a total screw-up as a son-in-law. Anyone wants to make smart about it should meet him behind Snooky's Bar in Malibu and "I'll readjust both your face and your attitude." Signed, Red Holloway.
Swinburne realized he'd look like a real shit if he kept asking him to take it back. Besides, he loved the thing only slightly less than his wife.
Going up 101 North to the Ventura Freeway, the little darlin' grumbled with frustration at being held to seventy. Barely fast enough to get the oil warm. The stereo was locked on KKGO, and a Brazilian group, Azimuth, played a tune called Samba de Barra that went to the blood like vintage champagne.
Excellent! Swinburne thought. Hell, I might even be alive when I get there.
The clinic was just off the freeway on a small hill near Canoga Avenue. An access road ran up between the hills to a series of sprawling inter-connected buildings built in the California Mission Style.
The black and whites were sandwiched between State Police units, and several unmarked cars. Their lights flashed hypnotically. The officer at the entrance set aside a wooden barricade joined to several others with yellow scene-of-the-crime tape and waved Swinburne through. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle at the car.
Nick waited for Swinburne at the entrance to the clinic.
He's a wonder, Swinburne thought. It's six in the morning and he looks like a page out of Gentlemen's Quarterly.
Nick wore a pale yellow linen suit, wine-colored silk shirt with a matching square of silk tucked casually in the jacket pocket and dark maroon Nocona boots polished to a high gloss.
Nick was only an inch or so shorter than Swinburne and probably weighed around two-o-five. With his square, even features, short curly black hair and perfect smile; he'd been putting butterflies in the ladies pants since he was fifteen. More important, away from the division he wasn't pegged as a cop.
He started to open his mouth to make his report.
"Hold on a second, Nick." Swinburne steered him away from the front of the building out of earshot of all the traffic going in and out.
"What's this business about the Chief telling you this is special? Exactly what did he say?"
"What's the difference, Lieutenant, it's no big deal," Nick said.
"You weren't listening, Nick. I asked you a question. I didn't ask for an evaluation of circumstances. Exactly what did the Chief say?"
Nick got a funny look on his face and came to attention. "The watch officer called, said he had a homicide at this location, and that a patrol car was at the scene."
He hesitated before going on, mentally checking the events. "Interesting; the watch officer said he had a call from the Commissioner's assistant, a Claude Fishman; that he would be watching this one, wanted it handled quickly. I got the call at home, dressed and headed to the scene. Wait, before I left, the Chief called and told me, don't screw this up, Akoichi, the Commissioner and the Mayor are very interested. Then as he was hanging up he said something else, as if he was talking to himself. Those fuckin Feebs pissin... I didn't hear the last words, but I bet it was, pissing in the soup. That's a favorite of his."
"I wonder why he didn't call me first?" Swinburne said. "Alright. Thanks, Nick. Is there anyone here from the Mayor's office, anyone who wouldn't normally be on hand?" Swinburne asked.
"Yeah, how'd you know, sir?"
"Just a hunch, Sergeant, just a hunch. Let's go see what's going on."
The reception area was small and plush as only a private clinic can be. One of the state police officers had taken over the receptionist's desk.
"This is Officer Weise. He and his partner were first on the scene." Nick spoke appreciatively. "He did a good job getting the area clear; made sure no one left the building. Jennings from Valley Division has been taking preliminary statements."
"Good job, Weise. The day staff will probably begin to arrive soon. Tell them to go about their jobs. No one leaves until I've seen them," Swinburne said. “I’ll handle the over-time with your Sergeant.”
Nick pointed to a double swinging door with metal kick plates in back of the reception area. It led through a hallway painted hard institutional white into the other buildings. Over everything was the smell of disinfectant, medicines, anesthetics and something else.
Probably just my imagination, Swinburne thought, but as they moved past doors marked X-ray, serology, administrative offices, the sense got stronger: Fear, rank and hot
Swinburne couldn't see them, but he knew there were patients beyond some of those doors, and they weren't asleep. It was palpable, a presence he'd known before, both in the States and in the Republic of Viet Nam.
Once in the Highlands he remembered passing through a battalion of young marines just in from the States waiting to go on the line. He smelled it then, and knew what it was. When they came back two days later, the smell was gone. In its place was something else, something less definite.
They reached another set of double doors at the end of the hall, a small space with a couple of empty gurneys and an entrance into another hall. Halfway down the hall a door opened and Moran, the photographer, came out festooned with equipment.
"Hi, Lieutenant. I'm all done inside the buildings. There's a great hulk inside who looks like the missing link. He followed me around, wouldn't let me go in a lot of areas."
"Oh, really? Take me to this person," Swinburne said.
They went in a door marked 'Therapy'. A couple of men from the crime lab were taking care of business and didn't look up. They'd been there too many times and took each other's presence for granted.
In a small office to one side, a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit looked through some folders in a metal filing cabinet. He wasn't one of the Lieutenant's people; as a matter of fact, Swinburne had never seen him before. Swinburne realized he must be the one Nick mentioned earlier.
Swinburne moved up behind him quick, put his hand around under the man's arm and patted him down. He whipped around, the edge of his hand horizontal to the ground. Swinburne stepped back easily and took out his badge.
"I'm Swinburne, in charge of this investigation, and who might you be? Bruce Lee?" The Lieutenant didn't raise his voice.
When he saw Nick and Swinburne, the man dropped his arm self-consciously. He had a smooth, confident voice. Well, maybe not quite so confident anymore.
"You startled me, Swinburne." He looked at Swinburne blandly.
"I know that. I asked you who you were. I've got a lot to do, my dance card is full, so if you wouldn't mind, don't waltz me around, just answer my question."
"Don't get tense, Swinburne. I was sent here to observe." Three-piece just gave more bland contempt.
"Nick, acquire this person's I.D. right now, please..."
He didn't get to finish saying, please before Nick went by in a blur, grabbed three-piece by the lapels, lifted him clear off the floor, flipped him one hundred and eighty degrees and propelled him face first into the nearest wall so hard someone's diploma fell to the floor.
"Feet back and spread 'em, please," Nick said.
