out between unsuspecting pedestrians. I watched her disappear into the crowd and started walking to my car as well. This chance encounter changed my calculus. Now I have a spy at my disposal. This development gives me some options with ferreting out information from within the holy walls of the church. I think I’ll reschedule my meeting with Sister Pat.        

Chapter Eighteen

Los Angeles County Department of Medical Examiner…December 7, 9:00am

          A somber faced gentleman stared through the thick glass into the morgue’s viewing room. The curtain had just been drawn automatically revealing an empty sterile looking brightly lit area. A white linen sheet draped a stainless-steel gurney situated in the center of the room. Underneath an eerily still figure lay motionless, the sheet outlining the contour of his son’s corpse. Still yet to be confirmed but the staring man had little doubt. The thick glass and the heavily insulated walls prevented the scent of formaldehyde from permeating beyond the viewing room into the parlor where family prepared themselves for the tragic reveal. That was a blessing for grieving families going through the confirmation process like this one.

          An attendant studied the gentleman from the doorway behind him, being ever so quiet as to avoid interrupting the private moment. He noted that the gentleman’s posture was not stiff like a statue and not relaxed by any means either. It was if he were looking at a blank page. The somber gentleman was white, stood around six foot two with his hands clasped in front of him at the waist. He was neatly dressed in business casual attire, dark slacks, and a grey tweed sport coat over a white button-down shirt san a tie open at the collar. The attendant speculated that his appearance suggested an academic, perhaps a professor of history or political science. Or maybe a medical professional of some sort, a doctor perhaps or a scientist. To the attendant’s mind the gentleman’s demeanor suggested the former as he was calm almost to the point being unnerving, given the circumstance.

          The room was dimly lit by twin lamps setting upon two small table placed on either side of the door leading from the office area. The intent being to create a peaceful setting to lessen the shock of the moment versus subjecting the family to a glaring clinical experience that smacked more of a police line-up.

The attendant moved into the room slowly and approached the gentleman at the window. As he got closer, he could see a faint reflection of the man in the window. He was clean shaven and wore round wire rimmed spectacles. That sort of confirmed the attendant’s assumption that the man fit the mold of an academic. He paused a moment then spoke in a soft tone, “Are you ready, sir?” asked the attendant

There was not an immediate reply. The attendant paused a moment before repeating the question. Moments like these required tact and the attendant was experienced in dealing with the correct protocol. He waited another moment and then asked again, “Mr. Whembly are you ready to proceed?”

“Doctor Whembly,” the man replied without turning to face the attendant.

“Please forgive me, Doctor Whembly.”

“Thank you. Yes, I am ready, let’s get on with it,” the doctor replied, nodding his head slightly.

“Very well, please excuse me while I signal the orderly on the other side of the glass.”

The attendant stepped forward and stood beside Doctor Whembly and gently tapped on the window. Inside an orderly moved to the gurney and slowly pulled the sheet down away from the lifeless face and rested it on the young man’s chest. He stepped back and waited for the signal to replace the sheet and transfer the gurney back to the morgue.

Doctor Whembly remained still and silent, his posture unchanged, his face revealing no emotional reaction whatsoever. The attendant waited a few uncomfortable moments before speaking. “Is this your son Doctor Whembly?” he asked softly.

“It is, that is Alex,” he replied with just a hint of sorrow imagined the attendant.

“If you would like a few moments with him privately that can be arranged”

The doctor sighed slightly, “Thank you, kind of you to offer, but that will not be necessary.”

He turned suddenly and walked past the attendant towards the exit. “I’m sure there are papers to sign and arrangements to be made,” he said without looking back.

The attendant scurried to catch up, caught off guard by the doctor’s abruptness.

“Yes of course. Shall we return to my office and discuss next steps?”

The attendant quickly sidestepped the doctor to lead the way to his office. “Right this way sir.”

“Splendid,” said Doctor Whembly following close behind.

The attendant opened the door to his office and politely let the doctor enter first. Funny he thought, it was only now when the doctor said splendid did he pick up the faint accent of an Irishman. He offered one of two plush leather chairs in front of his desk to the doctor, then scurried around to be seated across from him. He picked up a couple of manila folders, green folders oddly enough and started to explain in great detail the next steps of the process prior to the release of his son’s remains. Doctor Whembly stared at the man half listening. His mind was elsewhere. He was considering his son Alex. Alexander Whembly, the little fool he thought disdainfully. He had such plans for him, a brilliant future carefully constructed from the time he was born. And the ingrate pissed it all away for the love of a penniless tart and her whelp of a child. He could see this coming, ever since Alex began attending that abomination of a pious society called the Catholic Church. His mind poisoned by the teachings of flimflam artists in colorful robes. Science was Richard Whembly’s religion, and he had twenty-five years raising his only son in it. Only to lose him to a charismatic priest who fancied himself an artist of importance creating films that challenged the social conscience of the young and the elderly. He was fuming now in his silent reflection, his mind racing with wicked thoughts of next steps that had nothing to do with what this lout was blathering on about in the seat across from him. His expression must of changed somewhat as the attendant paused his dissertation.

