Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (10 page)

He scoffed. “Then clearly you don’t understand the term.” He turned away from me and shook his head.

It was common practice in police investigations to go over the details of a witness’s statement several times to make sure the story didn’t change and the details were consistent. Blake Lambert was consistent in what he told us, but impatient with the process. As we finished up, he made it clear that he had no further desire to talk to us.

“I won’t be answering my phone for a few days,” Lambert said. “I’ll be in seclusion.”

“Seclusion,” I said, as we stopped at our cars in the studio lot. It was mid-afternoon. The fog was starting to roll in from the ocean. “Why is it that people in Hollywood get to go into seclusion?”

“It’s obvious that you don’t like Blake Lambert,” Mel said. “I think his story is believable and consistent.”

Darby agreed. He looked at Leo, raising his thin brows.

Leo gave them his take. “I think the jury’s still out. More work’s needed.”

“As in?” Mel asked.

“Follow up on both Campbell and Morgan, the employees at the studio.”

“And, we need to canvass the neighborhood Campbell lived in,” I added.

Darby grumbled something about making sure the division of duties was fair before he and Mel left.

“Just once, I’d like to work a case without Darby taking exception to everything we do,” I said, after they were gone.

Leo smiled. “I’m afraid Mr. Hall would need a personality transplant for that to happen.” He held on my eyes for a moment. “You don’t believe Lambert, do you?”

I exhaled and took a moment to gather my thoughts. “I know it’s early in the investigation, and maybe it’s just a first impression, but I got an angry vibe off him. I also think there’s something that he’s leaving out of the equation.”

“You think he confronted Morgan about his intentions with his girlfriend?”

“Maybe. Morgan going into the garage for the hammer also doesn’t add up. Like you said, we need more work on everything.”

After settling Bernie into the back seat, and we began heading for the coroner’s office in Los Angeles, Leo got a call that his granddaughter was sick. We made a detour back to the station, where I dropped him off, then headed downtown. I got stuck in heavy traffic and was late for the autopsy.

I managed to find a technician to leave Bernie with, then met up with Darby, Mel, and Brie Henner in the autopsy suite. Brie was my friend, a tall African-American deputy coroner, who was almost exclusively assigned Section One cases because of her reduced workload. She was battling stage four metastatic breast cancer and had recently been accepted into a clinical drug trial. Her condition was fragile, and I worried about the toll the job was taking on her. By the time I arrived, she’d already completed Luke Morgan’s autopsy and was finishing up with Campbell Turner.

After she finished, Darby, Mel, and I took a seat in a conference room with Brie, where she went over her findings, starting with Morgan. “There were two separate wounds. The first was a non-fatal round that pierced the upper torso, missing any vital organs or arteries. The second round shattered the temporal lobe of the brain, causing massive hemorrhaging and damage. That wound was made at a much closer range than the first and would have been fatal.”

“Can you give us your best estimate how close Lambert would have been to Morgan when he fired the fatal round?” I asked.

“Based on the blood and tissue splatter patterns, I would estimate it was a matter of no more than a couple of feet.”

I looked at Darby and Mel. “Meaning Blake Lambert would have shot Luke Morgan once and then walked over and shot him again at close range.”

“Or, it could be that Morgan was still coming at him after the first round was fired and he had to shoot him again, just like he told us,” Darby said.

“The angle of impact would make that unlikely,” Brie said. “If it went down as you’re suggesting, Morgan would have had to turn away from Lambert just before the fatal round was fired into the side of his head.”

Mel looked at her partner. “The facts don’t lie. There’s a lot more to what happened than Lambert told us.”

I looked at Brie. “Anything else?”

She shook her bald head. “There was nothing in the tox screens that show he’d been drinking or using drugs.”

Brie put her glasses back on. “Let’s talk about Campbell Turner. The time of death is roughly consistent with that of Morgan, sometime between two and six in the afternoon. The cause of death was pretty much evident by what the responding officers found and reported at the crime scene. Our victim suffered blunt-force trauma from multiple hammer blows. There was brain matter and skull fragments found on the floor near the body. There were also defensive wounds on her arms, indicating she tried to fight back. Her death was the result of massive hemorrhaging from the hammer blows. This was a vicious, violent assault, and the perpetrator wanted to be sure the blows were fatal.”

