Hollywood Taken Read online

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  FIFTY

  HOLLYWOOD TAKEN

  MZ Kelly

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  NEW MYSTERY SERIES

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  ONE

  “Play that funky music, white girls,” Mo sang to me and Natalie as we danced, altering the words to an old song the DJ was playing.

  We were in a packed nightclub called the Velvet Rabbit, a block off Sunset. The former warehouse had been converted into one of the trendiest nightspots in Hollywood a few months back. I’d reluctantly agreed to go with my roommates only because Natalie was performing a standup comic routine with Mo’s Uncle Fred. An hour after arriving, I was slightly drunk and dancing around the club in a slinky red dress Natalie had picked out for me.

  Mo’s Uncle Fred made his way onto the dance floor, giving us a disapproving stare. Fred was in his eighties, skinny, with sparse white hair. He was also one of the grumpiest men in the known universe. After being an unwelcome house guest of ours for several days, he’d recently moved in with our former landlord Nana, saving himself from being murdered by Natalie and me.

  “You girls dance like you’ve got a butt rash,” Fred said over the blare of the music as he shuffled his feet to the music.

  Natalie glared at him. “Yeah, will you look like Goofy doing the Hot Dog Dance. For a black man, you got about as much rhythm as a one-legged zombie.”

  That comment led to what Natalie and Fred called a verbal beat down. It was all preparation for a nightclub act they called a Beatdown, Showdown where they insulted one another to the cheers of the crowd. As my friend and Fred exchanged insults, the verbal jousting grew louder until they wrapped their hands around one another’s neck and went down, grappling on the floor. It was all for show, Natalie and Fred working the crowd into a frenzy, like a couple of wrestlers warming up for the main event.

  My phone rang as Natalie and Fred started throwing punches and using words that would probably make Howard Stern blush. I managed to make my way off the dancefloor to an alcove where I answered the call.

  “I’m afraid we caught a case, Kate,” I heard Olivia Quest say.

  Olivia and I worked Robbery-Homicide out of Hollywood Station. She was in her mid-thirties, a couple years older than me, and African-American. We’d become good friends in the few weeks we’d been working together.

  I groaned. “Why is it that people who die have the world’s worst timing?”

  “I’m not sure. You would think they would be more considerate.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “All I know is that there’s body over at the Crosby on Argyle. The responding officers say it’s a girl, probably in her late teens.”

  “I’m at the Velvet Rabbit off Sunset.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a party animal.”

  “My friend Natalie’s doing that standup comedy routine with Mo’s uncle that I mentioned the other day. Do you think you can pick me up?”

  “Be there in twenty.”

  After ending the call, I used the club’s facilities. I always carry a small bag with toiletries, so I took a couple minutes to wash up and use some mouthwash to try and regain my sobriety. I then did what I could with shoulder length dark hair that always seemed to have a mind of its own. After some lipstick and eyeliner, I took stock of myself. The young woman who stared back at me in the mirror had even features and green eyes. She was presentable, for someone who needed a good night’s sleep and an outfit that could be worn to a homicide scene.

  While I was in the restroom, Mo stopped by and asked me what was happening.

  “Olivia called,” I explained. “We’ve got a body over at the Crosby, so I probably won’t be home until morning.”

  “Too bad. I think Baby sis and Uncle Fred are gonna bring the house down tonight.”

  “It looks like quite the crowd out there. Just make sure they don’t hurt one another.”

  Mo scoffed. “Not gonna happen. I think in some ways they actually like one another.” She studied me in the mirror for a moment. “You okay, sweetheart?

  Mo, along with Natalie, was my best friend, someone who could always read me like a book. I blinked, realizing my eyes were misting over. “I guess I’m still pretty down about getting Daniel’s recording.”

  Daniel was my adoptive father’s son, someone I’d never met. He was the product of my dad’s affair with a teenage girl, born out of wedlock, and put up for adoption when he was a baby. I’d only recently learned about his existence. That was before he sent me the first in what he said would be a series of recordings, telli
ng me about his life. That recording had ended with him telling me that he was dead, something I was still trying to get over. I speculated he’d been murdered by Harlan Ryland and his granddaughter, Harlee. The Rylands were terrorist, the same people who had killed my adoptive father. More about them later.

  Mo came closer and hugged me. “It’s a tough one, but maybe...” She cleared her throat, apparently searching for the words to console me. “...maybe things didn’t go the way you think, despite what was on the tape.”

