Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 18

  “He was likely sleeping up here.”

  I turned, seeing that Detective Adams had climbed into the loft and was walking over to me.

  “That was my thought.” I met his eyes. “Did the girl’s parents give you anything to go on?”

  He shook his head. “Not really, just that she was a sweet kid. She had a boyfriend, but he checked out okay, no record. They were talking about getting married before...”

  I nodded, looking back down into the empty building.

  “Thanks for doing this,” he said.

  I looked back at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “For coming here, for being thorough. Most detectives...” He exhaled and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “They wouldn’t take the time.”

  I held on his eyes. They were the color of a forest, darker than mine. “Let’s take a look at where you found the hook.”

  We made our way back down from the loft. Molly and I then followed Adams to an area that was about a hundred yards from the building, where the terrain was higher. It was a rock-strewn area that looked like a washed-out streambed.

  “It was right about in this area,” Adams said, stopping and pointing to the streambed.

  “Why do you think it was left up here?” Molly asked. “It’s a long way from the building and from where the body was found.”

  “Not sure,” Adams said. “Maybe he was trying to get rid of it and thought it wouldn’t be found.”

  “What are your thoughts about the hook?” I asked him. “Is it possible our suspect worked for one of the oil companies and used it on the job?”

  “We asked around about that. No one seemed to think it had any legitimate use in the oil fields.”

  We took a few minutes to walk around the area before heading back to the car. After getting Bernie situated in the back seat, I brushed the hair out my eyes and said to Adams, “Do you think I could borrow the hook?”

  “What for?”

  “I know your crime scene people processed it, but I’d also like our Scientific Investigation Division to take a look at it.” I smiled. “It never hurts to take a second look.”

  Adams nodded. His gaze moved off and he massaged his forehead in a way that made me think it was a habit. He then looked back at me. “I’ll need to stop by our evidence room and check it out. I’ll need it back as soon as possible.” He lowered his voice. “Consider this a professional courtesy, Detective. Just between you and me.”

  My smile grew wider. “Thanks, and please, call me Kate.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  We got back to Hollywood Station a little after three. I dropped Molly off, then went to SID in Los Angeles, where I left the evidence Detective Adams had given me with Jerry Sumner, an analyst I’d worked with in the past.

  “The victim’s blood was found on the hook,” I said, as Sumner opened the evidence box. “I’m not sure exactly what other analysis was done to it.”

  Sumner was in his fifties, bald, and heavyset. Thick wire-rimmed glasses magnified his watery brown eyes. “I’ll take a look using the SEM, do some particle analysis for any kind of microscopic residue, such as fibers.”

  I knew from past cases that a SEM was a scanning electron microscope. “The Taft case could be linked to other murders in our area. I’ll have our crime analysts send over all the reports.” I glanced at the hook as he gloved up and gingerly lifted it out of the box. “Do you think there’s any chance contact DNA from the suspect could be present?”

  Sumner glanced at me. “I wouldn’t rule it out, but it depends on whether or not he wore gloves. If he didn’t, he might have shed cells while using the...” He looked at the hook. “...the instrument. There’s also the potential for contaminant DNA if the crime scene investigators weren’t careful.”

  Sumner went on for a couple minutes, talking about epithelial cells and something called PCR typing.

  When he was finished, I said, “I appreciate you moving as quickly as possible on this. I need to get the evidence back to the Taft detective next week.”

  His magnified eyes blinked behind his glasses. “I’ll move as quickly as possible, but...” He smiled. “...you know how it goes. Too many cases, not enough time.”

  I thanked him and checked the time on my phone as I walked to my car. It was just after five, and I had to be at Lake of the Shrine by eight. I saw that Natalie and Mo had texted me several times, asking if they should meet me there. I knew traffic would be a mess, so Bernie and I stopped for a bite to eat at a restaurant, where I took a moment and called my friends.

  “I’ve decided I need to take care of things on my own tonight,” I told them. I had FaceTime on my iPhone and saw Natalie and Mo’s faces hovering on the screen. “I’ll call you if there’s any problem.”

  “You can’t go there alone,” Mo said, her big features twisting up in disapproval beneath a pink wig. “That terrorist is a crazy killer.”

  “It’s not safe,” Natalie agreed. “Please let us go with you.”

  I tried to remain calm, even though my anxiety about meeting Jenson Moore was rising, along with my blood pressure. “You forget, I’ve dealt with crazy killers before. I’ll be fine.”

  They went on for ten minutes, giving me all the reasons why they should come with me. We finally reached a compromise. I agreed to let them park on a nearby street and told them I would have my phone on during the conversation with Moore, providing they would agree to keep quiet.

  “We’ll be as quiet as a couple of church mice,” Natalie assured me. “But we need a code word.”

  “A what?”

  “A code word, in case you get your nuts in a noose, so we can come runnin’.”

  “How ‘bout vagina?” Mo said.

  I chuckled. “I’m not going to say...” I looked around the restaurant and lowered my voice, “...vagina if I get into trouble.”

  “Kate probably doesn’t wanna think about her vagina, since it’s in dry dock,” Natalie said. “Why don’t we go with bumfuzzle.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “It means you’re flustered or confused.”

  I finally agreed to their ridiculous code word and ended the call. The traffic was worse than I anticipated. I had to take surface streets and was pressed for time as I dropped Bernie off with my brother and told him I should be back in a couple hours.

  I then took Sunset Boulevard through the city, stopping at Lake of the Shrine, which was just a few miles from the ocean. I knew from the Internet that the spiritual sanctuary had been developed in the middle of the last century. Its primary feature was a temple, built on a hilltop and overlooking a lake. The lake was surrounded by flowers and trees brought there from all over the world.

