Hollywood Murder (7 page)

A half hour after leaving the station, I found Robin at his work station at Sinclair’s, a trendy salon near the Melrose shopping district. As Bernie sampled the exotic scents of the establishment, I told my brother about being on
Hollywood Detective
and needing him to work a small miracle on my hair.

“We could try a new look, just for the show,” Robin suggested.

“If you remember, the last time I had a new look, I ended up looking like Ronald McDonald.”

Robin had used a product called Lady Russet that turned my hair red for Nana’s wedding. I’d recently seen a couple of photographs from the event that left me needing Prozac.

Robin went on, “I was thinking about something short and sassy. It would help with your hair’s tendency to…” He took a moment, maybe trying to come up with a description for hair that sometimes looked like it had been plugged into an electric outlet. “It might make it more manageable.”

He had my attention now. When I’d been in Hawaii I’d fought a constant battle with the frizzies due to the humidity. Maybe it was sheer desperation on my part that caused me to agree to what he proposed “Okay, just be sure it’s not too short.”

As he worked on my hair, Robin told me about his latest love interest. “His name is Adam. He’s a script writer for the studios. I think we have a lot in common.”

Robin was gay, having come out about five years ago. He’d had several relationships since then, none that seemed to last. My brother was a compassionate, kind soul, and I only wanted the best for him.

“I hope he’s the one,” I said after he’d told me that Adam worked for one of the Hollywood studios.

“We’ll see.” I watched as he trimmed several inches off my hair. I was about to warn him to go slow when he asked, “How are things with Noah?”

“Really good. We’re getting together again over the weekend.”

“It sounds serious.”

“I think he’s the gift that my love-dad was talking about.”

Several months back, I’d had a conversation with my love-dad, after my former partner Ted Grady had committed suicide. Since my dad was dead, I’d been convinced that meeting was the result of a complete mental breakdown I’d suffered after Ted’s death. Now I wasn’t so sure. In addition to filling in some of gaps about his relationship with both my adoptive and biological mothers, he’d given me insight into the nature of loss. He’d said that when we suffer a loss, there’s also a gift that’s left behind. I had come to believe that Noah was the gift that he’d been talking about.

My thoughts surfaced as Robin asked, “Anything new with the search for your bio-dad?”

I took a few minutes, filling him in on the letters my mother had written to me, my meeting with Collin Russell, and what he’d said about Kellen Malone. “According to Russell, his son is involved in the Revelation. The group supposedly communicates by putting messages in the movies they back. It’s all very clandestine and a bit weird.”

Robin didn’t respond to what I’d said. I started to ask him why he was so quiet, when I noticed my hair. “Enough,” I said. “I’m going to look like a boy if it’s any shorter.”

He stopped working for a moment and said, “Okay, let me just even out the ends.”

He continued working on my hair, but didn’t comment on what I’d said earlier. I finally asked, “Have you ever heard of the Revelation?”

He looked at me in the mirror. “This is strange.”

When he didn’t go on I asked, “What’s strange?”

“Adam, the guy I’ve been seeing. He mentioned something the other day.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that he’s been working on a script—I think it’s for some kind of crime show—and said somebody with the studio wanted him to insert a couple of lines of dialog. He said he agreed to do it because the changes were minor and he didn’t really have any other choice, but he thought it was kind of strange.”

“Did he say what the lines were about?”

Robin went back to my hair. “He said they were references to locations and dates. He thought it might be some kind of message about an upcoming meeting. The whole thing left him feeling a little confused.”

“Who at the studio was behind the changes to the script?”

He shook his head. “I’m not really sure. I could arrange for you to talk to him, if you’d like.”

I met his eyes in the mirror, nodding. “Let me see about my schedule. I’ll let you know.”

My attention went back to my hair as he took out his blow-dryer. Ten minutes later, I had a sassy, short hairdo that fell just below my ears. It seemed to frame my face much better.

“Well?” Robin said, turning off the hairdryer.

“It’s going to take some getting used to, but I think I like it.”

He put his hands on his hips. “That doesn’t exactly sound like a ringing endorsement.”

I stood up and hugged him. “I love it. Did anybody ever tell you that you’re the best?”

“Just a sister of mine who’s also the best.”

