Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (26 page)

The puzzle pieces finally began falling into place for me, along with the horrifying reality of what had happened. As Patrick Hopkins wept like a child, I realized that our earlier scenario about how the crime went down had been way off base.

“Campbell’s mother hired you and Blake to kill her daughter, didn’t she?” I said.

Hopkins nodded, wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Victoria knew Bl...Blake and I were still friends, despite both of us having past issues with Campbell. She knew that with Blake and me it was always bros before hoes.”

I was disgusted by what he said, but kept quiet, wanting answers.

Hopkins went on. “Victoria and that asshole boyfriend of hers came up with the plan.”

“Darrin Stone?”

“Yeah, but Darrin didn’t think we could pull it off, so he killed Campbell before we got there, using a hammer Blake had left in the garage. Then he shot Morgan when he showed up, wiped the prints off the gun, and left it there along with the hammer, setting Blake up for both murders.”

I now made the connection between the artist’s rendering of the man the neighbor had seen at Campbell’s house and Darrin Stone. Victoria Turner’s boyfriend now had a shaved head and looked older than the man in the rendering, but I was sure he was the same man.

I sighed as the horrific nature of what happened hit me. “Campbell was so damaged by what her mother had done that she turned to drugs, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “She was in th...therapy for years and had finally had enough. She called her mother and told her she was going to the police and telling them everything. Victoria said she had no choice but to kill her.”

“And you and Blake agreed to take care of her to keep things quiet.”

“But I didn’t kill anybody.”

“You both took Victoria Turner’s money. You and Blake then planned the murder together and he went to her house with the intent to kill her. That makes you both culpable.” I felt nothing but contempt for him. “Tell me something: Who got Campbell pregnant?”

Hopkins’ gaze moved off for a moment. “It was Darrin. Campbell said he attacked her one night when he came by the house to fix something.”

“Why didn’t she go to the authorities?”

“I was angry about what happened and told Darrin what she’d said. He told me if she ever said anything to anyone, we would both regret it, so I talked her out of it.”

I now understood why the crime had been so vicious. Darrin Stone had raped Campbell and was enraged because he feared she would go to the police. If that happened, he knew the truth about what Campbell’s mother had done would also come out.

My contempt for Hopkins had now turned to anger as I spat, “You’re under arrest.”

“I...I didn’t kill her and you...you can’t arrest me.”

“Really?” I rose and pulled out my handcuffs. “Stand up and turn around.”

Even as Hopkins did as he was instructed, he whined, “You can’t do this.”

“I have no idea if the crimes went down as you said they did, but I do know this state has a penal code section known as conspiracy to commit murder. If I have any say in the matter, you’ll be charged under that statute and spend the rest of your rotten life in prison.”

***

That afternoon, after booking Patrick Hopkins into jail, Leo and I drove to Victoria Turner’s house, with Darby and Mel following us. While Bernie stuck his big nose between Leo and me from the back seat, I summarized what Selfie and Molly had sent to my phone.

“In 2004, Lilliana Duncan, age eight, was walking home from a friend’s house, when she was struck and killed in a crosswalk. Witnesses saw a newer model Toyota hit her and slow down, before speeding off. They didn’t get a license plate.” I exhaled, dragging a hand through hair that was a mess. “The investigation was closed as unsolved.”

Leo’s dark eyes found me. “Maybe there will finally be some closure for her parents.”

“Maybe, but with no one able to ID Victoria Turner as being the driver and only Hopkins’ hearsay statement about what Campbell reportedly told him, I doubt that anything will stick.”

“Do you think the DA can make the case against Hopkins for conspiracy?”

“I’ll do everything I can to push for it, but...” My chest rose and fell again. “We both know how these things sometimes go in court. I have no doubt that he’s also going to say his statements to me were made outside of Miranda.”

I knew that Patrick Hopkins’ lawyer would also try to plea bargain for a lesser charge, and maybe even leverage what he knew to turn state’s evidence against Turner and Stone in exchange for his freedom. While I despised Hopkins, I was less concerned about him than I was about Campbell’s mother and her boyfriend. I intended to do everything in my power to see that they were both convicted of first degree murder.

When we got to Victoria Turner’s house, we knocked on the door without getting an answer. I happened to notice that Bernie was turning his head from side to side, hearing something we couldn’t.

I bent down to my furry partner. “What is it, boy?”

Bernie moved off the porch, pulling me behind him as I held onto his leash. We followed him through a side gate, where we found Turner and Stone sitting by their backyard swimming pool. They looked over and saw us at the same time.

“What’s going on?” Turner said, as we approached.

“You murdered your daughter,” Darby said. “That’s what’s going on.”

As usual, Darby had managed to stir up what was already a potentially volatile situation. While Victoria fell on the ground weeping and claiming her innocence, Darrin Stone took off running, trying to get over a fence.

“Stop, or I release the dog!” I yelled.

When he failed to respond, I snapped off Bernie’s leash and gave him the attack command, “
FASS!
”

Stone had managed to get on top of the fence by the time Bernie reached him and clamped down on his leg, pulling him back into the yard.