“Have I said something wrong Doctor Whembly?” he asked nervously.

The doctor composed himself immediately and focused on the task at hand.

“No of course not, I was just thinking of a matter that needs my attention when we finish her. Please continue.”

“Good. Alright then as I was saying…”

Richard Whembly was listening more closely now, mindful that his mood was betraying him. He stuffed his rage into a dark recess within his heart where his mind could retrieve later to formulate his revenge. He wasn’t through with the priest or the church. Not by a longshot. The real suffering was yet to come.

          The attendant slid one of the green folders across the desk, opened to a document requiring Doctor Whembly to review and sign. The doctor leaned forward slightly and accepted the fountain pen that was offered. The attendant studied him as he read looked the document over and then methodically applied his signature, neat and clear. He slid the folder back across the desk to the attendant whom he addressed by name for the first time. Standing he extended his hand, “Thank you very much Mr. Tolliver, I appreciate your professionalism and care with which you have extended poor Alex. He was a good man you know,” said Doctor Whembly. Mr. Tolliver took the doctor’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Yes sir, I’m sure that he was. And may I say once more how very sorry I am, we are, for your loss.”

“Thank you young man, please do proceed with the transfer to the funeral home straight away. It will be greatly appreciated. Well, I must be off, cheerio sir,” said the doctor. And with that he turned to let himself out.

Mr. Tolliver called after him, “We will get right on this doctor, no worries, sir,” he bellowed slightly. He watched the doctor walk away and could not explain an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding. His mind drifted to a song by The Doors, “people are strange when you’re a stranger, people look ugly when you’re alone…”

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

Hollenbeck Station, Los Angeles…December 5, 1:00pm

 

          Rebecca leaned way back in her chair raising both arms high above her head in an over the top big girl stretch. Yawning audibly she shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her weary brain. She wasn’t tired just fatigued. Clenching her hands into tiny fists she rubbed her eyes and prepared to get up and go to the loo to wash her face with some cold water. Suddenly she was startled by a loud familiar noise. Flinching she looked up from her reading and watched her partner flop down into his chair at the desk directly across from her. “Darn it Iggie, can’t you see I’m working here?”

“So am I detective,” he replied taking a loud bite from the Fuji apple he had just polished to a shiny red/orange hue on the lapel of his sport coat.

“By the way, here’s your corned beef on rye. Hope you like extra mustard and pickles. Oh, and I may have taken a bite too,” Iggie said tossing a brown sack onto her desk.

“HEY! Boundaries Iggie, geeze, and thank you.”   What an ass she thought. Becca noticed that he always seemed so out of place in a coat and tie. She suspected that off the job he wandered around Hermosa Beach hitting his favorite watering holes like The Mermaid near the pier, a dive bar frequented primarily by old dudes who sat at the windows facing the beach to watch bikini clad women jumping and diving on the tournament style volleyball courts. She pictured him sitting there in a pair of board shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, swilling pitcher after pitcher of Budweiser, his favorite brew.

“I see, well can you keep it down for a few minute while I finish what I’m doing?”

Becca lowered her eyes and considered opening the sack and devouring the sandwich, she was famished having worked through lunch. Instead she opted to continue reading her notes and hold her water for a while longer. As quietly as he could, save intermittent bites of his apple, Iggie watched her study her notes. Becca tried her best to tune him out, but it was hard to concentrate with him chewing noisily with his mouth open. He really was a piggy. She wished that she had gone to the library at lunch instead of staying in to gather her thoughts. Fueled only by some awful station house coffee and some saltine crackers her stomach growled. She could feel Iggie watching her, evaluating her and braced herself for the inevitable interruption. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Iggie finally uttered.

“Cost you more than that buddy, I ain’t cheap,” Becca quipped halfheartedly.

“Har-de-har-har, good one. Really, what are you working on?”

“Just going over my case notes,” she replied.

“The Mallory case?”

“Yes.” Iggie tossed the apple core into the circular file under his desk. He reached into his coat and retrieved his own steno pad from the inside pocket. In a quick movement he flipped it open. Thumbing through it, he stopping on a dog-eared page.

“Okay newbie let’s compare notes. What’s your theory so far?”

