Hollywood Murder (24 page)

After going home, I fed and walked Bernie, and went to bed, sleeping like the dead, maybe because of the night’s events. As I drove to the station the next morning, I had visions of the press covering our upcoming fashion show, the headlines reading,
Local Cop Does Zombie Rap Wearing Diaper.

I stopped for coffee and a muffin, eating as I drove. I caught sight of Bernie in the rearview mirror and said, “Tell me the truth. Do I look like I’m half dead?”

I got a whine and an air lick, maybe the hairy fashion show critic’s way of telling me I was hopeless.

When we got to the station, Leo and I got a call that the feds wanted to meet in their offices in downtown Los Angeles. As Leo drove us, I told him about my evening. “Sometimes I think my life is just one big reality TV show. Maybe it’s being broadcast to aliens who are sitting in a bar on some planet in another solar system, saying to one another, “Can you believe this shit?”

Leo laughed until he almost spilled his coffee. “I’ve had a few days like that. It could be worse.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t live next to my friends and have to put up with Nana.” I remembered Noah trying to arrange for us to rent the mobile home and told him about it.

“I’ve driven by that place. There’s a bunch of plastic pink flamingos out front. I think it backs up to the cemetery.”

“Great. When you die, they probably just throw you over the fence. Maybe we can all get part-time jobs digging graves.”

My spirits hadn’t improved much by the time we got to the FBI headquarters in Los Angeles. Our meeting was held in a third floor conference room and was attended by most of the same players as before, including Oz and Captain Dembowski. The lieutenant mentioned that Darby and Buck hadn’t been invited, apparently a message that their roles in the investigation had been diminished.

After Agent Dukes called the meeting to order, he informed us that the kidnappers had made contact with Henry Montreal again. “The call came in late last night.” He motioned to Agent Flores, who pushed a button, playing a recording of the phone call.

“You have one last chance to cooperate,” we heard the now familiar electronically modulated voice say. “Mess this up again and they both die.”

“You double-crossed me last time,” Montreal said. “You didn’t have my family with you. Why should I trust you?”

“You’re in no position to talk about double-crossing someone or second-guessing anything.”

“I’m not going…” His voice trailed off and I had the impression someone had entered the room, maybe Montreal’s wife.

“They’re both dead then,” we heard the kidnapper say.

Montreal lowered his voice. “Wait…” We heard a sigh. “Tell me what you want.”

“I’ll call back tomorrow with the details. This time I want ten million. No cops and no fuckups, or I’ll send your daughter and her kid to you in a box.”

Montreal started to respond, saying something about needing time to raise the money, before the line went dead.

Agent Dukes said, “We’re working with Mr. Montreal on getting the money together as we speak. It will have an exploding dye pack and embedded tracking devices. This time there will be no chance he can pull the tracker.” He looked at Agent Shuler. “You want to fill them in on the rest?”

The youthful agent swept her brown hair behind one ear. “When the call comes in tomorrow, we’ll have two sets of agents and…” She looked at Leo and me. “…the locals, all following at a safe distance. We expect there will be the usual cat and mouse game before the drop. We’ve talked to Montreal at length and are confident he will cooperate this time. The plan is to hang back and wait until the exchange is made, and hopefully Allison and her daughter are released, before moving in. Regardless of how it plays out, we’re going to be sure the kidnappers won’t be leaving the drop area.”

Dukes confirmed what she’d said and nodded at Agent Flores who took over. “We’ve done a complete re-canvass of the Hancock Park neighborhood and again talked to the witness who saw Marsh with the maid. Nothing came of it, except she said she’d seen Vincent Marsh with other women.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Dembowski asked.

“Just that he met a couple of women on the street and drove off with them. The witness thought he’d left his wife at home and had gone out on her. No real description of the women.”

“Has anything worthwhile come in on the tip line from the photos of our kidnappers that were released to the press?” Oz asked Agent Dukes.

“Nothing viable, but we’re still working the lines.” Dukes then addressed the rest of us. “Since this all goes down tomorrow, those agents who are directly involved need to plan on spending the day down the street from the Montreal residence. Once the call comes in, we need to be prepared to move out and follow him.” He looked at Leo and me. “You two are in the third car and need to stay at least a block back from the two trail cars.”

I glanced at Leo, wondering if we’d be so far behind the action that we’d end up doing     mop-up after the fact.

Dukes continued a few minutes longer, emphasizing some tactical issues before saying, “This situation ends tomorrow. We get the victims back and we take down the kidnappers. This is a zero sum game for the other side.”

***

After our meeting adjourned, Leo and I stopped for lunch, then headed to the station. I used the restroom before we planned to fill in the lieutenant on our meeting with the Pressleys. I came out of a stall and found Jessica Barlow standing there, applying a fresh coat of war paint. Her beady blue eyes found me in the mirror.

“
You
,” Jessica said, eyeing me. “Maybe
you’re
the one who lives in the restroom. I heard you’re practically homeless anyway.”

I went over to the sink. “Mind your own business.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t constantly interfere with it.” She blotted her lips on a tissue. “Charlie said you were always like this. Seeing you in action confirms it.”

