The Gumshoe Diaries by Nicholas Stanton

Tylenol and washed them down with another
Guinness, draining half the pint in two long gulps. A police
cruiser screamed by past the window and screeched around the corner
on Grand onto 5th street in the general direction of the 110
freeway. It was enough of a distraction to jolt me out of my
brainstorming trance. Unfortunately it also startled the crap out
of me and now there was a river of Guinness rushing across the
small writing table at which I was sitting.
    “ Son of a bitch,” I
shouted, jumping out of my chair!
    Fortunately for me the only damage was to the
steno-pad that I had covered with snappy little doodles over the
last hour or so. Sure, sometimes those doodles proved useful, rife
with clues mixed in with the art. But seeing as I had the talent of
a five year-old with ADD, all the Guinness did was save me a couple
of hours trying to read my own handwriting. Yeah, I’m pretty old
school, and you could politely say that I was electronically
challenged. So, there wasn’t any chance I’d wrecked a laptop or a
what-cha-ma-call-it, an iTouch .
    Look, when my brain gets full I empty it,
meaning I break out a new stenographer’s notebook and fill it,
every page, front and back. I had boxes of them, labeled, dated,
and cataloged. I kept them stacked neatly against the wall across
from my bed. A couple of them were pulling double duty as the base
for my coffee table. Lay a thick piece of glass or sheet of plywood
(depending on your budget) across four tightly packed banker’s
boxes and viola , coffee table. Made the small room pretty
cozy but since my divorce from both Rhonda and the LAPD, this small
room had to multi-task. Rhonda took my present (our savings, our
home, etc…) and the LAPD took my future (my pension, my self
respect, etc…). I’m over it though, there’s nothing to be gained in
bitterness. All that noise brings is an early grave. In hindsight
Rhonda earned every penny putting up with the mistress that my job
had become. I wasn’t there for her when she was searching for
herself. The cash helped with that journey even if where it took
her was confusing as hell, but I won’t waste any words on that
nightmare. As for the LAPD, fuck em!
    Yanking the quilt off of my unmade bed I
mopped up the puddle of Guinness, pitiful waste of a good pint. I
guess now is as good a time as any to get the laundry done. I could
make a couple of calls while I waited at the Laundromat. The first
call should be to Judy to see if she had any pull with the
Coroner’s Office. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from me again so
soon. I needed to see that tox report, preferably before Oscar’s
team did. The next call would be to Jai Lai, it was time. That was
going to be a little tricky as I’d have to think of a good reason
to call him out of the blue. Jai and I weren’t near as close as Lu
and I were. I’ll think of something though, I’d hung around enough
lawyers in my life to be able to fabricate something useful. It’s
time to start answering the questions I’d been collecting. Sally
would be buried in a few days and I wanted to send her spirit to
wherever it is that spirits go with her killer’s name scribbled on
the box they lay her to rest in. I wanted her family have closure.
I wanted Lu to sleep again, to have peace of mind.
    ****
    (“dead man lying by the side of the road with the
daylight in his eyes…don’t let it bring you down “)…Neil
Young…1967

Chapter Twelve
    Alexandria Hotel, Los Angeles…Wednesday, Feb
18, 2009…4pm
    I am bored, this man bores me. Everything
about him just bores me to tears. He’s taking the fun out of this.
Well, almost. I needn’t waste any more time here, he’s not going
anywhere. He’ll shave, shower, eat and sleep until 7 or 8 this
evening. It’s his pattern, his boring, boring pattern. I suppose I
could wait around and listen to him quiz Dr. Looney with his usual
flare, rife with a boring amount of sexual innuendo and vulgar
banter, the gutter snipe. Is he