"It's only a couple of blocks..." she said, but she watched him shake his head.
"Look, even I don't go out for a walk around here this time of night. I'd feel better, okay?"
"Okay."
"Hit the alarm button just inside the door, on your right, then enter your name. If you have to leave for some reason, same thing. Hit the Leave button, then your name, and you'll have thirty seconds to get out." He pulled a key out of his pocket. "This is for you," he said, then he pointed at the side door. "For that door only, okay?"
"You do think ahead, don't you?"
"I find habits that keep me alive and stick to them. Not a bad thing, all in all. Now go inside, would you. I want to make sure you're safe."
She looked at him then, not quite knowing what to make of this suddenly overbearing cop. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you in a few..."
When she closed the door behind him, she heard him take off -- into the night -- and then she shook her head, starting walking around the house again.
+++++
He rode up the 405 and got off on Mulholland, then turned west and found the wreck just a few hundred yards up the road. Firetrucks, ambulances, dozens of people still on the scene, waiting for him. Right in the middle of the intersection, Mulholland at Walt Disney, a teacher coming out of the little gated school, waiting at the light. The light turned, according to witnesses, and she pulled out into the intersection, then they saw this yellow car coming down hill "really fast" and it just plowed right into the teacher's car. He walked around the scene with the first patrolman on the scene, a young girl with a snarky attitude. Probably her second year on the street, he thought, just when the first signs of burnout hit, and hit hard. Her marriage probably on the rocks as life on the street began to crush the life out of it, already bitter, all her idealism spent dealing with the garbage she had to handle night after night out here.
"What was the first thing you saw out here, when you first pulled up."
"Sir?"
"What was your first impression?"
"Fucking waste of a Ferrari, sir."
He laughed. "Okay, granted. What about the scene?"
"The skid marks, I guess."
"Yeah? But this car has ABS and traction control. How do you explain that?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Driver overpowered the system, it couldn't compensate. See the weird scuffing pattern of those tire marks?"
"Yessir?"
"He jerked for some reason, right there, launched the car into a four wheel drift. He didn't have the stones to get it back under control, best guess. Or he was drunk." He walked over to the Ferrari, according to the printout the girl handed him it was a 2016 Ferrari 488 GTB, probably one of the first to be registered in the country, then he looked at the name on the registration. "Fuck...is it him?"
"Can't tell, sir, bodies are burned beyond recognition."
"Anyone been up to the house?"
"No sir. Sergeant said..."
"I know, leave notifications to the Accident Investigator."
"Yessir."
He walked over to the driver's door; firemen had pried it open enough to ascertain the driver was dead, his passenger too, then they had stopped what they were doing and waited for the AI to show up. He pushed the door open and bent close to the driver's body. The girl had been thrown around by the impact but the driver's pants were askew, the zipper down. He pulled out his SureFire and lit the scene with it's powerful beam, and using a pencil he pulled the fly open. The man's penis was gone, a slight trickle of blood still oozing from the stump.
"Anyone else been in here?" he asked. "Anyone else seen these bodies?"
"The firemen and paramedics."
"Get 'em over here. Now."
"Yessir."
He walked around to the girl; her face was badly burned, a few teeth missing too, then he shined the light into her mouth, saw the stump end the driver's penis lodged in her throat and he stood up and turned away. There were a bunch of Fire Department jocks standing around looking at him by that time.
"Anyone see the driver? Up close?"
He heard a chorus of "Nope" "No, sir" and "Uh-uh" from them.
"How 'bout the girl? Anything unusual? I don't want to read any bullshit in the papers tomorrow. Am I clear? Spill it now if you have?"
Same thing. No one had seen a thing. "Okay, name and number to the patrolman here, including what you saw and what you did, and who was working with you here when you did it. Are we missing anyone?"
"No, sir. Everyone's here."
He turned and walked back to the bike; got an evidence bag and a hemostat, then his camera, an old EOS 1Ds with a data verification kit installed, and with a 50mm/f1.2L mounted on it. He slid the flash on and powered it up, then walked back to the scene.
"What's your name?"
"Me, sir?" the patrolman said.
He looked skyward, shook his head. "Yes. You."
"Simpson, sir. Luanda Simpson."
