Back at the Crime Scene
He walked slowly on the sidewalk, carefully guiding the shopping cart with the wonky wheel around onlookers, uniformed officers and others who were regulars on the street. No one looked at him, no one paid any attention at all to the figure shuffling along unless it was to tell him to move onto the street and get out of everyone's way. Shrouded in layers of clothing – most of whom were patched and worn – the figure was almost impossible to describe. The face, with its curtain of long, greasy hair, was unidentifiable. Race was impossible to tell as every piece of skin was covered in one way or another. Not that anyone wanted to look closely enough to see who this might be wheeling all their possessions down the street in front of the notorious Cecil Hotel. The homeless on skid row were invisible to anyone not wanting to take advantage of their weaknesses or trying to help lift them out of their own personal hell. Most of the uniformed officers were accustomed to not "seeing" the retched people who made their home on the street – unless they created a problem for those few law abiding folks unfortunate enough to find their way downtown. It was just another day on Skid Row.
The figure carefully wheeled its cart of possessions around the block, stopping at the opposite end from where the crime had been discovered. Patiently parking the cart behind a dumpster, the person waited until the presence of officers and the curious bystanders had thinned to nothing before approaching the spot where the body had been found, eyes darting quickly around mounds of trash the police had nudged but not sifted through. It didn't take long to find it – a single piece of folder paper jammed under a broken step. Carefully unfolding the page, damp with the blood of the murdered man, the figure nodded as the face on what was obviously a missing person's flyer was revealed. The picture of a pretty, teenage girl with café au lait skin and brown eyes framed by curls looked back at the observer with a slightly devilish grin. "Annalise" a voice muttered as the page was carefully re-folded and stuck in a pants pocket. Then the figure stepped back into the shadows, abandoning the cart and all its random contents and disappeared down the street, leaving the others on Skid Row to find a use for the cart and its contents. He had found what he had come for.
On the street Amenadiel watched for a few more minutes, waiting to see if the character he had noticed came back out of the alleyway, then shrugged and started back through the throng of on-lookers, headed for Linda's office. He didn't notice the ragged figure, now walking with a confident gait, in the opposite direction of the hotel.
The drive to Bradley industries main offices was unusually quiet. Lucifer, for once, wasn't bouncing from subject to subject trying his best to get Chloe's attention. The detective was also silent, trying to find a way to broach the subject of the Hotel and its history with her partner without encroaching on his "unusual" background.
"Lucifer" Chloe began, eyes fixed on the road, "what do you know about our crime scene?"
"Besides the fact that the Cecil and its occupants have the worst luck imaginable?" Lucifer replied.
"Is it just bad luck?" Chloe asked.
"Just ask me, Detective, we both know you want to."
Chloe sighed. "Is there something about the Cecil I should be mindful of?"
"In other words – is it a gateway to Hell?" Lucifer's voice took on a mocking tone as he looked over at the woman behind the wheel. "Really, detective, I would have thought after all your conversations with that priest in Rome..."
Chloe glanced quickly over at her passenger. "Where did you hear about that?" she asked grimly.
"I have my sources" Lucifer replied. "The wanker's name was Father Kinley, wasn't it? Told you I was responsible for all the evil in the world – never mind the fact that mankind was very good about coming up with ways to do evil all on their own."
Chloe sighed. "Look – I listed to the guy for a while. Then I fell back onto what I do best – being an investigator. I checked him out and found out even the Vatican wanted nothing to do with his crazy stories. I'll admit – I'm not comfortable with knowing who and what you are. But I'm trying, Lucifer, I really am. Can't we just go with that and move on?"
Lucifer shrugged. "There isn't anything specifically evil about the Cecil – at least nothing that would make it an express elevator to and from Hell. It started out quite the showplace with Art Deco entrance and comfortable accommodations. It started to go downhill during the Depression and never quite stopped the slide. And now, as any good real-estate person would tell you, its location is dragging what little respectability it might have had down to the dirt."
Chloe thought about his words for a moment, making a mental note to do some research on the hotel. "Someone died there when I was still in uniform. I remember it was a really big deal – and then it wasn't."