Becca wasn’t really prepared to share her thoughts yet, but even though she found her partner crude and a bit misogynistic, he was also a seasoned professional. Not to mention being her training officer.  She decided to throw caution to the wind and brainstorm with the man. After all, he had proved himself worthy of her respect on the last case that they worked together. The Mei Li Teng (a.k.a. Sally November) murder. They had teamed up with former LAPD detective turned private investigator, Whitey Roode to track down what turned out to be a serial killer. It was her first major case and it ended in a shootout at a Las Vegas police station. Exciting times and it was Becca who took down the killer herself while she was stuffed into an airshaft. She remembered laying prone in that small space, sweating profusely while she waited for the perp to literally crawl right into her line of fire. She winced, the memory still fresh in her mind’s eye. Her ears had rung painfully for weeks afterward. Becca set down her notebook and looked up. “You first,” she said.

Iggie chuckled, “Okay, age before beauty, I can live with that,” he replied.

He licked his thumb and peeled back a few pages in his note pad. Clearing his throat he began to share his thoughts so far.

“So, I’m wondering what would drive a mother, a very young mother that, to choose such an awful fate. What sort of desperation could have pushed her into so dark a corner? Choosing to end not only for her own life but the life of her innocent child as well. What was she afraid of? Who was she afraid of? Murder/suicide makes quite a statement, what was she trying to say? I think we need to start with who was closest to her in the days before her decision. Start with the priest, Father Quinn, and work our way backwards and build a timeline. Textbook investigating, detective 101 sort of. Are you with me so far? What do you think?”

“Yeah I think so, but you’re just scratching the surface. Do you have a working theory to build on?”

“Patience young-un,” Iggie said in a fatherly tone. Becca rolled her eyes.

“Remember, multiple witnesses said that they heard the mother yell before lighting the match, ‘father, I love you!’  So, who was she talking about? The priest, Father Quinn? Her own father? The father of her child, whoever that might be? My theory is that one of those fellas is likely the lynchpin in this tragedy, savvy,” explained Iggie.

Becca rolled her eyes again. She hated it when Iggie would mansplain everything like she was clueless. She thought that she had earned a little more respect after Vegas. Guess as far as her Iggie was concerned she was still a work in progress.

Iggie continued, “So consider this, what if they are all the same person?”

Becca snorted audibly and stifled a laugh. “That’s your theory? Are you suggesting that Father Quinn is all three, priest, daddy, and father of her kid? Is that what you are thinking?” she asked frowning,

“What, no good? Why not, it’s not impossible,” he replied.

“Might be possible biologically, but highly improbable. I can’t see it. My early research into Father Quinn is preliminary but so far he’s a well-respected member of the clergy and the community. People like him, they say he’s a good egg to quote one parishioner.”

Iggie leaned back in his chair and spoke over his hands laced together in front of his face. His mood had shifted slightly and he did not try to mask his annoyance with his rookie charge. “It’s a theory Rebecca, maybe not a good one in your opinion, but it is meant to be a starting point. A disciplined investigator never throws the baby out with the bathwater. As unlikely as it might seem, it is where we are going to start our investigation. My call, I am the lead on this case, don’t make the mistake of forgetting that. Are we clear?”

Becca resisted the urge to challenge or contradict her training officer and nodded submissively but with an unmistakable defiant look in her dark black eyes. Nothing to be gained here by escalating this beyond the nickel lecture he had laid on her. In this case silence was golden. She knew that her silent rebellion had not gone unnoticed either. Actually Iggie looked pleased to see it. She was pretty sure that he would attribute it to his stern yet magnanimous supervision. What a goofball.

Iggie continued, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “Look I realize it’s a longshot, a stretch, but that’s how ya do it. Think of every possibility, every angle. Approach this like a sculptor approaches a block of clay. You start pecking away, piece by piece you eliminate the noise until you get to the hidden art, in our case the truth. That’s the way I look at it anyway,” he said with a smirk, clearly pleased with himself.

Becca was taken aback. That really made sense. That was almost profound and completely unexpected. She felt a little guilty judging him so shallowly. Clearly there was more to this man than she had unfairly led herself to believe. Never judge a book by its cover. She had read that somewhere. Becca decided an apology was in order.

“Huh, I see what you mean Iggie. I’m sorry for throwing rocks so quickly. I spoke too soon, my bad, rookie mistake boss,” she offered with a sheepish grin.

“No harm no foul Becca. Olay, time to get to work. First up we roll through the five W’s. Who, what, when, where, and why. We start with what and who we know, specifically the principle players in this sad story, Megan Mallory, her child name unknown, and Father Nicholas Quinn. Let’s go to the conference room, break out the dry erase markers and post-it notes and start mapping the timeline and connect the personal histories.”