  “Do you think it’s possible my brother could still be alive?”

  “‘Course. And, baby sis and me have made it our highest priority to find him.”

  I returned her hug. “Thanks. Have I ever told you that you guys are the best?”

  “Yeah, but keep it up. My self-esteem is in the crapper and I need all the help I can get.”

  I walked away, thinking that if anyone in the world had low self-esteem, it wasn’t Mo Simpson. My friend was a former pimp, who had helped get girls off the stroll. Mo was in her thirties, heavyset, and prone to using both verbal and physical persuasion as the need arose. Natalie Bump was her opposite. She was in her early twenties, blonde, and British. My friends were private investigators and part-time actors on a cable TV sit-com called Hollywood Girlz. The one characteristic they did share was a take-no-nonsense attitude that almost always got their point across.

  We’d been roommates for the past few weeks, sharing the rent at a place called the Craven House in the Mount Olympia neighborhood of Hollywood. A young man named Bobby Craven had murdered his family in the home several years ago, giving credence to the lore that it was haunted. I personally hadn’t seen any ghosts, other than a man named Otto Culpepper who was living in the attic when we arrived. He’d attempted to scare us away, but had failed miserably. His penance was to become our personal butler, agreeing to work gratis to make amends for his failings.

  Olivia pulled to the curb a couple of minutes after I left the nightclub. As she pulled away from the curb and I buckled up, she said, “Looks like a packed house.”

  “Word has gotten out on social media about the performance.” My thoughts went to Bernie, my canine partner who was home with Otto, and the short dress I was wearing. “Do you think we could dash by my place so I can pick up Bernie and change. We’re just a couple minutes away.”

  She made a U-turn. “Consider it done.”

  My furry partner was the first-ever canine to work homicide. Bernie and I had been together for several years, starting out in patrol. While he was an excellent partner, there were also times when he had a mind of his down, especially when it came to the opposite sex. He had a healthy dose of wanderlust, something that seemed to fit in with my roommates.

  We took the short detour to pick up Bernie. I then changed into pants, a blouse, and blazer, and we hit the road again. As Olivia drove, I asked her if she knew anything more about our homicide case.

  “Not sure about any details, but the responding offers think the vic might be a working girl.”

  “She must have been high end if she was working the Crosby.”

  “You ever been there?”

  “Just once, on a domestic call years ago when I worked patrol. All I remember is lots of crystal chandeliers, plush carpeting, and furnishing like something out of a royal palace.”

  Olivia smiled. “Not exactly my kind of place. By the way, I talked to Leo. He and Al are planning to meet us at the scene.”

  Leo was my former partner, an older African-American detective nearing retirement. He was one of the good guys, in a department that sometimes felt like it was every man, or woman, for herself. His new partner was Alvin “Al” Corbin, a twenty-plus year veteran with the department. Leo’s former partner, Richard Hurd, had recently taken a leave of absence, ostensibly due to stress, but rumor had it he was planning to eventually quit the department to pursue a singing career.

  We turned off Laurel Canyon onto Sunset as Olivia hit the gas. My partner was single after losing her husband on their honeymoon to a drunk driver several years earlier. She’d recently been dating a doctor named Martin, but things had been a little rocky in their relationship. I asked her about him as we got closer to the Crosby.

  She sighed. “Haven’t seen him for a couple weeks. He said he’s catching a lot of extra shifts, but I think it’s more than that?”

  “Do you think he’s seeing someone else?”

  “There’s an ex who he claims is out of the picture, but I’m not so sure.” She glanced at me. “It’s probably time I moved on. I don’t think we’re exactly simpatico, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, rolling down the rear window a couple inches for Bernie to get some air.

  “And you? Anyone on the horizon?”

  I chuckled. “No ships at sea or in the harbor but I’ve decided being single has its merits. No responsibilities, that sort of thing.”

  She nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond. We drove in silence for a couple minutes. What I’d told Olivia about being happy with the single life was true, but I also missed having the emotional support of being in a relationship. I’d been divorced several years after my husband had cheated on me with his secretary. After that, I’d had a series of failed relationships that I now realized were the result of me trying to make up for the losses in my life. Not only had my adoptive father been murdered when I was a child, my biological father was unknown to me. Those losses had impacted me deeply, and, in many ways, I knew I was still trying to come to terms with what had happened.