I paid him and was on my way out when I thought about his new boyfriend. “I’ll let you know about getting together with Adam. I’ll see if Noah is free. Maybe the four of us can go out for drinks.”

***

Bernie and I got home just after seven. I was unlocking my apartment when Natalie came over and reminded me about their get-together with the celebrity chef. “Marlon the Magnificent should be here ’bout eight. Why not stop by for a Dirty Harriett and some nosh, then...” Her eyes fixed on my new do. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

“Do you like it?”

Natalie brushed a hand through her own gorgeous blonde hair. “It’s…well, it’s kinda different.”

My shoulders slumped. “You hate it.”

She punched my shoulder. “I’m just takin’ the Mickey with ya. I love it. It makes you look—I think it gives you some attitude.”

“Attitude. That’s something that’s never been in short supply with me.” I tugged on my dog’s leash. “Let me feed Bernie and I’ll stop by in a few.”

A half hour later, I cringed as I opened the door to Natalie and Mo’s apartment and heard Nana’s voice. I went into the living room where I saw the elderly multi-millionaire was on the sofa with a couple of young men.

Before I could say hello, Natalie shoved a drink in my hand and whispered, “You’re gonna need a Harriett, just to deal with her.”

“What the hell happened to your hair?” Nana asked before I could acknowledge her and her youthful companions.

Mo, who had on a short red wig, dipped her head toward Nana and her two friends. “Nana brought part of her posse.” Her gaze came back over and fixed on my hair. “I like the new do.”

“I don’t,” Nana said. “You look like a lesbian. Did you switch sides?” Her entourage laughed.

I exhaled and tried to keep my voice even. “Robin worked his magic.” I decided that if there was anything that merited a Dirty Harriett, it was being around Nana. I took a sip of the drink. It was frothy, cold and delicious.

“Robin’s no Izzy,” Nana said, referencing Natalie’s magician boyfriend. “Your hair will look good in about six months, when it grows out.”

I ignored her as Mo rubbed her forehead and said, “Nana was in the neighborhood and dropped by with a couple of guys who are gonna be on her show,
Bedtime Stories.
”

“This is Tugboat and Fly,” Nana said by way of introduction.

I thought about asking about their names, but Nana continued, “The boys are gonna give up the goods about their lifestyle.”

I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but it had already opened long enough for me to take another gulp of my Harriett, so I asked, “What kind of lifestyle is that?”

“We’re gigolos,” Tugboat answered. He was a big guy who alternately flexed his biceps, making it look like he was suffering from some kind of strange muscular affliction.

“Tugboat’s renowned in certain circles, if you know what I mean,” Nana said. She looked at her other companion. “Fly, on the other hand, makes you want to swat him.”

“I’m what you would call persistent,” Fly said. He was smaller than his gigolo companion, with bulging eyes that maybe contributed to his nickname.

I took another sip of my Harriett, trying to suppress images of Tugboat and Fly in their chosen profession.

There was a knock at the door. Natalie answered it and in a moment introduced us to the celebrity chef, Marlon the Magnificent. She told us, “Marlon’s gonna make us one of his delicacies—a cream pie.”

Nana opened her mouth wide enough to pop her oversized dentures out of her mouth and belly laughed. “A cream pie, really?”

That was enough to set Mo into motion. Before Nana could say something inappropriate, she stood up and said, “You and the boys are gonna have to run along. This place ain’t big enough for all of us.”

Their apartment was tiny, but I knew what she’d said was just an excuse to get rid of Nana and her posse.

“We can take a hint,” Nana said, standing up. She smiled at the boat and the fly. “We’ve got other duties to take care of, anyway.”

Nana’s companions had a queasy expression as they followed her to the door, maybe anticipating a long night. When they were gone, Natalie served up another round of Dirty Harrietts. I knew better, but accepted a second drink.

“I got me a feeling we’re all gonna need a bunch of these to purge our minds of Nana and her posse,” Mo said.

“I personally consider it a case of child abuse,” Natalie said.

The celebrity chef went over to their kitchen where he brought out an assortment of pots and pans. Marlon was about sixty, bald, and looked like he was pushing three hundred pounds, maybe a testament to his culinary skills.

