Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (16 page)

Adriana Montoya was in a recording session with some other musicians at Selma Studios in Hollywood. The youthful singer greeted us warmly and told her companions to take a break. She then took us to the roof of the studio, where there was a table and chairs on a small terrace overlooking the city.

“It seems like an eternity since I was in Skylar with Campbell,” Adriana told us, after we took seats. Her eyes fell on Bernie. “Is he…can I pet him?”

“Of course,” I said. “He’s very friendly when he’s not chasing bad guys.”

She took a moment, brushing a hand through Bernie’s fur. I then said, “Can you tell us about Campbell, what she was like during the time she was in the program?”

Adriana had dark skin and beautiful chocolate eyes. Her hair was shoulder length and swept to one side. I had a thought that she could be both a model and a singer.

“She was a mess…” Her gaze moved off. “But, we both were a mess. It was a bad time.”

“What kind of drugs was she using at the time?”

“A little of everything, some marijuana and some crank.”

“What about heroin?” Mel asked.

“Probably…but I can’t remember for sure.”

“Did she ever confide in you or speak about why she was using?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. It had something to do with her father.”

If Jimmy Castello was having relationship problems with his daughter, I doubted that would play very well with our chief or the public. “What did she say about their relationship?”

“That it was ugly, and she hated him.” She laughed. “It was something we had in common. My dad is also an asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I’ve worked through it and I’ve been sober two years, three months, and twenty-one days.” She beamed a smile.

“Congratulations.” We chatted about her sobriety for a moment. I then said, “Campbell’s father was a TV star; he played a detective. Did she ever mention that?”

She nodded. “I remember Campbell once saying something about him being about as far from a cop as you could get. She also said he was a big liar.”

“A liar? Did she say what he lied about?”

“Just that his whole life was one big lie. She hated his guts.”

“What about her mother?” Mel asked. “Did she ever mention her?”

Her eyes lost focus, and she thought for a moment. “Yeah, she said something about her being a drunk and cheating on her dad.”

“Did she say anything about who she was involved with?”

“Not that I remember.” She took a moment, maybe thinking about what Campbell had told her. “All I know is that she had issues with both her parents.”

A half hour later, as Mel drove us to Klondike Studios, we talked about what Montoya had said.

“It sounds like Castello has led a double life all these years,” I said. “On screen, he’s a hero detective, and off screen, he’s a lousy parent.”

“So it would seem.”

“And mom was, maybe still is, an alcoholic.”

Mel was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you think all men are like that—cheaters and liars?”

I chuckled. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. I don’t have a very good track record, and you know my ex was caught on tape screwing his secretary at the DA’s office.”

There was a long silence before she said, “Our new chief fits the mold—being a liar and cheater, I mean. I couldn’t work in the same building with him.”

“I’m sorry.”

She took another moment, then brushed a tear. “We were involved a few years ago. He made a lot of promises, none that he kept.” She glanced at me. “It turned out he was cheating on me the whole time we were together.”

“I know the type,” I said, thinking about Noah cheating on me with Harlee Ryland.

“He uses drugs.”

What she said got my full attention. “I’m sorry?”

“On women.” She met my eyes. “It probably doesn’t happen as often now, but back when he worked Vice, he used date-rape drugs on the women he slept with. It was all covered up, and some of them were paid off to go away.”

“If that’s the case, then he has no business being chief.”

“He should be in prison, but…” She drew in a breath. “We all know life isn’t fair.”

She went on for a few minutes, giving me more details than I needed about what Dunbar had done to various women over the years. It not only made me angry, it again made me realize he had no business being a law enforcement officer, let alone chief. I was wondering if the mayor knew about his indiscretions as Mel went back to talking about Campbell Turner.

“Do you think there’s more to her relationship with her father?” Mel asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you think he sexually abused her?”

I took a moment, mulling over what she’d said. I was usually a pretty good judge of character. When we’d interviewed Jimmy Castello a few days earlier, he seemed forthright and genuine. I got nothing in the way of a vibe off him that he could have molested his daughter. Even so, I knew that we all sometimes make mistakes when it comes to judging others, and I certainly had my priors.