This was the fun part as far as Iggie was concerned. He beamed slightly, pleased with how Rebecca Tran was progressing, convinced that he was the main reason. The kid had guts, she proved that in Vegas when she gunned down that serial killer Jai Lai. Sure, she was a brat, but she was a cute brat and she made Iggie smile.

“Okay Detective Tran, grab your stuff and follow me to conference room B. Let’s kick this pig,” Iggie said as he gathered his own stuff, turned and led the way.

THE GUMSHOE DIARIES

Father Hollyweird 

Chapter Sixteen

Hollenbeck Station, Los Angeles…December 5, 11:30am 

            Becca Tran sat at her gray metal desk across from her partner Detective 1^st grade Bob Ingram, affectionately known around the stationhouse as ‘Iggie’. Secretly she referred to him as ‘piggy’ for reasons one could easily understand if one had ever spent any time confined with the man in a plain wrap car on stakeout. Given his steady diet of chilidogs and Fritos it was no wonder. They had come back to the house around 11am after wasting the morning running around town looking for Father Nicholas Quinn, hoping to pick his brain about the Malloy murder/suicide. Becca wanted to explore a possible connection to the murder in Echo Park the other night. She had a hunch that Father Quinn and Megan Malloy might somehow be linked to the victim, one Alex Whembly. It was a longshot, there wasn’t any obvious connection between them other than both Megan and Alex were parishioners of the good Father’s Church. But as they had nothing so far it was worth a look she thought. Becca hadn’t mentioned this to Iggie yet because she knew that he would just whine that she was too green to have hunches and that still had a lot to learn. “Well Iggie can go ’f’ himself,” Becca mumbled to herself as she thumbed through pages in her steno pad. She doodled in the margins as she studied her notes, a habit she started in High School. Suddenly she was startled by a loud thump from the desk across from hers. It was Iggie returning from his pre-lunch dump, the oaf was nothing if not regular. Becca glanced up and gave him the stink eye.

“Nice look doll-face, did I scare you junior?” Iggie said as he flopped into is squeaky chair spilling a little coffee onto his desk, which he wiped up with his tie.

“Really Iggie? Do you have to be an ass all of the time?” Becca said rolling her eyes as she returned to studying her notes.

Ignoring her sarcastic jab Iggie shuffled through some paperwork in front of him, then looked at his desk phone to see if the message light was on, it wasn’t. Leaning back he stretched and surveyed the squad room. Not much activity at the moment, just a few detectives eating sack lunches at their desks. A couple uniforms he knew were leading someone in cuffs to a small holding cell near the interrogation room. He gave them a head nod then knocked lightly on his desk to get Becca’s attention as he stood up and grabbed his coat. Uncharacteristically, Iggie decided to take the high road and invite Becca to lunch. “So me and Bax are going to ‘Show-Him-You like Him’ for some mile high pastrami. You wanna tag along?” he asked.

“No thanks, enjoy.” Becca declined quickly.

“Suit yourself. You want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Well alright then. Bax is gonna be sorry he missed you. I think he’s interested partner if you get my drift.” Iggie replied as he turned to leave, a wry grin on his face.

Hitting a nerve with the Bax revelation, Becca suddenly put down her pen and looked up. Not wanting to appear too obvious she quickly thought of a safe way to change her mind.

“Wait a sec Iggie, I thought that place closed down after the queer owners’ murder suicide. I mean they’ve been lights out for over a year.”

Iggie stopped and turned around. “It did but the innocent half of that couple, ‘Uncle Lou’ gave the restaurant and his estate including the swank penthouse apartment over the business to his nephew in his will. This guy is a real character, way over the top. Everyone calls him ‘Lil Steve-O’, it’s an oxymoron because little he ain’t,” Iggie replied grinning.

“The innocent half?” asked Becca.

“Yeah, if you recall the other half, Uncle Jai, was shot and killed by half naked you in the airshaft upstairs.” Iggie answered rolling his eyes.

Blushing in humiliation she replayed the incident in her minds’ eye, remembering the entire scene with LA private investigator Whitey Roode and then detective Sgt. Wally Price out of Las Vegas. It was a painful memory she had buried, it was the first and only time she had ever puller her weapon as well as the first and only time she had taken a life. Didn’t matter that it was a righteous shoot as the Department determined, it didn’t matter that the perp was a dangerous serial killer, the man was a human being and she killed him. Her ears rang for weeks after the shooting and she hid from everyone that she was still trying to wash the blood off her hands. Of course the Bax comment didn’t help either as the attraction there was mutual. That part was none of Iggie’s business so she ignored and it.   

Hoping that she didn’t reveal anything she replied quickly. “Of course I remember Iggie, don’t read anything into that, my mind was elsewhere. We’re working a pretty big case right now, remember!”