Jessica and Charlie, my retired former partner, had hooked up for a few weeks. I was convinced that was because a parasitic insect had eaten his brain. “I doubt Charlie said anything of the kind.”

“Really? Because he said it again a couple of days ago.”

I scoffed. “You’re out of your mind. Charlie’s living in Idaho.”

Jessica started to walk away, but stopped and looked back at me. “Just for your information, Charlie and I are living together again.”

At first, I doubted what she’d said, then I remembered Charlie had recently hooked up with his former girlfriend, Wilma Bibby. I’d had a talk with Wilma, warning her that Charlie wasn’t the monogamous type. It wouldn’t surprise me if Wilma had seen the light, kicked him out, and, instead of returning to Idaho, my former partner had rebounded with Jessica.

Just the thought of Charlie, who was at least fifty pounds overweight, with a bad heart, hooking up with the painted serpent roiled my stomach. I stopped at my desk and popped a couple of antacids before meeting with Leo, Selfie, and Molly in the lieutenant’s office.

I mentioned what Jessica had said as I took a seat and Bernie wandered over to the lieutenant, looking for a treat. “Can you believe those two are together again?”

Oz tossed Bernie something that looked like a mini-sausage from his bag. “You can ask your ex-partner himself if it’s true. He’s returning to work for Lieutenant Edna part-time next week.”

I sighed. “If that’s the case, it probably
is
true.” I looked at Leo. “Why is it men lose their minds when it comes to sex?”

My partner smiled. “I guess it has something to do with cutting off the blood flow to the brain.”

Selfie seconded that. “I think it leaves most of them permanently brain damaged.”

Molly chimed in, confirming our theory. “I’ve personally seen cases where they end up completely brain-dead.”

After some more discussion about men’s brains, we got down to business. Leo and I updated everyone on our meeting with Stan and Meagan Pressley. “Meagan became upset when I asked about the argument she and Maggie Potter had,” I said. “She ended up walking out before Stan called his security people to have us escorted off the premises.”

Oz tossed Bernie another treat and asked Selfie and Molly for any updates. Selfie began by saying, “As we mentioned before, the Pressleys are from Lubbock, Texas. Meagan was a beauty queen there, and, from what we can piece together, met Stan in church, where he was a deacon. He worked as a mechanic for a local garage before the couple moved to Dallas and started their own church.”

Molly took over. “Their church did well, but Meagan had a sister in this area and wanted out of Texas. They reestablished their church here and, thanks to cable TV and some wealthy community supporters, it began to take off big time. They have thousands of supporters and the new church has been under construction for the past year.”

“This is where things get interesting,” Selfie said. Our crime analyst was wearing a blue sweater that matched her hair. She chewed on her rhinestone glasses as she spoke. “Despite lots of fundraising efforts, the Stairway to Heaven is several steps short of reaching its destination. The project is heavily in debt. The Pressleys have been actively working lots of wealthy donors to bail them out.”

“Actively working is a code word for Meagan using her considerable assets,” Molly added. Our secretary had her hair in a French twist, giving her a conservative look, in contrast to her counterpart.

“That’s interesting,” I said. “Before she stomped off, Meagan told us the Potters had planned to make a donation to their new church and she went to their house to collect on that promise.”

“Doesn’t add up,” Leo said. “We know the Potters weren’t doing well financially. They didn’t have much to pledge.”

“Unless Walter Potter made a promise to Meagan that he couldn’t keep,” Oz suggested.

“That’s a possibility,” Selfie said. “Meagan was on several charity boards, including one for needy children. We learned this morning that Walter Potter was on the same board.”

“That just might be the link we’ve been looking for,” Leo suggested. “Meagan and Walter get chummy while working on the charity. She uses her considerable influence to get him to make a contribution to her church. When Walter doesn’t come through, she goes to their home to collect.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But, it could also be that Meagan’s visit was more personal than that. She might have been having an affair with Walter and ran into Maggie when she went by the house.”

Oz tossed Bernie a final favor. “If they were involved, it seems like they would have been more discreet than Meagan showing up at their house.”

I agreed, adding, “There’s probably something we’re still missing.”

Oz looked at our civilian employees. “Let’s keep digging, see what we turn up.”

Leo had picked up his notebook when something occurred to him. “How do you want to handle the reporter on this, Ozzie? We haven’t mentioned the Pressleys to her yet.”

“For now, let’s keep it that way. I want to be sure we’ve got this nailed down before Woods runs with the story, kills the Pressleys’ reputation, and permanently puts an end to the Stairway to Heaven.”

Leo and I spent the rest of the day working the Potter case without developing anything further on the relationship between Meagan Pressley and the Potters. After leaving the station, I drove to Jean Winslow’s former residence in the Hollywood Hills to meet Natalie and Mo. I took Laurel Canyon to one of the highest points overlooking the city before finding the massive French provincial estate on its own private street.

“This place is bigger than Fuckingham Palace,” Natalie said, greeting me after I got Bernie out of my car in front of the gates to the estate. “Just imagine the orgies that musta gone on here.”