I finally said, “I don’t want to believe the world’s greatest detective was a child molester, but it would explain Campbell’s depression and use of drugs. And we’ve all seen our share of drug addicts who were molest victims.”

She nodded as we pulled up to the guard shack and saw that Darby was in the car ahead of us, waiting to be let into the studio. “Let’s keep it in mind. If the bastard did it, then the world needs to know that Detective Skip Conrad is the world’s biggest liar and a child molester.”

We met up with Darby in the parking lot of Klondike Studios. After checking in with a receptionist, we were escorted to Hannah Montague’s office. I introduced Mel and Darby to her, and soon realized she was still reacting to yesterday’s arrest of Garth Henry.

“Everyone here is extremely upset that Garth is no longer with us,” Montague said, brushing a hand through her purple hair. “He was like family.”

“Yeah, the drug dealing uncle,” Darby said. “How many of your employees were buying drugs from him?”

Montague glared at him. “I don’t believe most of our staff uses drugs.”

“They don’t any more…”

“Enough,” Mel said, locking eyes with her partner. I got the impression her patience with Darby was growing thinner by the day. She looked at Montague and released a breath. “Let’s start over.” She cleared her throat, then went on. “Is there anyone here, who was close to Campbell, who might know about her personal life?”

The studio vice president took a moment, then said, “You might talk to Donna McBride, she’s the makeup artist for
Stolen Desires.
She would have seen Campbell every day.”

After some chit-chat, and death stares aimed at Darby, Montague had an assistant lead us to McBride’s office. Darby stomped off, apparently upset with his partner, telling us he was going to talk to staff on the set of Campbell’s show.

As we followed the assistant, I commented on Darby’s actions, telling Mel, “He doesn’t seem happy with the way the investigation is going.”

“He’s never happy unless he’s in control and pushing someone around. I’m tired of it. I think it’s time I had a talk with Edna about him.”

“I understand,” I said, suppressing the desire to do a happy dance.

Campbell Turner’s makeup artist worked in a small salon that was shared by several shows in production at the studio. We waited until she finished touching up an actress’s makeup, then met with her in a small nearby office. McBride was a heavyset woman in her forties, with a pleasant, easy-going manner.

She told us she hadn’t slept since learning of Campbell’s murder. “I keep thinking she’s going to walk through the door every morning and sit in my makeup chair. We were pretty close.”

“Tell us about her,” Mel said. “What was Campbell like?”

She took a moment, her eyes misting over. “I guess you could say she was like the sister I never had. She was kind and generous.” She held up her little finger. “She gave me this friendship ring on my birthday.” Tears started to fall. “I miss her so much.”

We gave her a moment, then Mel asked, “What was her relationship with Blake Lambert like?”

She found a tissue in a dispenser and steadied her emotions. “He was a cheater. If…if she hadn’t died, I don’t think they would have stayed together.”

“Do you know who he was seeing?” I asked.

“His ex…not sure of her name.”

“Alexis Teller?” Mel asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, Alexis.”

“And Campbell,” I said, “how was she dealing with what was happening?”

McBride took a breath, released it slowly. “I heard about Garth’s arrest, so you already know about the drugs.”

“Was she a heavy user?”

She shrugged, her gaze moving away. “I’m not sure, but…I think it took its toll.”

“Was Campbell seeing anyone besides Blake?” Mel asked.

McBride’s heavily shadowed eyes came over to her and she nodded. “There was somebody, but I’m not sure who.”

“What about Luke Morgan?”

She laughed. “Definitely not. He was just a kid.”

“What did Campbell say about this guy she was seeing?” I asked.

“Just that…he was somebody from her past who had come back into her life.”

We pressed her for details, but she couldn’t give us any. Mel then asked about her suspicions that Campbell’s father might have molested her.

“I know there were problems in their relationship,” McBride said, “but she never talked about anything like that.” Her eyes fixed on Mel. “Do you really think the bastard did that?”

Mel glanced at me, then told McBride, “We’re just covering any possibilities. Please keep what we’ve discussed confidential.”