Iggie raised his arms in a mocked surrender, “Alright partner, nuff said, everyone reacts differently to their first time. So you coming or not?”

Becca replied, relieved that her partner had not pressed her further about that day or about Officer Bax, “No I’m; going to work through lunch, I’ve got some thoughts about the case that I want to explore. You go ahead and give my apologies to Bax and his partner. And if it’s not too much trouble bring me back a corned beef on rye.”

“Okay young-un I’ll comp you a sandwich, but you owe me one. And as for Bax the rookie, for what it’s worth he seems like a good guy. Hell. I’d date him if I swung that way,” Iggie replied chuckling as he exited the squad room.

            Becca went back to work with a secret sigh. So, she had caught the rookie’s eye. She had suspected that all along. A girl can tell these things, it’s their DNA. She went back to work with a renewed enthusiasm. She continued reviewing her notes, cross checking with data from the Echo Park murder book. There weren’t any obvious connections between Megan Mallory and the victim, Alex Whembley. She kept digging adding the priest, Father Quinn into her calculus. Slowly her thought bubbles started to overlap. While there was no threads directly linking the three individuals, there was a foundation for potential coincidences. That foundation was the church. That’s where Becca would start tomorrow, after she presented her train of thought to her partner. Whether she liked it or not, Iggie was the ranking team member and she had to get him on board before explored the church angle. She knew it would be a difficult sell, but she had strong hunch. All she needed to do now was convince Iggie it was a good hunch. That meant she had to cleverly lead him down a path that allowed him to draw the same conclusions.

She figured that if she approached this like building a puzzle it would be easier to draw Iggie into her way of thinking. Basically seasoned puzzle builders knew that the best way to start was to connect together all of the boarder pieces. And the most important pieces were the four corners. All she had to do was convince her partner that Megan, Alex, and Father Quinn were three of the four corners. And that the missing fourth corner might be found by exploring a potential connection at the church. Becca laced her fingers behind her head and leaned back in her chair. She stared up at the ceiling and counted the tiles. She multiplied the number of tiles in the length and width of the room to arrive at a base number. Then applied some algebra to factor the several tile abutments to arrive at a credible estimate of how many tiles were used to complete the room. To her mind math and detective work relied on the same basic principle, logic. Unfortunately, Detective Ingram was not Mr. Spock, so the logic angle was going to be a hard sell. Shit!

"Obvious conclusions are only obvious after you've tripped over them"...Nicholas Sheridan Stanton - author...

For my family

THE GUMSHOE DIARIES

Father Hollyweird

Chapter Fifteen

McArthur Park, Los Angeles…December 5, 8:00am 

            December in Los Angeles means warm sunshine and cool crisp air courtesy the Pacific Ocean which loomed large just a few miles to the west. Father Quinn enjoyed early morning walks like this, which he did daily except for when a film project forced a change in his routine. He walked down the stairs leading into McArthur Park, LA’s version of NYC’s Central Park. The air was cold enough this morning to leave a vapor trail as he walked along the pathway. Each exhale revealed by a tiny cloud of carbon dioxide. Still it was a far cry from the constant rainfall this time of year back in Ireland where the man spent the first half of his life as a footballer prior to entering the priesthood. Word is he was a pretty good midfielder back in the day actually. I watched him as he entered the park and strolled the path near the small man-made lake. Perhaps he was reminiscing, it was possible. He definitely looked like he was mulling something over by the look on his face.

            Even though early morning constitutionals like this were part of his daily routine, today Father Quinn had an ulterior motive for being in the park. He was here to meet with me to compare notes on the Alex Whembley angle. If he was right this young man could be the alibi that exonerates him, and the Church for that matter where Megan Malloy and her baby were concerned. The priest had mentioned a letter sent to a nun at The Immaculate Heart of Mary by the young man. Sister Patricia Cromwell, Sister Pat to anyone who knew her longer than fifteen minutes. She was very popular among the congregation. The Sister was soft hearted with a warm and pleasant demeanor. And apparently this nun had been a confidant of Alex and, by that association, with Megan Mallory as well. An interesting revelation that motivated me to skip my breakfast and get here early. 

I watched the Priest make his way along the footpath to where we agreed to meet. I kept out of sight for the moment and studied him as he got closer. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see, maybe nothing, but after 25 years on the job I’d learned that it really was better to be safe than sorry. He stopped about 50 yards from where I was standing and exhaled deeply. The man appeared a little winded from the long walk from the Church and I sympathized immediately as age was creeping up on me as well. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a timepiece. By my Timex he was a little early which explained why he started looking all around trying to spot me. That was when I stepped out into the open and strolled over to a bench on the pathway. I waived at the Priest as I reached the bench and waited for him. He nodded in acknowledgement picked up the pace. I think it surprised him that I arrived before he did. Pretty sure he expected me to be a slacker. Well, like they say, “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Top of the morning you’re Grace,” I said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Father Quinn will do detective,” the Priest replied extending his hand.