"Been out here long?"
"No sir, 'bout a year." She was looking at the service stripes and commendations on his uniform, wondering if everything she'd heard about this guy was true. Ted Sherman was a legend, one of the most decorated veterans in the department, and she remembered his class in academy -- the one on basic accident investigations -- was one of her favorites.
"I think I remember you from academy. A couple of years ago, right?"
"Yessir. I thought your week was the best. I'd like to get into traffic someday."
"Yeah?" He bent over the driver's crouch with the camera and fired off a few shots. "Okay, I need you to lean over from that side and hold his zipper open."
"Sir?"
"His dick's gone, Lu. It's lodged in her throat."
"Oh, fuck," she whispered.
"Lu, this one's not just a wreck. Got it? This one's politics. Might be the son of a former president involved, and that might not be his wife. Understand? We'll be caught under a steamroller if either you or I make a mistake out here. Am I making myself crystal clear?"
"Yes, sir." She leaned across the passenger seat and held the fly open, then he shot off a few more of the area around the wound.
He walked around to the passenger seat and tried to get a few shots inside her mouth, but he needed a macro lens for that and instead had her take the stump in the hemostat and pull it free of the mouth about an inch, then he took more images. "Okay, push it back down," he said.
"Sir?"
"I think I want the ME's office to take possession that."
"If you don't mind, officer, I think I should take possession of that."
He turned around, looked at the black suit and the earpiece. "Need to see your ID, sir, if you don't mind."
"I do mind," the man said.
"Fine. Get out of my crime scene, right now."
"This is my..."
"What? This guy was yours, and you blew it? Last chance, Paco. Get out of my crime scene or you're going downtown."
"Try it..."
Sherman pulled his Sig and stuck it in the guys face. "Hands on the side of the car, now. Feet back and spread 'em."
"You are so going down."
"And you're a stupid mother fucker," Sherman hissed. "Simpson, cuff him and get a unit to transport this man to County. Charge, interfering with a crime scene, attempting to coerce and official obstruction."
"Yes, sir!"
Simpson cuffed the man, and then he began to change his tune. "Look, man, I'm sorry, maybe we could try this again..."
"Tell it to the sergeant at book-in. I'm sure he'll be real attentive to your needs." A patrol car pulled up and Simpson stuffed the guy in the rear seat and shut the door while he went around and told the transporting officer what was up.
"Get his supervisor's name and number, get it to me out here before you book him."
"Geez, is he Secret Service?"
"I have no fucking idea. I asked for ID and he told me to take a hike. He could be Jack the fuckin' ripper, for all I know. Take an officer with you 'til he's booked-in, and give him a Miranda right now, then tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut 'til he gets his phone call."
They took off and he walked to his bike, picked up the radio's mic and called in. "841."
"841, go ahead."
"841, I'll need a watch commander this location, tell 'em code two. I need a major crime scene unit here, and the senior medical examiner on duty, and I need 'em right right here, right now."
"841, at 0114 hrs."
He walked back to the Ferrari, and over to Simpson. "No one touches this car or the people inside without my permission. If they try, warn 'em once. Second warning they're heading to the ME with your bullet in their face. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
He walked over to the other car and looked at the woman inside. Her body had literally been pulverized, her death instantaneous. He took more images, then back-tracked up the road shooting angles and skid marks, then he watched the traffic signals cycle through, timing the sequence before he walked back down to the Ferrari. Then he saw a van with a satellite dish on top pull around the traffic barricades and drive up to the scene; he walked right at it, the driver honking at him, yelling at him to get out of the way, just stopping in time to avoid running him over, but the front bumper knocking him in the knees.
Sherman walked up to the driver's door and opened it, grabbed the driver by the shoulders and pulled him out, threw him face down on the pavement. He grabbed the guy's right hand and cuffed it, then his left.
The reporter with him was screaming, telling him to stop...
"Did you tell this man to cross the barricades down there?"
"I did, but..."
"On the ground, Ma'am. Hands behind your back..."
"What? Listen..."
He pushed her down and zip-tied her hands and called for a transport unit, then checked the van for other people. He found a cameraman in the back and told him to get out and and lay down by his co-workers, then he zip-tied this one's hands too.