We had finished the interview and were about to leave when McBride called out to us. “There is something else I should probably mention.”

We walked back over to her. “What’s that?” Mel said.

The makeup artist lowered her voice. “It happened three months ago, but Campbell was still pretty upset about it.”

“What happened?”

McBride brushed a tear and lowered her voice. “Campbell was pregnant, but she miscarried.”

It was after four by the time we all got back to the station. Edna was in a meeting at the PAB, so we agreed to update him first thing in the morning. Darby was still in a snit, so he and Mel went behind closed doors for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure how things went, because they both left early.

Before leaving the station, I took a minute and called Leo, asking him about his granddaughter.

“Meg’s doing a little better, but they’re still running some tests. I’m going to take another day off and hang around here.”

“Take all the time you need, we’re still plowing ground on Turner and the others.” I took a moment and filled him in on our meeting with Luke Morgan’s mother and Campbell’s makeup artist. “I think Morgan might have been infatuated with Campbell, but that’s the extent of it. As for Donna McBride, she confirmed that Lambert was cheating with his ex and said Campbell was also seeing someone.”

“Did she know who?”

“No, but she said Campbell was pregnant and miscarried about three months ago. She was still having trouble dealing with it.” I then filled him in on Mel’s theory that her father had molested her as a child.

“No one wants to think about America’s greatest detective being a child molester, but it would explain her drug use,” Leo said. After a moment, he said, “What about going back to Castello?”

“It’s all a matter of politics. We’ll ask Edna about it tomorrow.”

We chatted a few minutes longer before I ended the call and decided to call it a day. I was headed for the parking lot with Bernie when I ran into Woody and Harry.

“Don’t tell me, you miss this place,” I said, smiling at them.

“Like crazy,” Woody said. He glanced at Harry, then said to me, “Got a minute?”

“Of course.”

The station was nearly deserted by the time we took seats in a small conference room. I saw that Woody had a manila envelope with the photographs Leo and I had found in Pearl’s cottage.

“Does this subject look familiar to you?” Woody asked, pointing out a man in one of the black and white photos.

The man in question looked to be in his mid-twenties at the time the photo was taken. He had wavy dark hair, and was standing behind Pearl with several other subjects. The photograph had probably been taken in a restaurant or a bar.

I studied the image for a long moment, then said, “I don’t think so. Do you know who he is?”

“We think he was a cop who went missing just before your adoptive father was murdered. His name was Tom Knight.”

“Went missing?” I said, looking at him and Harry. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Harry answered. “He was an officer with a couple of years on the force at the time. Knight was on patrol in the hills when he went silent. Dispatch called him several times, but there was no response. They sent another unit and found his patrol car parked on the side of the road, but there was no sign of him.”

“He was never seen again,” Woody said.

I studied the photograph again. “What do we know about him?”

“He was single, never married. His parents are deceased, no siblings. His last known address was off Sunset, in the Silver Lake District.”

“We talked to Stan Dukes, a retired officer who worked with him,” Harry said. “He said Knight and Pearl were friends. He thought Knight also knew John, your adoptive dad.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked them, knowing there was more.

The two detectives exchanged a look. Woody answered. “We’re not sure. It’s just that…” He picked up the photograph. “…Knight goes missing under some strange circumstances a couple of months before John. He knew both Pearl and your dad. We’re thinking it might be more than a coincidence, that there might be some connection.”

They had left something out in their scenario, so I filled it in. “As in, maybe my adoptive dad told Knight what he knew about Ryland and Russell embezzling from the studios.”

Harry nodded. “Maybe. And maybe also about what really happened to Jean Winslow. It could be that’s why Knight went missing.”

I took a moment, trying to come to terms with everything. “As always, there are a lot more questions than answers.”

Woody pushed his blonde hair off his forehead and agreed with me. “And, the more I work this case, the more I’m convinced we won’t know the real story until we find Pearl.”

We spent a few minutes longer, discussing the photograph and the strange disappearance of Tom Knight. Woody had some extra copies of the photograph and left me the one with Knight.

As we were leaving the station I said, “Leo’s on leave, but I’ll ask him about the photograph. Maybe he remembers Knight.”