I reached out and we shook hands gently, then I reached into the paper sack I was holding and offered him coffee in a paper cup. “It’s black, I assumed you took your coffee like a man,” I said.

“I do, what gave me away?” he replied.

“I have to be honest, you were drinking coffee when we first met at one of your shoots downtown and I have a eidetic memory, sort of.”

“Really? Well I rather doubt that but I’m impressed nonetheless.” He said accepting the coffee and removing the lid to blow across the top. We sat beside each other and sipped at our coffee quietly for a couple of minutes. Of course, not having the patience God gave a tse tse fly I broke the silence straight away. 

“Looks like it’ll be a warm one today.” I said clumsily, never being one for small talk.

“I suppose,” replied the Priest.

I got right to the point, “So did you bring the letter Father?”

“I did.”

I waited a nanosecond, “Okay well you know something about football Padre, pass it!” 

       Father Quinn grinned, apparently amused by my street humor. He opened the folder under his arm, removed an envelope and handed it to me. I grabbed it quickly and removed the one page handwritten letter, unfolded it and began to scan it. Uncomfortably I reached into my jacket for my reading glasses. “Huh, must be the glare.” I said sheepishly as I put them onto my face and started to read.

“Positively blinding I must agree,” Father Quinn replied sarcastically as he mockingly shielded his eyes from the sun. We sat together in silence while I read through the letter from Alex Whembley to Sister Pat. I took my time, read it twice pausing a couple of times to chew on bits and pieces of what Alex shared with the elderly nun. Without commenting I removed my glasses and returned them to my jacket pocket and then refolded the letter. put it back into the envelope and handed it back to the priest. He waited a moment before speaking. “Your thoughts detective?”

“Well if the letter is legit you and the Church can breathe easy because this gets you both off of the hot seat. No pun intended.”

“None taken. How exactly would this exonerate us?” asked the Priest.

I turned in my seat to face him and replied, “Well for one thing it adds two new suspects to the line-up, Mr. Ipso and Mr. Facto, i.e. Alex and his obliging Dad. Which sort of overshadows your working relationship with Megan.”

“You’re implying that Alex was the father of Megan’s child? You think that he somehow provoked Megan’s suicide?”

“Possibly, actually it’s highly likely. But my gumshoe intuition is telling me to be careful not to jump at the first theory. I want to dive a little deeper into this and see what’s lurking beneath the obvious.” 

“I believe that Alex was the father of the child alright, but I’m less sure that it was Alex that drove Megan to suicide.”

Father Quinn rubbed at his chin and thought a moment. “I see, but why on Earth would you suspect the boy’s father?” asked the Priest.

“It was Alex who put that pebble in my shoe when he revealed that he told his Dad about Megan’s situation. And I got the impression that he didn’t like Daddy-O’s reaction to the news. It wasn’t what he wrote so much but what he didn’t write. I’m reading between the lines here and I need to use my gumshoes instincts now.”

“So you plan to interview Mr. Whembley now?”

“Nope. I’d like to talk to Sister Pat first. If that’s jake with you of course Father.”

“If you’re asking my permission you needn’t. That’ll be up to Sister Pat but I see no reason for her to object. What exactly does ‘jake’ mean anyway?”

“It’s just a bygone slang term we used back in the old neighborhood, same as okay.”

“Oh, well then it’s jake with me if you speak with Sister Patricia. I assume you’ll want to talk with her as soon as possible.”

“Natch, that’s short for naturally. Can you arrange that Padre?”

“Natch, I’ll see if she can make time for you later this afternoon.”

          Tossing what was left of my coffee onto the grass behind me I looked around for the nearest rubbish bin to deposit the Styrofoam cup into. I spotted one a few yards away and excused myself. “Just a sec Padre, let me toss this empty cup and I’ll be right back. I have one more question for ya.” 

The priest nodded an acknowledgement as he stood up to stretch his legs. I tossed the empty cup in the bin and walked back slowly, giving the priest a once over. You never know about people, they can surprise you if you let your guard down. This letter would get him and the Church out of a jam, if it’s legit that is. First thing they teach you in detective school is the five “whys,” who, what, when, where, and why. The tricky one is always “why.” I needed to talk with Sister Pat and drill into why this letter surfaced now. Why hadn’t she showed this to Father Quinn sooner? Why indeed.

“One last question Father, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, what is it my son?”

I grinned at the ‘my son’ reference. I haven’t been called that since my mother died, God rest her soul. “Has anyone else seen this letter? I mean besides you and Sister Pat.”