“Any evidence on the body that ties the crime directly to Luke Morgan?” Mel asked.

Brie removed her gloves and shook her bald head. “There’s nothing obvious, but we did nail scrapings and will check for DNA.”

“So we’ve got nothing that we didn’t know before her autopsy,” Darby said.

Brie levelled her dark eyes on him. “I don’t want you to leave disappointed, so there is one other finding that’s noteworthy.”

“What’s that?”

“Our victim was a heroin addict.”

“The preliminary tox report shows that Campbell Turner likely injected heroin earlier in the same day she was murdered,” Brie said. “She had injection sites on both arms, some that were recent, indicating that she was highly addicted to the substance and probably using several times a week.”

My friend and I were at a small Mexican restaurant a couple blocks from her office after work. The traffic from downtown Los Angeles was terrible this time of day, so I accepted Brie’s offer of an early dinner. We were on the outdoor patio of the uncrowded eatery, where the owners had been kind enough to set out a bowl of water for Bernie.

I sipped my iced tea, then said, “Do you think it would be likely that her boyfriend would know she was using drugs?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it seems highly unlikely that he wouldn’t. As you’re aware, heroin is a drug that has to be made soluble before injection. The cooking process usually involves an open flame. The smell and the physical processes required to make it injectable would likely be known to him at some point, even if she attempted to conceal it. The drug also has extreme euphoric effects, along with sleepiness and drowsiness, not to mention the tolerance issues requiring larger dosages and the associated withdrawal symptoms.”

“I’ve never known an addict whose immediate family didn’t know they were using,” I said. “It all begs the question why Blake Lambert would conceal the fact that his girlfriend was an addict.”

Our conversation halted as a waitress brought over our food. After she left, Brie said, “Is it possible that Luke Morgan was Campbell’s drug supplier?”

“We need to go back to Lambert with what we now know, but that thought did cross my mind. If that was the case, it might even be that she owed Morgan money and there was a monetary issue associated with the crime. As Leo said to me earlier today, we have a lot more work to do.”

Brie sipped her iced tea. Her hand shook as she set the glass down. “What happened to Campbell is such a shame. I saw her show a couple of times when I was off work. She was a beautiful young woman.”

I knew the job and the drugs she was taking for her cancer were taking a toll on my friend. “How are you doing with returning to work?”

“I like being back and feeling productive, but it has been difficult. I’m learning to pace myself.” 

Brie’s daughter and boyfriend came to mind as I asked, “And Lily and Phyl?”

“They’re good. I’m getting lots of support.”

I reached over and touched her hand. “Have I told you lately that you’re one of the strongest, bravest women I’ve ever known?”

She squeezed my hand. “Thank you.” She was quiet for a moment before saying, “After coming so close to not making it, I’ve made as much peace as I can with everything. However my illness eventually goes, I’ve accepted it.”

I thought about my own near-death experience and how it had motivated me to come back to work. I told her about it, explaining, “I had a flashback to everything that happened while working a case a few days ago. I remembered being outside my body and hearing a voice.”

“A voice?”

I nodded. “I know it sounds strange, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think it was the voice of a child. It told me I had a choice to make. I think that choice involves choosing love over evil by continuing to try and make a difference for the victims in this world.”

Brie was quiet. When she finally spoke, I realized that what I’d said had touched her. “Did you ever think about what a lucky set of circumstances it is to be born into this world? Sometimes I think we’re like a mirror; a form of consciousness that is the universe looking at itself. We all have struggles in this life, but we share the same space that, for the briefest instant, is our shared existence. I believe there’s a moral imperative that comes with knowing that and realizing that we’re here to make a difference in the best way we can.”

I appreciated what she said. “You’re not only strong and brave, you’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever known. Thank you for your wisdom.”

As we finished our meals, the conversation eventually turned to Lindsay, my work with the feds, and the continuing fear that was being felt throughout the country from the attacks in Memphis and New York. I wrestled with the idea of telling her about Jenson Moore and his threat to kill my sister if I didn’t meet with him. I decided against it, knowing that if I told Brie about it, I would be placing her in a difficult situation.