Marlon worked on his cream pie while I chatted with my friends. After a few minutes, we all joined him in the kitchen where he told us about his background. “I started out working for the studios as a kid. A few years later, I got a job helping out with the catering. In time, I began bringing my own recipes to the sets.” He used a whipped cream topping off his creation and added, “Voila! The rest, as they say is history.”

After garnishing his dessert, Marlon served up the delicacy. Mo took a bite of the pie and said, “I always say, there’s nothing like a good cream pie.”

“This is definitely the money shot,” Natalie added.

Marlon’s forehead became pinched and he looked at me, apparently unaware of the double entendre.

I changed the subject. “You must have known a lot of stars over the years, Marlon.”

He savored a spoonful of pie. “I’ve known my share, even some of the big ones.”

What he’d said struck a chord with me. I decided I had nothing to lose by asking, “Did you ever know a producer who worked at Wallace Studios about thirty years ago? His name was Donald Regis.”

“Donald. Of course, he was one of those larger-than-life executives. He had a lot of power.”

“It’s a shame about what happened to him recently.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “I mean, about him committing suicide.”

Marlon nodded slowly, but didn’t look at me. “If you say so.”

My forehead tightened. “What are you trying to say?”

“I heard…” He took a moment, savoring another bite of his dessert. “I just heard things may not have been as they appeared.”

I held on his eyes. “You mean, that it wasn’t a suicide?”

He nodded but otherwise didn’t respond.

I glanced at Natalie and Mo and looked back at him. I decided to ask him about the subject that was really on my mind. “What about Kellen Malone?”

Marlon’s expression was solemn. He said, “You know, don’t you?”

I nodded, playing along, but had no idea what he meant. “Tell me about what you heard.”

Marlon Pavarotti lowered his voice and his eyes swept over the room before he answered. “Just that somebody close to Malone made good on a long-standing promise.”

I looked at my friends, back at him. “What kind of promise?”

“To kill Regis.”

Dirty Harriett stood over me holding a drink. The woman, who looked remarkably like Clint Eastwood in a long brown wig, bent down to me and said, “You need to ask yourself one question, punk. Does it hurt? Does it hurt real bad?”

“Yessss,” I moaned and sat up on my bed. “It hurts like hell.”

I didn’t know how many Harrietts I had last night, but it was enough to leave me feeling like the most powerful handgun in the world had gone off in my head. I took a long, hot shower, and slogged off to work with Bernie.

As I drove, what Marlon the Magnificent had said about someone close to Kellen Malone making good on a promise to kill Donald Regis came to mind. Upon further questioning, Marlon had said he was speculating, based on rumors he’d heard about the group. He’d clammed up when I asked about Malone being involved in the Revelation, saying that he didn’t know if he had any association with them. I got the impression that the celebrity chef, like so many others, was terrified of the group and had no interest in talking about it.

After stopping for coffee, the pounding in my head lessened, until I pulled into the station parking lot and saw the camera crew unloading their equipment. I saw Shelia Woods waving to me from the sidewalk and my headache blossomed in all its former glory.

I glanced at Bernie in the rearview mirror as I pulled into a parking space and said, “Do you think it’s too late to call in sick, tell Oz that I was held hostage by Dirty Harriett last night?”

Bernie just licked the air, which I decided was his way of telling me, “Sorry, Kate. You play, you pay.”

I exchanged greetings with the reporter when we got to the building. As usual, Woods was wearing a designer outfit and looked like she’d just walked off the cover of Vogue. The star of
Hollywood Detective
was around thirty, with shoulder length blonde hair and perfect features. Her skin and makeup were flawless. The whole package made me feel like the ugly stepsister in need of a fairy godmother. Instead, I had Harriett pistol-whipping my brain.

“I see you’ve changed your hair,” Woods said, her blue eyes taking in my new do.

“Yes. I wanted something that was a little more manageable.”

“Interesting.” She turned and called over to the camera crew, telling them that I was one of the detectives on their show.

Interesting? What the hell does that mean?
I smiled when she looked back at me and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make sure my dressing room has my name and a star on the door. See you in a few.”

I found Leo was already at his desk. He glanced up at me, probably realizing I’d encountered the reporter. “I guess you’ve seen the army setting up in the parking lot.” He took in my new hairdo. “I like the new look.”