The priest rubbed at his chin, “to my knowledge no, but you’d best ask Sister Patricia that question, she would know best I expect.”

“Why do you ask?” added Father Quinn.

       It was my turn to rub at my chin, “Well to be honest I’m not exactly on good terms with the LAPD and as you may know they are investigating Alex Whembly’s murder. Looking into this letter will likely find me crossing paths with them. They take a dim view of outsiders interfering with their business. They call it obstruction of justice, and I don’t want to wind up in the pokey if you get my drift. That won’t do either of us any good, you or me.”

“Indeed. I had not considered that, but surely they would welcome any help that you could provide, wouldn’t they?” asked the priest naively.

“You’d think so wouldn’t you! But no, those guys are territorial and I need to stay out of the way or at least out of sight. My job is to quietly clear you. I’ll figure out how to leave an easy trail for the cops to follow once I figure out what’s what. This letter puts me a step ahead of them, that’s why it’s important to know who else may have seen it.”

“Understood. How can I assist you?”

“Just keep your trap shut about this Padre, and make sure Sister Pat does likewise. Remember, loose lips sink ships. Go about your business as you normally would and as far as anyone, and I mean anyone, is concerned this meeting never happened. Understand?”

“Of course, you’ll keep me informed of your progress I expect?”

“I’ll let you know what you need to know when you need to know it Father.”

Father Quinn studied me pensively for a moment and then nodded an acknowledgement. I could see the wheels turning in his expression, he wasn’t accustomed to being talked to in such a manner but he held his tongue and swallowed his pride. That was a good sign, the last thing I needed was any amateur kibitzing that might tip off the cops to the trail I was on. I gave the priest a pat on the shoulder and we walked out of the park in opposite directions.

You only live once...but if you do it right, once is enough!.... Mae West

For my family

THE GUMSHOE DIARIES

Father Hollyweird

Chapter Fourteen

Baxter Stairway, Los Angeles…December 4

        Officers Perez and Kingman climbed back into their black and white. It was 7:15am and their shift would end on the drive back to the stationhouse. Neither was looking forward to the hour or so of paperwork required before clocking out, a part of the job that was a universal drag among the rank and file. Officer Bix Kingman yawned as he strapped himself into the passenger seat. Rubbing his eyes with one hand he reached over and grabbed the radio mic with the other and informed dispatch that they were on the move.

“Man, I’m beat!” exclaimed Sgt. Perez through a yawn of his own.

        Ray Perez put the Crown Royal into gear and sped off down Avon toward Ward and Hollenbeck Station. He covered his face to mask another deep yawn. It had been a long night of mostly just standing around while the detectives and the CSI techs did their thing at the murder scene. Ray was looking forward to a hot cup of bad coffee back at the house. He glanced over at Bix who had returned the mic to the radio and slumped back into his seat. The big rookie leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Did you ever think about going for a gold shield and becoming a detective?” he asked Ray out of the blue.

Ray thought about that and rubbed and at his five o’clock shadow before answering. “Once or twice I guess. I’m pretty sure that most patrol officers wonder about it off and on,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Yeah well you know what usually happens to curious cats don’t you,” Ray replied making a slashing motion across his throat.

Bix chuckled, “Okay, ‘nuff’ said I guess,” he replied.

        They drove in silence until they hopped on the 10 Freeway for the last leg home. Bix was resting his eyes but still alert, he hadn’t dozed off yet. Keeping his eyes closed he broke the silence, “I think I’d like to be a detective one day,” he announced nonchalantly.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into that have you rookie?” Ray asked sarcastically.

“Actually I have,” Bix answered opening his eyes and sitting up straight. “My whole family is in law enforcement in one way or another. Mom and Pop want me to follow my older brother’s lead and go to law school and work for the District Attorney’s Office. ‘It’s safer baby my Mom says,’ she’s always worrying about me being out here in the shit.”

“Yep, Moms are like that,” Ray replied as he changed lanes to come alongside a young lady talking on her cell phone. He gave her a warning stare and she tossed her phone into the back seat and gave Ray a guilt ridden smile.

“Why haven’t you gone for a Detective shield? I mean what keeps you on the streets anyway?” Bix asked.

Ray didn’t hesitate to answer, “The action rookie, I’m an adrenalin junkie. Detectives do way too much paperwork to suit me, and from what I’ve seen sit on their asses too long yacking on the phone,” he answered with a big grin.

Bix snorted a reply with a not so subtle warning, “Yeah well most junkies OD eventually, I’m just saying.”

“I already have a mother thank you very much!” snapped Ray Perez, his mood changing quickly.

Bix held up his hands as if to surrender, “Sorry, not my business,” he replied, turning in his seat to look out his window and avoid exacerbating whatever had set off his training officer.