Mo, who was standing next to their Realtor, cleared her throat and introduced me. “You remember Mary Jane.”

The heavyset, older Realtor looked pale, maybe a reaction to Natalie’s comments. She was impeccably dressed in what looked like Wang and Gucci, and draped in Cartier. Somehow, my Target pants and blazer didn’t quite measure up.

After we exchanged pleasantries, Mary Jane recovered enough to tell us about the estate. “Ms. Winslow called her home Chanteclair. The estate was modelled after a similar country manor in Cannes. It’s considered one of the preeminent examples of French provincial estates in America. The distinctive characteristics of the home include the tall second story arched windows, stonework, and the elaborate carved cornices at the eaves. The main residence is seventeen thousand square feet, not including the guest homes.” Her gaze fell to Bernie. “I’m going to have to insist that the dog remain outside.”

“It’s a flippin’ castle,” Natalie said, ignoring what she’d said about Bernie. “How many people call this place home?”

Mary Jane’s tone was dismissive, giving me the impression that she’d decided my friends might lack the pedigree, not to mention the money, to buy the home. “Just Ms. Trenton. She’s the current owner and lives in one of the three guest homes. I promised that we wouldn’t disturb her.”

After using a lockbox to make our way through the gates, we followed a winding pathway to the elaborate home. As Mary Jane unlocked the front door, it was obvious that Mo was also star struck by our surroundings. “I seen a lot of houses, but nuthin’ like this.” The Realtor opened the door as she added, “You think if we rented out a few rooms and a couple of the guest houses, we could cover the mortgage?” She turned to me. “It beats living in a mobile home.”

Our guide laughed, apparently unware that Mo was serious. The door swung wider. “Let’s see how the other half lived back when the stars of the silver screen were alive.”

“I’ll wait outside with Bernie,” I said as my friends tried to get through the door at the same time. Mo won the battle and looked back at me. “Given the size of this joint, we probably won’t be back for a couple of hours.”

Bernie was happy to sniff his way through a courtyard we found at the back of the property after walking down a driveway. The huge stone covered patio overlooked a pool and gardens. The setting was serene and I imagined the former occupant holding lavish Hollywood parties here.

We were walking down a pathway in the garden when I heard a voice calling out. “Is he friendly?”

An attractive woman with dark hair was standing a few yards away from us. I went over to her with Bernie. “He’s a police dog, but he’s a pushover when he’s off duty.”

She bent down to Bernie, running a hand through his coat. “He’s gorgeous. I had a husky when I was a girl.” She stood up and extended a hand. “I’m Laura Trenton.”

I introduced myself and Bernie. She stroked my dog behind his ears as I said, “You have a beautiful home.”

Bernie came closer to her, resting his head against her leg. “I can’t believe he’s a police dog.” After patting him, she looked around the grounds. “Yes, the place is very special, but the upkeep is a fortune. It’s time to let it go.”

I noticed that her eyes were iridescent, a powdery blue-gray. “Have you lived here long?”

“About twenty years. It was…” Her gaze moved off. “I’m the niece of the former owner.”

“Ms. Winslow?”

She nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“My friends are touring the main house. I’m afraid it might take them a while.”

“Would you like to join me for some tea?” She motioned to a house overlooking the pool. “I live in one of the guest cottages.”

The guest house was covered in flowering vines and looked enchanting, like something you’d see in the French countryside. “I’d love that.”

A couple of minutes later, Bernie and I were touring Laura Trenton’s cottage, which was larger than most single family homes I’d been in. We stopped in the family room where there were several photographs on the wall, including some of her famous aunt. There were also some family photographs of the former star, many taken when she was a young girl.

Our guide gave me some background on the photos. “Most of these were taken when Aunt Jean was a teenager…” Her smile became wistful. “It was before stardom found her.”

The photographs of the future legend revealed an innocent girl who was blossoming into a young woman. “They’re lovely.” I said, meeting her powder-blue eyes. “We’re you close to your aunt?”

“Very. I used to spend summers here, until…” She took a moment, her eyes growing heavy. “She passed on to a better place.”

I nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

She went over to the kitchen and began brewing our tea. I took the time to walk around the room, continuing to examine the collection of photographs. There were more casual shots of Winslow taken through the years, many showing her with an older couple who I assumed were her parents. As I continued to glance through the photographs, I saw there were several photos of the actress taken as she’d grown older. I then came to some pictures that I realized were probably captured a year or two before her death.

“Our tea is ready.”

I barely heard Laura Trenton calling out to me. My eyes were fixed on one of the photographs that showed Jean Winslow by her swimming pool. It looked like the photo had been taken during a party. There were several people surrounding her, including a face that was indelibly etched into my memory.

Trenton came over to me, apparently realizing I was transfixed. “What is it?”

I pointed to a man in the photograph. “Do you recognize him?”

She smiled, glancing at the photograph. “Of course. That’s Johnny. He stopped by sometimes with his daughter…” Her gaze came back over to me. She was confused, obviously trying to piece things together. “Do you know him?”

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. “He was my father.”