  “The Crosby’s dead ahead,” Olivia said, turning the corner onto Argyle Street. She smiled. “Sorry, not the best choice of words.”

  After pulling to the curb behind a couple of patrol cars, I got Bernie out of the backseat and we headed into the hotel. The place was as I’d remember it, only maybe even more grand. The entrance was set off by mahogany moldings, artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum, and a pond with exotic fish that ran the entire length of the interior courtyard.

  After meeting up with Jim Stallings, a uniformed officer, Olivia asked for details about the crime scene.

  “The body’s on the twenty-first floor, found by a maid,” Stallings said. “She looks like she’s just a kid, probably strangled. No ID.”

  “Did anybody see or hear anything?”

  Stallings shook his head. “The building has security cameras, so as soon as we can get someone to access the system we should have more.”

  “When did our victim check into the hotel?” I asked.

  “According to the manager, there’s no record of the room being rented. Someone must have gotten a card-reader and gained access.”

  “Why was the maid in the room?”

  “It’s what the hotel calls a premium class suite, but since it hadn’t been rented, it wasn’t on the priority list for cleaning. From what I understand, the hotel has a night shift that cleans unrented room so they’ll be ready the next day.”

  We thanked him and took the elevator to the floor where the victim was located. Another officer standing guard, motioned to us as we got off the elevator and a man in a dark suit headed our way.

  “I’m Gerald Ramsey, the manager for the hotel,” the suit said. As you might imagine, this is...” He had a weak chin that he stroked. “It’s very upsetting for our guests. I would appreciate any discretion you can afford us.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Olivia said. “We’re going to need to access the hotel’s security tapes for the past twenty-four hours. Is there someone that can help us with that?”

  After a hum and more chin work, Ramsey straightened the lapels on his jacket and said, “I’ll need to make some calls, but I’m sure I can get someone here.”

  “You do that. We’ll catch up with you later.”

  “There’s one other thing,” the hotel manager said. He looked down at Bernie. “We’re not a canine facility, so I’m afraid he’ll need to wait outside.”

  I took a step toward Ramse
y. At five nine, I was a couple inches taller than him. “He’s an officer with department, on duty. He goes where we go. End of discussion.”

  Ramsey scurried off, mumbling something about hotel policies. As we moved down the hallway, I said to Olivia, “Sometimes, how the other half lives, leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she said.

  I had the officer stationed outside our victim’s room tend to Bernie while Olivia and I gloved up and put on paper booties. When we entered the hotel room, we weren’t prepared for what we saw.

  “She’s just a baby,” Olivia said, her voice breaking when we found our victim in the only bedroom in the unit, lying on the bed.

  I’d found that working with a female partner in homicide was very different than working with a man. Olivia and I shared thoughts and feelings that otherwise would likely go unstated.

  “Her whole life was ahead of her,” I agreed, feelings of sadness overwhelming me.

  The victim was blonde and pretty. Rigor had set in and she was nude from the waist down, her arms and legs splayed. I had the impression she’d been sexually assaulted, something that would need to be confirmed by the coroner. She was wearing a loose-fitting tank top. I reached over, pulling it up so I could further examine the body. I saw there was a tattoo just above her left breast that read, M-5.

  “Any thoughts on what it means?” I asked Olivia.

  She was about to respond when we heard a man’s voice behind us. “Maybe she was a British spy.”

  I looked over, seeing that Al Corbin had entered the room, along with Leo. Corbin was in his forties, overweight, jowly, and balding. His rheumy eyes, gave me the impression he might have a drinking problem. In the short time I’d worked with Corbin, I’d found he had a habit of speaking before his brain was fully engaged.

  Leo probably saw Olivia and my disapproval and corrected his partner. “British intelligence is M16.”

  “Maybe she was a junior spy,” Corbin said, smiling.

  I glanced at Oliva and took a breath, raising my brows.”

  “It’s hard to say about the tattoo,” she said to me, ignoring Al. “We can take a look at the Internet, see if anything comes up.”

  “Al and I will take a look around the room,” Leo said. He craned his head toward his partner, no doubt sensing our irritation. “Let’s go.”

  Olivia and I spent another half hour with our victim. There were some cuts and scratches on her hands and arms, probably defensive wounds from trying to fend off her attacker. There was nothing else that was obvious in the way of physical evidence.