Brie then changed the subject, asking me about Pearl.

“He’s still missing. I’m not sure what to think about what’s going on with him at this point.”

She finished her drink and set her glass aside. “Do you think…it is possible he was the one who shot Noah?”

I took a breath. “That’s what the investigators think, but it’s just speculation. If he was there, I don’t understand why he would leave the scene after I’d been attacked.”

The server came over and we settled the bill. As we were leaving the restaurant, Brie said, “Did you ever think our lives were full of a lot more questions than answers?”

I smiled and took her arm as we left the restaurant with Bernie. “Sometimes it feels like one big mystery.”

“This scene was captured on video by one of the passengers and has gone viral,” the reporter said. “The women reportedly remained near the railroad tracks for several minutes while they flashed the passengers going by.”

Bernie and I were with Natalie and Mo in their mobile home after work. We were with Nana and Howie, drinking something Natalie called a Troll, which she referred to as an Internet cocktail. I didn’t know exactly what was in it. All I did know was that Natalie said it took the edge off anything posted on the Internet that made you angry. Maybe that was because the drink tasted like it was about ninety proof.

We’d been discussing the fact that Boris had started moving his belongings into Nana’s house when the news segment came on TV and Natalie and Mo stopped talking to watch it. The reporter ended the segment by saying, “This is one of several incidents that have been occurring in and around Los Angeles recently. The group posts messages after what they call spontaneous flash ‘n’ dash activities that have included everything from public nudity to showing up at a hospital and giving thousands of dollars for a needy child’s medical care.”

When the segment ended, my friends smiled and exchanged knowing glances.

“Don’t tell me you two were part of that,” I said, referencing the news segment. “You do know that public nudity is a criminal offense.”

“Only if they catch you,” Natalie said.

“When’s the next flash ‘n’ dash?” Nana asked. “I want to come.”

“You’re too old to either flash
or
dash,” Mo said. “And we got us a certain reputation to maintain.”

“And,” Howie said, “some of us have considerable assets that we display during these events, and I’m not just talking about cash.” The handsome young man looked at me. “Why don’t you consider coming to the next dash?”

“Kate won’t even take her clothes off in a dark room,” Nana said. “And she’s about as spontaneous as a lazy dog.”

Bernie lifted his head, maybe taking exception to what Nana had said.

Our former landlord went back to the topic we were discussing before the news segment was aired, telling Natalie and Mo, “Boris’s makeover is this week, and I want to be sure he ends up looking like a movie star.”

“Not to worry,” Natalie said, “Mo and me got us some hedge trimmers and a weed whacker. Boris has himself a bad case of werewolf syndrome, but when we’re through with him, you won’t even recognize him.”

“I’ve agreed to come along and dress Boris,” Howie said. “I spent the day shopping for him.”

Howie seemed nothing like the man I’d met yesterday. Something about his demeanor reminded me of my brother.

“Are you gay?” I asked him out of curiosity.

“No.” Howie seemed genuinely upset with me as he added, “I’m bishounen, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I’d never heard the term that sounded vaguely like a dog species. “You’re what?”

“Howie’s a popinjay,” Natalie explained.

I was still confused. “Huh?”

“I’m nothing of the kind,” Howie said, taking exception to what Natalie said.

“Baby sis means he’s a dandy, like boy candy,” Mo said to me.

“A bishounen, for your information,” Howie said, “is a beautiful boy. It’s someone whose youth, beauty, and sexual appeal transcends gender or sexual orientation.”

“Can I lick you?” Nana said to him.

“No!” Howie shrieked. “And I won’t sit here and listen to my esthetic being disparaged.” He looked at my friends as he stood. “I’ll see you both at Nana’s place for the makeover.” He turned to Nana and me. “Good evening.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, after he was gone. “What happened to the finger-farting idiot I met last night?”

“MPD,” Natalie said.

I was tired of everyone speaking in code. “You need to spell it out for me.”

“Howie’s got Multiple Personality Disorder,” Mo said. “You never know exactly what personality’s going to show up.”

“I like tonight’s personality,” Nana said. “Do you think Howie could give Boris some pointers?”

“We’ll have to see what personality shows up for the makeover,” Mo said.