“Get him off!” Stone screamed, as Bernie worked on his leg.

I went over and managed to get Bernie under control, while Leo got Stone in handcuffs.

“What’s this about?” Stone demanded, after we got him cuffed.

“It’s about you and Victoria conspiring to murder her daughter,” I spat.

“That’s crazy. We had nothing to do with what happened.”

“Just like you had nothing to do with the murders of Luke Morgan and Blake Lambert.”

Stone continued to claim his innocence, as I called for an ambulance to administer first aid. I then made my way over to Victoria Turner. Campbell’s mother was still on the ground, handcuffed, and crying her eyes out.

As I looked at her with contempt, it occurred to me that both Mel and I had been wrong. Instead of the sins of the father, Campbell Turner had suffered the sins of the mother. There was no greater betrayal.

I bent down to our wailing suspect and waited until her watery eyes found me. I then spoke for both Campbell Turner and Lilliana Duncan, victims who, in death, could never say what, in life, would not be silenced. “You are a monster.”

I got home around six after we booked Victoria Turner and Darrin Stone on multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder. Darby and Mel had been authorized to go back to Jimmy Castello and ask him what he knew about Campbell’s mother’s involvement in the hit and run accident years ago.

After lots of back and forth, Castello had finally admitted that his daughter had told him what happened. He said she’d never gotten over the incident and resented him keeping her mother’s secret. Castello agreed to testify against his ex-wife, saying it was long overdue for him to try and make things right. The world’s greatest detective had been married to a child killer and he’d helped cover up the crime.

There had also been some fallout over Edna letting me work the case. My sojourn over the pier railing and encounter with Hopkins while he was in the water had been captured on TV. I was told Chief Dunbar was livid about my involvement. I didn’t know whether the fallout would be coming my way or Edna’s, but I was prepared for the worst.

I was exhausted by the time I’d fed and walked Bernie. I slipped into a pair of sweat pants and was looking forward to a quiet night with mindless TV and a glass of wine when Natalie and Mo showed up at my door.

“We gotta go,” Natalie said. “The show starts at eight.”

“What show?”

“Izzy’s magic show. He’s performing on Hollywood Boulevard in front of his store, and Howie’s promised that payback we’ll never forget.”

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” I went over and slumped down on the sofa. “I’m exhausted.”

Mo grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up. “What’s the matter with you? You gotta be there for baby sis. You’re like her big sister. You can’t just abandon her.”

Mo should have been a motivational speaker. I surrendered to my fate, telling them, “Give me a minute to change.”

A few minutes later, after leaving Bernie with a friend, I was in the back seat of Mo’s older model big red Cadillac, headed for Hollywood Boulevard.

“What exactly does Howie have planned for tonight?” I asked them.

Natalie answered. “Izzy’s got an encore he always does at the end of his show. Howie said it’s gonna be a finale no one will ever forget.”

When we got to the street in front of Izzy’s magic shop, I saw that a stage had been set up and the street was cordoned off. A good sized crowd had already gathered for the performance. We had just taken seats in front of the stage when I heard a voice behind me that reminded me of a dentist’s drill.

“This better be good,” Nana said. “If Izzy doesn’t end up being the laughingstock of Hollywood, I’m going to want my money back.”

I turned and saw that she was with her new roommate, Boris, or, as he was probably now known in rap circles, J-Bo. I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing at Nana’s date.

“He’s dressed like that Johnny Depp character they got at Disneyland,” Natalie whispered to me.

Mo put it more bluntly. “He looks like a mad pirate with a giant Brillo pad on his head.”

There was some truth to both their comments. Boris was dressed in a blousy white shirt, knee britches, and a red scarf around his giant pile of black hair. He regarded us with the wide, astonished eyes of someone who looked like a maniac, or maybe somebody contemplating our murders. If there was ever a case of Transylvania meets Hollywood, this was it.

“I am expecting a good show, too,” Boris said, in a voice that made me think when he smiled, he might have fangs.

“How are things working out with the new living arrangements?” I asked him and Nana.

Nana answered. “We’re settling in like a young couple on their honeymoon.”

Natalie put a finger in her mouth, simulating a gagging reflex. I nudged her with an elbow as Nana went on. “We’re planning on doing a complete remodel of the place.”

“We are going for a neo-gothic look,” Boris said. His lips parted. I think it was a smile. I couldn’t help but look for fangs.

“Why don’t you just put in a graveyard and one of them mausoleums, and call it done?” Mo said.

Nana scowled at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to pimp out the crib. With J-Bo’s new career, he has a certain image to maintain.”

“You mean like as a zombie pirate?” Natalie said.

I nudged her harder. “I’m sure whatever you do to the place will be an improvement.”

It was my turn for a Nana death-stare. She said to her date, “That one is a loser magnet, always on the rebound. Watch out for her.”

I was angry over her comment, but got distracted when there was an announcement that the show was starting. Izzy then appeared on stage with his blonde assistant, Doreen Drake. They took several bows as the crowd cheered.