“Thanks. And, yes, I just ran into General Woods in the parking lot. She was setting up the heavy artillery.”

Leo smiled and changed the subject. “I got ahold of Vince Marsh a little while ago. He was less than thrilled about it, but agreed to meet with us this afternoon.”

“Any word from his father-in-law or on the phone tap?”

Leo shook his head. “Nothing. Maybe we’ve got this kidnapping angle all wrong.”

“Or maybe there’s something else going on that we’re not aware of.”

“As in?”

“Not sure, but I was thinking on the way into work that we should talk to Oz, maybe have Henry Montreal followed like we thought about before. He could put Darby and Mel on it.”

“Let’s stop by and see what he says on the way to the set.”

I smiled. “I can tell by your terminology that show business has already gone to your head.”

The lieutenant was headed downtown to meet with Captain Dembowski, but he agreed to our proposal, telling us that he’d make the arrangements for Darby and Mel to tail Montreal. Leo and I then took seats in his extended office with Selfie and Molly, who had already introduced themselves to Woods. Even though the bat cave was large, with Shelia Woods, the camera crew, their equipment, and Bernie, it felt cluttered and hot.

As the camera crew took their places, I made a suggestion as to how we could proceed. “Our crime analyst and secretary can go over the general facts of the case, if you agree. It will give your viewers a chance to see some of the Section One equipment and get some background on the investigation. We can then talk about specifics of working the case.”

“That’s fine, once the preliminaries are out of the way, I want to dig into the heart of things.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Leo and I agreed to her proposal.

Selfie began with the summary, using the overhead monitors to show pictures of the crime scene. Several of the shots were graphic, but Woods assured us they would be blurred out during the editing process.

“The victims were Walter and Maggie Potter,” Selfie said. Our crime analyst had worn a blue dress for the TV shoot and had removed her piercings. It was the first time I’d ever seen her in a dress and without the metal. “Walter was self-employed as an independent insurance broker in Hollywood. His wife helped out with the business. The coroner placed their time of death as sometime between eleven and four in the morning on the night of January 19
th
. The intruder entered the home by prying open the rear French doors to the residence. The victims’ ankles and hands were bound with a drapery cord, using what’s known as a diamond knot. They were subsequently beaten to death with a fireplace poker that was taken from the downstairs living room.”

“The knot used to tie them,” Woods said, “has that kind of knot been used in any similar crimes over the past several years?”

Molly, who was wearing a dark pantsuit, answered, “The knot’s more commonly known as a sailor’s knot. We’ve cross-referenced it with several databases, including NCIC, the National Crime Information Center compiled by the FBI. There’s nothing similar in the system.”

Woods looked at me. “Is this kind of knot used in the navy or maybe by fishermen?”

Luckily, I’d done my homework. “The knot’s origins go back hundreds of years. It was a common method a sailor would use to secure a knife around his neck for handy use. The tie is made by two cords entering from the top and two leaving from the bottom. It’s also known as a knife lanyard knot, so it’s possible that our suspect was in the navy or merchant marines.”

Selfie brought up a close-up of the knot on the monitor as Leo added, “The original detectives that worked the case looked at subjects who were in the navy on shore leave, or who had been recently discharged and might have lived nearby. They came up empty.”

Woods nodded at Selfie. “Go on.”

“As I mentioned, the Potters were beaten to death with a fireplace poker taken from the living room.” She used a remote and several graphic photographs of the victims’ bodies were displayed. If Woods was impacted by the images, she gave nothing up. “According to the coroner they would have quickly lost consciousness and succumbed to their injuries. There were no fingerprints, DNA, or other trace evidence left at the scene.”

“And the child…” Woods checked her notes. “Samantha. She didn’t hear anything?”

Molly shook her head and answered. “The home was a split wing. The girl’s bedroom was on the opposite side of the residence. According to the reports of the responding officers, she woke up just after seven to get ready for school. When her parents weren’t up, she checked the bedroom and found their bodies.”

“She then called her aunt who, in turn, called the police,” I added.

The reporter held on my eyes. “That must have been very traumatic for her.”

I knew it was Woods’ way of trying to emotionally impact her viewers. “I’m sure it was,” I said, at the same time knowing that she was using the tragedy for her own selfish ends.