Nana sighed. “All right.” She rose and looked at me. “If you show up for Boris’s big reveal and coming out party, I don’t want you acting like a party pooper.”

I bit my tongue as she left, then said to my friends, “My Nana tolerance quotient is just about maxed out. Is it my imagination, or does she get more difficult with age?”

“She’s like a plum that’s startin’ to turn into a prune,” Natalie said. She looked at Mo. “We’d better work our magic on Boris, or she’ll really start to come unglued.”

“Boris will be like putty in our hands.” Mo’s dark eyes swung over in my direction and she changed the subject. “I heard you and Leo caught that Campbell Turner case.”

Mo, as usual, knew all about my cases, probably because Charlie was her source of inside information. The crime had also been all over the media, so I saw no harm in saying, “It was a pretty brutal crime.”

“Mo and me got some details you might be interested in,” Natalie said, as Bernie came over to her, looking for attention.

“Your victim had a little, no, make that a
big
habit,” Mo said.

I played dumb. “What are you talking about?”

“Smack.”

“Campbell was chasin’ the dragon,” Natalie agreed, as she ran a hand through Bernie’s fur.

“Any idea who her dealer was?” I asked them.

Mo answered. “Word on the street was that somebody at Klondike Studios was her supplier.”

“Do you think it might have been Luke Morgan?”

“That bloke that whacked her?” Natalie said.

After I confirmed what the media was reporting, Mo said, “I asked about him. He was a small-time user, but not a dealer. It had to be somebody else.”

I decided that Mo’s street contacts might be useful. “Maybe you could do me a favor and continue to work your sources.”

“We’ll put our ears to the ground, long as we’re not on a flash ‘n’ dash detail,” Natalie said.

“Speaking of putting our ears to the ground, baby sis and me were at the Pig ‘n Whistle today. One of the bartenders there said he saw Pearl.”

My interest and anxiety level spiked. “Are you sure?”

Mo nodded her big head, which was adorned with a red wig. “He said he recognized Pearl from when he worked the streets as a cop.”

The Pig ‘n Whistle was a landmark bar and restaurant, right on Hollywood Boulevard. It wasn’t far from the police station.

“Did the bartender talk to him?” I asked.

“I think they just said hello. He said Pearl got something to eat, then left.”

“Maybe you could put the word out with your sources that I want to talk to him.”

“Consider it done,” Natalie said. “We’re gonna find your daddy, no matter what it takes.”

I didn’t bother to again say that I wasn’t sure Pearl was my father, but I decided I would mention what they had found out to Leo in the morning. If we could work it into our schedule, maybe we could find the time to go by Pearl’s house. My friends then both said again they wanted to be close at hand when I met with Jenson Moore. I again put them off, telling them I was still considering my options.

I pushed my drink aside. “I think I’d better call it a night. Busy day tomorrow.”

“You didn’t finish your Troll,” Natalie said. “And you haven’t heard the latest on Izzy.”

“I’m trying to go light on the alcohol,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“We confirmed that he’s been shackin’ up with Doreen, that assistant of his. They got a magic performance on the street in front of his shop this weekend. Mo and me are gonna expose his dirty dealin’ and we want you to come along.”

I had no idea what they had in mind, but didn’t think I wanted to be a part of it. “I’m not sure…”

“You gotta go with us,” Mo said. “After we’re done with him, Izzy’s performance will never be forgotten.”

It was against my better judgment, but they’d agreed to help me out on my case and with finding Pearl, so I felt obligated to go. “All right, I’ll be there.”

I was headed for the door when I thought about them having inside sources at the police station. I said to them, “Tell me something. Is Charlie providing you with details about my cases?”

Mo shrugged and gave me a sheepish look. “Maybe just a couple of things. You know he likes to talk.”

I then remembered the medical problem he’d shared with me. “I guess you’ve heard about his condition.”

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout?” Natalie said.

I felt guilty about almost betraying his confidence. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

I heard Natalie say to Mo as I was leaving, “We’d better ask Charlie what’s going on. Maybe he’s got some kinda medical problem.”

As I let Bernie sniff along a flowerbed before turning in, it occurred to me that after my friends found out about Charlie’s
condition
, life would never be the same for Rudolph.