“You’re goddamn right it’s not! So let’s just drop it and relax the rest of the way back to the house. That okay with you?” Ray said through clenched teeth.

“Roger that boss, this is me zipping my lip,” replied Bix quickly.

“GOOD!”

        The two officers drove the rest of the way in dead silence, each of them secretly wishing they could take back that last few minutes. Partners are like that, especially police officers. No relationship is ‘spat free’, people are people eventually they say or do the wrong thing. Cops see each other at their best and at their worst, often times in extremely tense situations. And because they place their very lives in the hands of the person riding next to them there has to be a bond of trust that goes beyond that of even a marriage. Any less than that could prove fatal.

Hollenbeck Station, Los Angeles…December 4…8:00am

        Wally Price stood near the rear entrance of the squad room sipping on a mug of coffee that had already began to cool. He had been waiting impatiently for Ray and Bix to return from their shift. He checked his Timex, it was after eight o’clock and they should have been back by now. He was about to get dispatch to contact them when he spotted the two officers appeared through the wired glass of the heavy door.  They barged into the room and were met with an icy stare that neither of them was expecting this early in the morning.

“Long night fellas?” Lt. Price asked sarcastically.

”Something wrong LT?” Ray Perez answered, visibly startled by Lieutenant’s presence.

Lt. Wally Price glared at them without responding, it was making Bix sweat nervously. Ray just sighed and waited, he was used to the new Lieutenant’s mannerisms. Actually he was a pretty good leader, his bark worse than his bite. Ray was just tired and he hated it when a boss dragged out an ass chewing. After an uncomfortable minute Lt. Price moved away from the counter and stood toe to toe with Sgt. Ray Perez, towering over him with his six foot four inch frame.

“What I want to know officers is which one of you two is feeding Whitey Roode information about the crispy kiddies’ case,” he asked, his gaze alternating between the two officers.

“What are you talking about? Neither one of us is talking to that PI. Hell, Bix here hasn’t been here long enough even know who Whitey is anyway,” Ray answered, his tone slightly defiant.

“Look LT, if you think there’s a leak you should hit up Detective Ingram, I hear he and Roode go way back,” Ray added, not bothering to hide his irritation.

        Price relaxed a bit and considered Ray’s response. That did make more sense and nobody at this precinct knew of his own connection to Whitey Roode and Iggie Ingram for that matter. For now he’d play it cool as he stepped back to give Sgt. Price his personal space back. He held out his thick paw and offered to shake Ray Perez’ hand, he accepted.

“Sorry Sargent, chalk it up to an especially shitty morning. As soon as I walked in the door at 7am I started taking crap, first from the Mayor’s office and then from the Arch Diocese. Both of them up demanding status reports on our investigation of that murder suicide of the young mother and child burned alive outside the Egyptian Theater,” Price explained apologetically.

“So what’s the PI have to do with all of this?” Bix asked, relaxing.

Lt. Price answered with a frown, “His Honor the Mayor hates that guy! He’s been the butt of many a joke around town about being made a fool of by an ex-cop turned gumshoe who seems to be one step ahead of the LAPD on several high profile cases since he was kicked off the force. He called Chief Celeya who also loathes the rat bastard and wanted to know why Roode was poking his big nose in LAPD business, who he was talking to him from inside, and what we were going to do about it short of shooting him.”

Ray grinned and spoke up quickly, “Say the word LT and we’ll haul him in directly. You can quiz him yourself.”

Price snickered as he conjured up an image of Whitey getting grilled in the interrogation room by the Chief and the Mayor. Now that would be a hoot, he’d even buy a ticket for that show. Why not he thought. “Good idea Perez, consider yourself approved for a little OT. Take your partner there and bring me a gumshoe for breakfast.”

Ray rolled his eyes, he was tired and just wanted to go home to his wife and kids. “Seriously LT, can’t you send another unit, Bix and I have already pulled a double shift,” he whined.

“This won’t take long men, Whitey is a creature of habit. It’s Friday, that means he’s at the Nickel Diner downtown on 5^th Street. He’ll be pigging out on bacon donuts and coffee until 9 or 10, so you’ll have no trouble picking him up. Tell him I sent you,” Lt Price said reassuringly.

“What makes you so sure about that LT?” Ray asked.

“Just bring him in and I’ll tell you all about it later,” Price snapped as he brushed past Sgt. Perez and headed back to his office.

“Weird,” Bix said, watching the lieutenant turn the corner and disappear.

“I’ll say,” replied Ray Perez. He pulled out the car keys and tossed them to his partner. “Let’s go rookie, you drive.”

“Really?”

“First time for everything son. Try not to kill us on the way,” Ray answered, walking past Bix and out the door to the motor pool.