"Who's manning that barricade?" he called out, and an old veteran walked over. "Why did this happen? Why are these people up here, and who the fuck are you?"
"What?"
"This is a major incident scene. Did you let these people through?"
The man looked at Sherman's name tag. "Uh, no sir."
"How'd they get through?"
"I was helping a paramedic unit back out into traffic."
"Okay." He seethed, shook his head. "Move their van down to the parking lot," he said, pointing, "and make sure both ends of this scene are secure. I mean SECURE. Call for more units if you need 'em."
"Yes, sir."
He watched as the news crew was loaded into squad cars; he read off the charges to the transporting officers then walked back up the hill to the Ferrari. A parade of police units exited from the 405 and he watched as they made their way up the hill, and as they were challenged by the old veteran down at the barricades. The first car up was a Watch Commander's Suburban, and he watched as Ellie Kingman got out and walked over.
"Situation?" she said.
"MVA, driver was, I think, President Smithfield's eldest son, younger woman his passenger. His penis is in her mouth. Someone acting like Secret Service tried to interfere, didn't produce ID when asked. He's on his way downtown now, as is a news crew that busted through our barricade."
"Okay. What do you need?"
"Crime scene and ME are on the way, but I need an airtight seal here, zero press while we get the job done. I need CID to get prints on all three people, and I want to know who that girl in the Ferrari is before I go up to the Smithfield house."
"Who's in charge here?" Kingman asked.
"I think I'm senior on the scene right now. You wanna take it? It's gonna be heavy, could be a lot of fallout."
She looked at him. "No problem. Yeah, I'll take it."
"Oh, Simpson over there?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"A nice 'attaboy' in her in-box. She one of yours?"
She nodded, looked at him. "Wants to be in traffic."
"She told me."
"What do you think?"
"Another year she might be ready. Seemed a little burned out when I got here."
"She needs to put in the time."
He looked at the girl. Very few African-American females lasted out here, the institutional racism on the force was hard to ignore, but he also knew what these kids were up against. Kingman did too, on a more personal level. She was one of the first black Watch Commander's in the department, and Sherman liked her. More importantly, she liked him, too, and knew she'd have his back on this one.
"Tell you what...why don't you detach her from patrol for a few weeks. We'll work traffic from a Suburban, I'll watch her, give you a report, let you know if she's ready."
She smiled at him. "Thanks, Ted. I'll take over now, you get to work."
"Thanks, Captain."
She smiled again, then turned and started chewing on the nearest patrolman she could sink her teeth into...while he walked up the hill, knowing none of it would ever happen.
+++++
The sun was coming up when he drove out Mulholland, this time with a Secret Service escort, and they led him to the Smithfield residence. Smithfield had served one term as governor of the state, and half a term as President before resigning, ostensibly for medical reasons, and he lived up here now, on a mountaintop looking out over the Pacific.
The old man was standing in front of his house as they drove up, still in a bathrobe and slippers, with a much younger Mrs Smithfield by his side. The President walked over and shook Sherman's hand after he got off his bike.
"Let's go inside, officer. Lot's of drones fly over these days...no such thing as privacy anymore, I hear."
"Yes sir."
They walked to a huge study, the book-lined room wall to wall glass looking out over the Pacific. It was a room designed to impress, to awe, but Sherman wasn't in the least impressed by this man. He was as corrupt a politician as any this country had ever produced, and he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible -- keeping in mind the loss this man had to face now. It was his job to inform, to soften the blow if he could, and he was the one with the responsibility.
"I hear you had a few problems with one of my detail."
"Yessir."
"He's being sent back to Washington for reassignment. Now, what do you know?"
"Sir, my investigation isn't complete, but I am here to inform you that your son..."
"Is dead. Yes, I know that. Who was with him."
"Sir..."
"Officer, please note, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you to tell me. I can make a world of shit roll down on you, so don't waste my time, or yours."
"I don't have confirmation of her identity, but, well..." -- he leaned over and put a copy of the woman license on his desk.
The old man picked it up and looked it over, then whistled. "Damn. She used to be one hell of an actress. So, what do you think happened?"
"You want it straight, or sugar-coated, sir?"