“That’s the floozy who stole Izzy from me,” Natalie said to me. “Do you think her tits are fake?”

“I’m sure they are,” I said, just to make her feel better.

“Betcha she farts like thunder, too.”

“No doubt.”

“And snores.”

I shrugged, but kept quiet. Natalie went on, listing a host of issues that she speculated Doreen had, everything from hemorrhoids to lice.

We spent the next hour watching as Izzy Cluck performed every magic trick I’d ever seen on TV, with the help of his big breasted, farting, hemorrhoid suffering, lice infested assistant. I had to admit that Izzy was a good performer, sawing, slicing, dicing, and even impaling Doreen, all to the amusement and enjoyment of the crowd.

The show was winding down when Howie appeared from behind the stage and took a seat near us. I wasn’t sure if it was part of the magic act as one of Izzy’s assistants, but his hair was bright green, and he was wearing red lipstick and black eyeliner. He looked suspiciously like the Joker, Batman’s adversary.

Howie then looked over at me, opened his mouth, and I realized he had indeed assumed the personality of Batman’s nemesis. “How’s it going, sugar bumps?” His voice was high-pitched and a little maniacal.

“What you doin’ here?” Natalie said. “You’re supposed to be workin’ on that payback.”

Howie, or the Joker, looked at the stage, where Izzy’s last magic act was underway. He cut his eyes back to Natalie. “What you’re about to see will be a form of exquisite torture.” His red lips parted, and his eyes grew wider. “There’s a reason they call me the Joker.”

I had no idea what he was talking about and had a thought that he truly might be mad. As Izzy’s last act ended, Howie left us and went backstage. The announcer then took over again.

“Would you like an encore?” he asked the audience.

The crowd cheered, shouted out its desire to see more. Doreen then appeared on stage, clapping her hands and encouraging the audience to stand.

“Betcha she’s also got warts,” Natalie said. “And maybe worms.”

Everyone around us stood and started clapping and chanting for Izzy to appear on stage again. Only Natalie, Mo, and I remained seated.

“What’s the matter with you?” Nana said from behind us. “You three are a bunch of party poopers.”

“Poopahs,” Boris agreed, in an accent that reminded me of an old actor who had played Dracula.

The announcer pointed toward the top of the stage, where there was a contraption that looked like a large fish tank wrapped in chains. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see what is perhaps the greatest magic trick ever created: The Chinese Water Torture.”

We all watched as Izzy appeared on a platform. He was manacled and lowered head-down into the water-filled tank as the announcer continued. “You will be witnessing the impossible made possible.”

After Izzy had been locked into the water tank, a black curtain came down, covering everything, as the announcer counted off the minutes. After five minutes of waiting, and anxious shouts from the crowd about Izzy’s safety, the announcer looked up at the curtain shrouded tank and said, “It is virtually impossible for anyone to survive this encounter.” He turned to the crowd and added with a flourish, “But as I said, you are about to see the impossible!”

What happened next was both impossible and perhaps the world’s greatest payback from a jilted lover. I happened to glance behind us and realized that Nana was now alone. I had a thought that maybe Boris had gone home early. The announcer then drew my attention back to the performance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we are out of time.” He then turned to Doreen and the other assistants, which I saw for the first time included Howie. “Get him out, NOW!”

There was lots of frantic activity, which included stagehands pulling on ropes and cables to lower the water tank. They seemed to be in a state of panic, which I assumed was all part of the act. When the curtain came down and the tank was revealed on the stage, the audience gasped in unison.

“It is empty,” the announcer exclaimed in feigned astonishment. “This is impossible!”

A spotlight came on at the far end of the stage, and another curtain was slowly lowered. My mouth fell open as everyone around me, including Natalie and Mo, roared with laughter. It occurred to me that the original intention of the trick was to have Izzy appear beneath the spotlight, maybe with Doreen, unfazed and smiling, after escaping the water torture. But this was a trick where Howie, as the Joker, was now in control.

“It’s Boris,” Natalie said, pointing at Nana’s beau.

“He’s wearin’ a diaper, suckin’ on a pacifier, and sittin’ in Izzy’s lap,” Mo said.

Not only was Boris sitting in the magician’s lap, Izzy Cluck had made a lasting impression on the crowd for another reason: He was totally nude.

After Boris stood and stomped off the stage, probably to look for his clothes, Izzy was left baring his meager assets for all the world to see.

“There must have been some ice-cold water in that fish tank,” Mo said, as Izzy attempted to cover what little he had, “‘cause
that’s
what you call
shrinkage
.”

“He never had much to begin with,” Natalie said. She raised her voice, telling the audience, “He looks like a girl. Maybe he’s like one of them dogs that’s been neutered.”

Only Nana seemed unhappy with the outcome of Natalie’s revenge. “This is an outrage. We’re going to sue!”

As the crowd continued to roar with laughter, and Izzy ran for cover, Mo summed up our evening. “I guess we all know where the real magic happens. And that’s ‘bout the ugliest and smallest bit of magic I ever seen.”