Case #8: That's What Friends Are For
Date: May 17, 2002
Location: Logjam and Los Angeles, CA


The room danced with ominous shadows. A pudgy man sat next to a sarcophagus as the lid slowly opened behind him and the mummy residing inside sat up. Then noiselessly it climbed out and silently shut the lid. The little man turned and glanced at the sarcophagus, stood up, and opened the lid. The mummy edged closer and closer…looming over the little man until the mummy's hands were within inches of the fat man's throat…


That's when my phone rang.

"Turn off your damn cell phone," said a guy in the dark in front of me in the theater, watching Abbot and Costello Meet the Mummy.

I yanked the cell phone out of my pocket and saw the lighted LED. It was Doc Perdue. I got out of my seat and raced up the aisle so I could talk to him without getting more grief from the guy down front. There weren't twelve people in the theater, but die hard fans can get pretty unruly when a favorite scene was being run. Even without turning around, I knew Lou Costello would escape the evil clutches of the mummy and skid away to safety.

"Hey, what's up, Doc?" I said.

"Is Donn with you?" he asked without preamble, concern in his voice.

"No. He should be home."

"I spoke to him an hour ago and said I'd be over to see how he was doing and to help him with his deep breathing exercises, but he wasn't there."

"Sherri wasn't there, either?" I asked.

"No and the ambulance wasn't parked in the driveway."

"Maybe he got a call from Manny at the sheriff station."

"I called there first. Nothing much is going on in Logjam today. Manny said the switchboard was quiet."

"He probably needed something from the drugstore and went out."

"I'm parked in front of Pecos Bill's Drug Store, Johnny. The ambulance isn't here. Where could he be?"

"It's probably nothing," I hoped. "Did you call the hospital?"

"That was my second call. Anyway, somebody would have told me if Donn had come in, or was brought in."

"I'll go over to his place and check it out. Get back to you later."

I drove to Donn's cabin. It was one of those A-frames jammed into an older residential section south of town along with rusted out RV's and equally distressed pickup trucks. Dozens and dozens of those pint-sized residences sprouted up over the past thirty years, ever since the people down in Los Angeles discovered that the lake and the slopes were big business. Real estate agents rented these shacks for big bucks both summer and winter.

Donn's patrol car was still at the station and Sherri's ambulance wasn't parked facing out in the drive. She always backed in so she could leave in a hurry if there was an emergency.

I used my key and went in.

"Donn? Sherri?"

The place looked just the way it did earlier this morning except the breakfast dishes had been washed. Sherri was a good little housekeeper. I climbed the steep stairs to the loft and checked the bedroom, but the bed, though not made, wasn't occupied.

The phone next to the bed had been pulled over to the edge of the nightstand. Somebody had recently used it. I hit "Play" on the answering machine, but there were no messages. I tried the "dial last call received" feature and the phone automatically dialed the number of the person who last called. It was eleven digits, so it was long distance. The phone rang, then I heard the distinctive click when the call was forwarded to another phone.

"Los Angeles Wilton Hotel. How may I direct your call?"

"I was returning a phone call I got from some people staying at the Wilton…" I glanced at the last number called on the lighted LED display on that answering machine and read off the number. "Are they still registered at the hotel?"
The man who answered the phone must have consulted his computer, because he came back with an answer right away.

"Yes, sir. Shall I ring the room for you?"

"Can you tell me if they will be staying for a few more days?"

"I can't give out that information, sir."

"Look, I'd like to send over a bottle of scotch tomorrow, but if they aren't going to be there, I'll send it right away."

There was a slight hesitation before the guy said, "I believe the gentlemen in 509 will be with us until Saturday. Shall I put you through?"

"No. I lost a bet and this was what I owe them. You know how it is. Thanks anyway."

I hung up and hit the road. I was halfway to San Bernardino before I realized I hadn't tried Donn's cell number. It would be just my luck he was over at Sherri's place and I was wasting another tank of gas.

His phone rang twice, then went to voice mail.

"Donn, it's Johnny. Where are you? Call me back."

I continued driving.

It was a quarter to one in the afternoon when I got off the freeway and descended into the labyrinth that was downtown Los Angeles. One-way streets and lunchtime traffic made it more treacherous than the freeways. I missed the turn that would take me to the hotel and had to circle around, but ended up in the wrong lane. I crossed three lanes of heavy traffic and took a hard right and a lot of honking, but got myself back the way I needed to go.

The valet entrance of the hotel was swarming with red-coated guys ready to park my car, but I didn't want it spirited out of easy reach, so I drove around the block, turned down an alley, and wedged the Jeep between a pair of Dumpsters behind the hotel. This gave me the access I wanted even if I got a ticket. I just hoped no one would tow the car.

As I headed toward the rear entrance, I spotted a white van squeezed between two more Dumpsters. It was Sherri's ambulance. I eased my way over to it and saw a figure in the front seat. The dark hair looked like Sherri's without her usual ponytail. As I reached up to tap on the window, I felt a jab in my back.

"Don't move."


….Continued.

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