my bag over my shoulder, and we simply nodded at each other.
“Your gun’s inside your drawer, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Loaded?”
“Pah.”
I took that as a yes and walked over to the kitchen and said farewell to Melissa. Outside, the heat is immediately obvious but there is a nice ocean breeze finding its way over Newport Beach. I hopped in the car and looked to the sky and suddenly remembered why I left my home country.
Such a glorious day.
8
On the way to LAX I fight off my urge to take Route 55, which would lead me in the direction of Anaheim, and instead take Route 73. I smile at the lavender patch at the side of the road and then take the 405 , the busiest freeway in the whole damn world. Which is okay, because the crime scene in Anaheim will wait for me. Apparently.
I drive a Lexus with manual transmission, which Ryder imported especially for me. I don’t mind the cars she has in the garage as such, but you just can’t beat the control of a manual gearstick. When I drive I listen to music. I have no definitive taste and it usually changes with the seasons. To me, music is an emotion. During the summer I listen to stuff from the eighties. Rock and pop music mostly. In the autumn and winter, or specifically, when the sky is gray, I like to put on some Radiohead. It may interest you to know that Ryder is quite the fan, but she can listen to them in the summer. I’m not sure what that says about her, emotionally or otherwise.
When I arrive at the long stay parking lot I’m listening to Martika’s ‘Water.’ I wait for the song to finish and grab my things and leave my handgun, the P230, in the glove box, and then rush to the airport, barely arriving in time for check-in. My flight was at noon and would last up to nine hours, but feel almost double that, especially with the change over at Dallas.
When I touched down at Richmond it was 11PM and I had had enough. It was too late to get the hire car so I opted for a scotch at the hotel bar. Shortly after I fell onto the bed in my room and didn’t rise till morning.
10AM, Wednesday, I sat in a small office in the Army Crime Records Division waiting for someone. I’d no idea whom. I spent two hours at the CID headquarters playing pass the message along to get absolutely nowhere. Just minutes before being escorted off the premises, they changed their minds and sent me to this smaller building, where cardboard boxes and folders are left to gather dust.
I amused myself for a while by inspecting the wall to my left, covered with various rules and regulations that had words even Ryder would struggle to describe, when a large, stocky man wearing some form of army uniform entered the room. He took off his cap and greeted me, and all I could do was look at his bushy mustache.
“Ah, a private detective. What a novelty. Colonel Smith at your disposal.” He sat and signaled me to do likewise.
“Adrian York, assistant to Kendra Ryder.”
“Yes. The name does mean something to me. Largely because I’ve been reviewing the file you wish to see.”
“Pardon my asking, but, why is a colonel like yourself doing this?”
“Oh, I’m not with the CID, of course. I happened to eavesdrop on your request that came in yesterday at the head office and I was intrigued. The incident back then caused a mess that the army was lucky to save face with. So when someone like you comes along, asking for a file very few people should know about, people get twitchy. I convinced them to give you a chance.”
“You say a few people—I take it that whatever happened was largely covered over?”
“Well, that would be one way to describe it.” He scratched his nose and changed to an inquiring tone. “What is it you’re after here?”
“Well—” I took a deep breath. “We’re not here to dig up the past. We’re looking into something in the present—the Cross Cutter killings in California, and we think there might be an angle related to those murders
“Your gun’s inside your drawer, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Loaded?”
“Pah.”
I took that as a yes and walked over to the kitchen and said farewell to Melissa. Outside, the heat is immediately obvious but there is a nice ocean breeze finding its way over Newport Beach. I hopped in the car and looked to the sky and suddenly remembered why I left my home country.
Such a glorious day.
8
On the way to LAX I fight off my urge to take Route 55, which would lead me in the direction of Anaheim, and instead take Route 73. I smile at the lavender patch at the side of the road and then take the 405 , the busiest freeway in the whole damn world. Which is okay, because the crime scene in Anaheim will wait for me. Apparently.
I drive a Lexus with manual transmission, which Ryder imported especially for me. I don’t mind the cars she has in the garage as such, but you just can’t beat the control of a manual gearstick. When I drive I listen to music. I have no definitive taste and it usually changes with the seasons. To me, music is an emotion. During the summer I listen to stuff from the eighties. Rock and pop music mostly. In the autumn and winter, or specifically, when the sky is gray, I like to put on some Radiohead. It may interest you to know that Ryder is quite the fan, but she can listen to them in the summer. I’m not sure what that says about her, emotionally or otherwise.
When I arrive at the long stay parking lot I’m listening to Martika’s ‘Water.’ I wait for the song to finish and grab my things and leave my handgun, the P230, in the glove box, and then rush to the airport, barely arriving in time for check-in. My flight was at noon and would last up to nine hours, but feel almost double that, especially with the change over at Dallas.
When I touched down at Richmond it was 11PM and I had had enough. It was too late to get the hire car so I opted for a scotch at the hotel bar. Shortly after I fell onto the bed in my room and didn’t rise till morning.
10AM, Wednesday, I sat in a small office in the Army Crime Records Division waiting for someone. I’d no idea whom. I spent two hours at the CID headquarters playing pass the message along to get absolutely nowhere. Just minutes before being escorted off the premises, they changed their minds and sent me to this smaller building, where cardboard boxes and folders are left to gather dust.
I amused myself for a while by inspecting the wall to my left, covered with various rules and regulations that had words even Ryder would struggle to describe, when a large, stocky man wearing some form of army uniform entered the room. He took off his cap and greeted me, and all I could do was look at his bushy mustache.
“Ah, a private detective. What a novelty. Colonel Smith at your disposal.” He sat and signaled me to do likewise.
“Adrian York, assistant to Kendra Ryder.”
“Yes. The name does mean something to me. Largely because I’ve been reviewing the file you wish to see.”
“Pardon my asking, but, why is a colonel like yourself doing this?”
“Oh, I’m not with the CID, of course. I happened to eavesdrop on your request that came in yesterday at the head office and I was intrigued. The incident back then caused a mess that the army was lucky to save face with. So when someone like you comes along, asking for a file very few people should know about, people get twitchy. I convinced them to give you a chance.”
“You say a few people—I take it that whatever happened was largely covered over?”
“Well, that would be one way to describe it.” He scratched his nose and changed to an inquiring tone. “What is it you’re after here?”
“Well—” I took a deep breath. “We’re not here to dig up the past. We’re looking into something in the present—the Cross Cutter killings in California, and we think there might be an angle related to those murders
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