The old man looked up at him, his eyes now sharp as laser beams. "The report I read on you doesn't do you justice, son. Give it to me straight and on the level, both barrels."
"Her mouth, sir. His penis was lodged in her mouth. Best guess is he was doing about a hundred and forty when he popped his cork and lost control."
The old man leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, then he started laughing. "By God, when I go out I hope I have as much luck! A hundred and forty, you say?"
"Thereabouts, sir. That's a rough calculation at the scene. I'll refine that in my final report."
"Any papers, documents or drives in the car?"
"No sir."
"Anyone else hurt?"
"A woman, sir, also dead when officers arrived. A teacher at the Curtis School."
"Damn. Any press?"
"A KTLA news crew blew our barricade. They were booked into County around 0300."
"No shit? Well, damn it all, son, good for you. Someone with balls." He sighed then, turned and looked out to sea. "Well, there'll be hell to pay for fucking with the press. I'll see what I can do to run some interference for you."
"Thank you, sir. Anything else you need, here's my card."
The old man turned and took it. "Thanks, son. I appreciate your concern, and the job you did out there. Must be tough." He sighed, wiped his eyes then walked to the glass, looked out at the sunrise. "Think you can find your way out?"
"Yessir." He turned and left, his wife and a Secret Service agent met him by the entryway and walked him back out to his bike, the hostility in the agent's eyes lingering, and fierce.
"It was his son then?" the woman asked.
"Yes, Ma'am. Justin."
"How'd he take it?"
"I don't know, Ma'am."
She shook her head. "He's not always good at showing his feelings, you know?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Here's my card. If there's anything I can do to help, just give me a call."
She took his hand. "Bless you," she said, and he looked away, closed his eyes to shut off the burning.
When she was well-away from the bike he started the motor and checked into service, then rode back down the private drive to Mulholland, a black Suburban a few hundred yards behind. Once he hit the pavement he accelerated away from them, seeing what they would do, but he didn't see them again and rolled off the throttle. By the time he passed the accident scene a few minutes later all the glass and metal had been swept away -- and it was as if nothing had happened there just a few hours earlier. Life had passed from three people's brief existence, and the world had hardly blinked in their passing. Now an endless stream of cars passed over the spot on earth where time stopped, for them at least.
He took the 405 down to Sunset and went east to La Cienega and eventually pulled into his garage. He picked up his notes and the camera and went inside, put all the information in a locked drawer and walked quietly into the bedroom. Carol was on her side, eyes closed and mouth open, still dead to the world. He dumped his under clothes in the laundry basket and hung his uniform up to air out, then sniffed his bullet-proof vest. His nose wrinkled and he pulled the kevlar panels out of the liner and threw that in the hamper too, then carried the load to his washer and dumped it in. Once the load was running he went to the shower and stepped in, letting the warmth penetrate his neck and shoulders while he decompressed.
After he dried off he went to the bed and lay down beside Carol, and she woke with a start when she felt him beside her. She turned and faced him, saw his bare chest and lifted the sheets, took in his nakedness and smiled. Without saying a word she went under the sheets and took him in her mouth, and when he was ready she mounted him, began moving over him while he looked up into her eyes.
It didn't last long, this first union, and she collapsed onto him, her breath ragged and spent.
"Good morning," she said at last. "That was some breakfast. What time is it, by the way?"
"A little after seven, I think."
"Rough night?"
He nodded his head. "Yup. Beyond bad."
"And you can't talk about it, right?"
"Right."
"I can't tell you how good this feels," she said as she moved on him -- with him still just inside.
"It is nice. I saw you laying there and smiled inside. You feel very comfortable to me."
She looked at him long and hard then. "You're not a 'one night stand' kind of guy, are you?"
"Never thought much of that. Seems more about power and conquest than sharing. Or about love."
"You are different," she sighed. "Not sure I've ever run across anyone quite like you before."
"God, I hope not. Coming from a shrink, that wouldn't exactly be a ringing endorsement."
"Shrink, huh. Well, shall I call you a cop?"
"Better than 'pig,' I guess."
"I never liked that one. A little too much disrespect for me."
"More than a few of us have earned the name recently, from what I've seen on TV, anyway. But this ain't Alabama, I guess. So, breakfast?"
Share the love
English