Woods took a short break and said something to her principal cameraman about getting shots of the monitors. When the cameras were rolling again, she asked us, “Was anyone looked at as a possible suspect during the original investigation?”

Leo answered. “Family, friends, and neighbors were all interviewed, but no one appeared to have a motive.”

Woods looked at Selfie. “You said that Mr. Potter owned an insurance business. What kind of insurance did he sell?”

“Your typical policies—home, life, and auto. The business appeared to have its ups and downs. He also worked part-time as a night watchman for a prep school to make ends meet.”

“I’m assuming the school was contacted?” Woods asked me.

“It was part of the routine follow-up. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.”

The reporter took a moment, turning and nodding to her cameraman. I realized it was an unspoken signal for him to get a close up shot of her. She looked at me as the camera rolled. “So what you’re telling our viewers is that somebody walked in off the street, with no apparent motive, used an unusual knot to tie up the victims in their own bed, and beat them to death for no reason. It appears to me that something was missed by the original detectives assigned to the case.”

I took a breath and tried to keep my voice even, realizing that the other camera was filming me. “The investigation was conducted in a thorough and professional manner based on the facts of this case. If there is additional evidence, we’re determined to find it. Based on the facts that we currently know, nothing was missed.”

Woods sniffed. “We’ll see about that.” Her eyes bore into me, her tone taking on an accusatory edge. “What is your solve rate?”

“I’m sorry?”

She raised her voice. “What percentage of the homicides assigned to Section One are solved with the successful prosecution of a suspect?”

I had no idea what the answer to her question was. All I did know was that I wanted to murder her and add her to the statistics.

Leo saved me. “You’ll need to check with our captain regarding specific numbers of cases, but I think you’ll find the solve rate exceeds ninety percent.”

“That means that in ten percent of your cases someone gets away with murder.”

Leo’s ever-present smile remained. “It means that ten percent of those suspects are looking over their shoulders until we come for them. I think if you’ll check the facts, you’ll find that our conviction rate is equal to, or exceeds, almost any other department in the state.”

“I intend to do just that.” Woods looked back at me. “So, where do we go from here, Detective?”

I brushed my damp, short hair off my forehead and took a breath. “We plan to go back to the Potter residence, walk through the area where the crime occurred, and canvass the neighborhood again.”

“Isn’t talking to the neighbors again a waste of time, old ground that’s already been plowed?”

Leo answered. “Sometimes if you go back and plow the ground again, it turns up new growth.”

“Humph,” Woods said, expressing her disdain. “What about the child?”

“What about her?” I said.

“I want to interview her.”

“She’s a minor. That’s not possible.”

“It is if she gives permission and her guardian…” Woods checked her notes. “I believe she’s living with her aunt. If Samantha and her aunt agree, I intend to interview her.”

I just nodded and bit my tongue. I knew in that moment Shelia Woods had no real interest in solving this case or the welfare of Samantha Potter. All she cared about was sensationalizing a murder that had left a young girl’s life shattered and without her parents.

As the camera crew was packing up after the interview ended, Woods said, “Nice work, Kate. I think we work well together.”

Leo had already left the room as I picked up my briefcase and did my best to ignore her. She came over to me, cutting me off as I was about to leave. “What can you tell me about the Maria Chavez murder?

I met her eyes. “Nothing, since I’m not authorized to discuss that case with you.”

Woods wasn’t deterred. “If this is a murder-kidnap case, how do you suppose the ransom demand will be made?”

“I have no idea, and I’m not going to speculate.”

“But surely you’ve worked other kidnapping cases. I know that TV programs often sensationalize how these things are orchestrated. Just for background information, in your experience, how is a ransom demand usually made?”

I took a breath, remembering that she did have access to the brass and I needed to cooperate. “It’s usually far less dramatic than what you see on TV.”

“You mean, there will just be a phone call?”

I shrugged. “That’s likely.”

Woods smiled, and moved the discussion in a slightly different direction. “What about Vincent Marsh?”

“What about him?”

“I’m assuming you know about him cheating on his wife with the victim. How does that fit into your investigation?”

I stood there for a long moment, wondering if what she said was true and doing my best not to visibly react. I finally said, “Maybe you should ask Chief East, since he’s your friend.”