As I left the station and drove home, I tried to come to terms with what I’d learned. There was only one explanation for an officer abandoning his patrol car in the middle of a shift and never being seen again. It meant that someone had made him go away—forever. My mother then came to mind. If both Pearl and my adoptive father had known Tom Knight, it seemed possible that Mom had also met him.

Mom and I hadn’t been on good terms in recent months. My investigation into my adoptive father’s murder had revealed that she’d had an affair with Ryan Cooper, the man who had murdered him while working as a hit man for Harlan Ryland and Collin Russell. I had no doubt that Cooper had manipulated her into the relationship as a payback for my father being involved with Judie Crawford at one time, the same woman Cooper had later married. Despite knowing that, her actions were something that I still found impossible to get past.

The fiasco at our family reunion had also done nothing to improve our relationship. Mom had blamed me for Natalie and Mo revealing my brother-in-law’s past relationship with an escort. We had talked a few times since then, but our conversations had been strained.

Since Mom’s house was on my way home, I decided to stop by and ask her about Knight. My mother had always been a little on the eccentric style. She’d been what you might call a hippie in the sixties, and in recent years had claimed she had some connections to the psychic world.

Bernie and I found Mom in her spirit room, as she called it, with a woman she introduced as Francesca.

“Francesca is a soothsayer and clairvoyant,” Mom explained. “She’s doing some readings for my friends this weekend if you’d like to stop by.”

I greeted her friend and said, “Thanks, but I have other…”

“There is no need for you to make another trip,” Francesca said to me. “I can tell you what you need to know right now.”

Francesca was a large woman, who wore a flower print dress and a headscarf. Her dark skin and accent made me think she might have some Caribbean heritage. Her voice was deep and a bit ominous, like she might actually have some connection to the spirit world.

“You might want to sit down,” Mom said. “Francesca is known for being very direct.” She took Bernie’s leash from me. “I’ll take him for a walk and leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

I knew that if I wanted to talk to Mom, I’d needed to hear what Francesca had to say first. Despite my best efforts, my anxiety was rising as I took a seat across from her strange friend. I settled in, taking several breaths to try and calm myself.

Francesca studied me with a serious expression for a long moment before speaking. “You have travelled a very long road, my child. And many more await. Are you prepared for what is to come?”

How in the hell did I end my day with a soothsayer?
I swallowed and tried to keep my voice even. “I believe so.”

“Your mother has told me about your father—both fathers, as well as your biological mother.”

I nodded, annoyed with Mom for sharing our personal family details, but now curious what Francesca had to say. I decided to be direct with her. “Then you know I’m trying to find my biological father.”

Her dark eyes remained fixed on me. “Your life is not about your father, my child. It is about power.”

I studied her for a long moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You are here to reclaim your power, the same power that is the right of all women.”

What she said was surprising and made an emotional connection with me. My defenses came down, and I said, “Sometimes, I feel completely lost…”

“Of course you feel lost. That is because you don’t understand the struggle.”

“The struggle?”

She reached over and took my hand. “Your struggle is not one about good and evil, it is about you as a woman, finding your inner strength and God-given goodness to do what is right in this world.”

I took a breath, knowing in my heart she was right. “How do I....” I gulped in another breath. “How…how do I find my inner strength?”

“You already know the answer to your question.” I had no idea what she meant until she went on. “You can only find your way back, to what is right, by first being lost.” She squeezed my hand. “And, there are a million ways to get lost in this life. We get lost in relationships, in family problems, in superficiality, and we also get lost by not accepting our responsibility to do what is right in this world. The road you have travelled has helped you understand that you cannot abdicate your responsibility. You have to find your way back, by following the path of power. It is the same path of power and goodness that resides in all women of this world.”

I teared up as the truth about what she’d said struck home. I reached over and hugged her. “I’ll try. I promise, I’ll try.”

We held one another for a long time. After we finally parted, I saw for the first time that Francesca had a big smile on her face. “There is one more thing I have to tell you, my child. The rest you must learn on your own.”

“What’s that?”

“Your father is alive.”