"Young woman" Lucifer replied in a bored tone. "Drowned herself in the water tanks on the roof. Wouldn't have been such an issue except for the CCTV footage from an elevator she was in just before she disappeared. Get your spawn to Google it for you. The details are quite interesting – for about a nanosecond."
Chloe sighed. "I'll get Dan to run the search. We'll need to talk to the new owners anyway – maybe they have some idea what an accountant from a major hedge fund company was doing slumming in their about to be renovated establishment."
"Slumming?" Lucifer responded with a snort.
Once at the victim's office things became sticky. Lucifer eyed the well-dressed receptionist at the entrance to Bradley Industries office for a moment, assessing what it would take to seduce her. "Well, well! This case might have just gotten interesting." He smiled appreciative as the young woman eyed this odd pairing of an expensively dressed consultant and his LAPD detective cohort.
"We really need to talk to someone about John McIntyre" Chloe asked, slightly exasperated. She had been given the run-around by any number of secretaries and personal assistants before but for whatever reason this woman's tone was rubbing her the wrong way. Between the image of the crime scene and her conversation with Lucifer on the ride here her normal calm was hanging by a thread and this woman's tone was the last straw.
"Mr. Bradley is in his office and will be able to speak to you momentarily" the young woman repeated calmly, motioning towards the elevator behind her. "Someone should be coming down to escort you up in a moment."
Chloe wondered, briefly, if that was ALL she knew to say, like a robot programmed with only one response. "I was told Mr. McIntyre's wife was already here. Can you at least see if we can talk to her?"
"My sister is in the break room" a twangy voice called out. A young man in a cheap imitation of an expensive business suit walked towards them, a smile plastered on his face. "My name is James Milton. John is my brother-in-law. The maid at their house called me and said the police were trying to locate my sister Millie. Has something happened?"
Chloe held out a hand. "Det. Chloe Decker. Mr. Milton I'm sorry to tell you that your brother-in-law was found murdered behind a hotel downtown. I'm sorry for your loss."
Lucifer's eyes strayed back to the receptionist who was now openly preening. "Yes – truly sad state of affairs. Did you know him?"
The receptionist blushed prettily. "Mr. McIntyre was a very polite person. Kept mostly to himself when he was at work. I think I've only said a few words to him in all the time I've been here."
Milton glared at the woman behind the desk for a moment then stared back at Chloe. "Do you know who did this terrible thing to John?"
"Not yet" Chloe replied. "His body was only found a few hours ago. I was hoping to talk to either someone here or his family to find out why he was staying at the Cecil and who he might have been there to meet."
Milton shrugged. "My brother-in-law had this strange obsession with that hotel. He and his "friends" online talked about it all the time. Maybe you should talk to one of them?"
"If he has online contacts with information I'll need to see his computer or home laptop. Is there any way that can be arranged" Chloe glanced at the closed elevator doors, resigned to the fact that no one was coming to escort them upstairs anytime soon. She wondered, briefly, if she was going to have to push to get access to the victim's office or if her history with Pierce might come back to make things even more awkward then they already were.
"I'm sure it can be arranged" Milton purred, "just as soon as you get a warrant."
Lucifer finally took a good look at the young man in front of him, frowning at his bad fashion sense. "Isn't that a bit – unhelpful? After all, the detective is trying to find out who killed your brother-in-law – and why?"
Milton looked up and flinched at the steely look in Lucifer's eyes. "Sorry – but James often did company work at home so some of his files would be proprietary to the organization. I'm sure Mr. Bradly would agree…"
"Mr. Bradley would NOT agree" a deep voice called out. An older man approached the group, his cell phone in his hand. "Detective? I'm Don Bradley and this is my company. I've just been informed by a friend in the District Attorney's office of this tragedy. You have our complete cooperation – anything you need – starting with James's office. Please follow me." He swept past them, stuffing his cell in his pocket as he swiped a card over a pad and summoning a private elevator.
"Interesting" Lucifer murmured as he hurriedly followed Chloe.
"Very" she agreed, watching the elevator doors close.