Read Last Man's Head for Free Online Page A

range, and the bullet also passed through the wooden stall wall to become embedded in the concrete wall some twenty feet away.  It was a .38, he recalled. The hole in the wooden wall was still there; walking over to the far wall, he could still make out the spot from where it had been recovered.
    He wandered around the bathroom, taking in the two stalls, the two urinals, the small hand basin under a mirror, which was surprisingly clean. The interior walls were still the same dark green he recalled from his first visit, slightly shabbier. He looked around, as if seeking inspiration.
    He got none.
    Normally, a homicide scene would have CSIs around it like fleas on a dog until they found something: this being a street person, he had doubts as to whether this scene received the same attention as the next unsolved on his list: a stabbing on a Blue Line tram on its way to Long Beach.
    He wandered outside and looked around. This being a Monday morning, the park was fairly quiet. Weekends it would be filled with families, with kids playing ball games. Today, he could see two women pushing strollers, a man walking his dog along the park perimeter by 25 th Street; another man the other side of the park, walking back to the parking lot. He heard an engine noise and looked up: he could just make out a single engine aircraft coming in to land at the municipal airport half a mile away.
    He thought about the enquiries he and Quinn originally made: he himself knocked on the doors of three of the streets west of the park with a photograph of the dead man, but they all drew a blank. They made similar enquiries in Santa Monica itself, showing his image to the other street people congregating around Ocean Front Walk. But still the guy was a mystery. Then it all came down to resources: the likelihood of identification and conviction was so low, the case was left. An old story: not the first time that had happened, and Leroy was sure it would not be the last.
    ‘Looks like you’re going to stay unsolved, my friend,’ he said quietly, looking back at the men’s room. He turned and headed back to his car.
    As he reached the edge of the grass and stepped onto the 25 th Street sidewalk, his cell phone rang. Still walking down 25 th to where he had parked his car, he answered. It was Russell Hobson, from the Medical Examiner’s office.
    As well as being colleagues, Leroy and Hobson were friends, and had been so for many years. By coincidence, they grew up in the same neighbourhood in Queens, New York City. They were born the same year, Hobson two months later than Leroy, and attended the same school. After they graduated from High School, their paths drifted: Hobson began medical training and Leroy joined the NYPD. Then, eighteen months ago, to the surprise of them both, they met up again. Hobson, who had been working for the Chicago ME, applied for and got a position in LA; Leroy had transferred to the LAPD some years ago.
    Leroy had been expecting this call. ‘Talk to me Russ.’
    ‘Sam, you need to get your ass down here right away.’
    ‘Why? What’s up?’
    ‘That John Doe you brought in Friday. The one in Century City.’
    ‘I know the one. Cardiac arrest, is it?’
    ‘Well, yes and no.’
    Leroy climbed into his black Ford Taurus. ‘What do you mean, yes and no?’
    ‘It’s quite complicated. That’s why I need you to come in. Can you do that?’
    ‘Sure I can. Give me thirty minutes,’ Leroy replied, starting the engine.
    ‘Okay. See you soon, buddy.’
    With that, Hobson hung up.
    Letting out a deep breath, Leroy swung the car round and up to Ocean Park Boulevard.  Although Hobson always did have a sense of drama, even they were kids together, there was something different in his voice today.
    As he drove back to Police HQ, Leroy wondered what could be so urgent and dramatic about a cardiac arrest case.
     

NINE
    The average annual rainfall for Southern California is twelve inches. As the silver Lotus made its way