  When I got to the sanctuary’s entrance, I had a moment of panic, seeing that the gate leading to the area was closed for the night. I was able to find a security guard, showed him my credentials, and explained about needing access.

  “I just need to walk through the grounds,” I explained. “I promise not to disturb anyone or anything.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “It has to do with a case I’m working. I can’t go into details.”

  He cleared his throat, his gaze moving off for a moment. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm.” He removed a keyring from his belt. “Check in with me when you’re ready to leave.”

  I thanked him, then called my friends and left my phone on as promised, before making my way inside the sanctuary.

  If this had been any other occasion, I would have felt a sense of serenity as I walked along the path surrounding the beautiful little lake. Moonlight reflected off water that was placid, except for several ducks floating by. A light breeze stirred the trees, and there was a soft glow coming from the temple on the hillside. The spiritual center was minutes from the city, but felt like it was a world away.

  My sense of calm was replaced by feelings of dread as I moved deeper into the sanctuary and remembered Moore’s past crimes. I scanned the area
, seeing nothing in the way of the terrorist. I was about to give up and take a seat on a bench when I saw a figure moving through the trees beyond the path. My heart nearly beat out of my chest as I recognized my sister.

  “Lindsay!”

  She came closer and stopped a few feet away from me. She had a solemn expression as I reached out to hug her.

  “Stop.”

  I took a step back, seeing that she was pale and thin. “What’s going on?”

  She hugged her sides and motioned to the bench. “Let’s talk.”

  We went over and took a seat. I reached out and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, hugging her sides again.

  “Tell me what’s happening,” I said. “Why are you acting like this, and where is Jenson Moore?”

  My sister exhaled. Her green eyes, which were the same color as mine, found me. “He’s close by, watching us.”

  I scanned the area, seeing no one. “What has he done to you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay. It’s just that...I...I can’t leave.”

  “Why not?” When she didn’t respond, I said, “Tell me what’s going on, Lindsay. Please.”

  Her arms were still folded around herself. She was wearing a coat, something that I thought was strange, given that it was late summer and the weather was warm.

  Her words drew my attention back to her. “There’s a man. He works with you sometimes.”

  “Are you talking about Leo Kingsley?”

  She shook her head. “He’s with the FBI.”

  “Joe Dawson.”

  She nodded slowly and locked eyes with me. “There’s something you have to do in the next seventy-two hours.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s going to be a consequence if you don’t. Mr. Moore has made that clear.”

  “A consequence.” I saw that her eyes were filling. “Please, just tell me what’s happening.”

  Tears were on her cheeks as she pulled her coat open. My eyes widened in horror as I saw that she was wearing a suicide vest.

  “If you don’t do exactly what Mr. Moore wants, I will die,” Lindsay said.

  “Do what? I don’t understand.”

  “You have to kill Joe Dawson.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  “I don’t have a clue about what to do,” I said to Natalie and Mo a half hour later.

  I’d met up with my friends on the street where they’d parked, and we’d driven to a restaurant on Pacific Coast Highway. After she’d delivered Jenson Moore’s message, Lindsay had left, disappearing back into the trees. She told me that if I tried to follow her, Moore would detonate the suicide vest, killing us both.

  “You gonna kill that Joe Dawson bloke to save your sister?” Natalie asked, demonstrating her usual bluntness, before taking a bite of her muffin.

  “Of course she ain’t,” Mo said, halting a spoonful of mud pie in midair. Her dark eyes regarded me. “Are you?”

  “I can’t, but if I don’t...” I sighed. “The situation is impossible.”

  “Maybe you should tell your lieutenant ‘bout everything,” Natalie suggested.

  “Or Dawson himself,” Mo added, swallowing.

  “I can’t. You heard Lindsay say before she left that if I told anyone, she would be killed.”

  “I think this is what you call disorder in the energy field,” Natalie said.

  I took a sip of iced tea. “What are you talking about?”

  “The universe just sent out a pulse wave that defies the laws of nature. You gotta put order back in the galaxy.”

  I looked at Mo. “Has she been watching sci-fi movies?”

  Mo shrugged, dug into the pie. “Not sure, but she’s right. You gotta find a way to restore things.”

  “It’s an impossible situation,” I said. “Even if I did kill Joe, which I couldn’t, I know it wouldn’t save Lindsay. Moore would just find another way to use her again in one of his schemes.”

  “But if Joe lives, Lindsay dies for sure,” Natalie said. “I think this is what’s called Morton’s Fork.”

  “What?”

  “When I was a little girl, me daddy explained it as being a fork in the road, each fork leadin’ to someplace you don’t wanna go. Either way, fate’s yankin’ on your vag-pubes and you end up screwed.”

  “That sounds like the perfect explanation for my entire life.” I exhaled and rose. “I’ve got a raging headache. I’m going to drive down the coast and spend the weekend at my mom’s cousin’s house in Laguna Beach and try to sort things out.”

  “But what you gonna do ‘bout Dawson?” Mo asked.

  “I’m having dinner with him Sunday night, so...” The pounding in my temples felt like my head would explode. “I guess I need to come up with something before then.”

  ***

  I called Robin and made arrangements for him to keep Bernie for the weekend. Two hours later, I was walking on the beach, trying to sort things out. I went over what Lindsay had told me at least a hundred times, but saw no way out of my dilemma. The one thing that did seem certain to me was that Jenson Moore had some kind of issue with Joe Dawson—an issue that was bad enough to want him dead. I realized I had no choice but to call Joe and find out what that issue was.

  I got Joe on the line and we chatted for a few minutes. I then asked him about Moore. “I’ve done a little research into his background and just wondered if you two ever crossed paths.”

  He didn’t respond right away. For a moment I thought maybe the call had been dropped. Finally, he said, “Why are you asking?”

  I realized I’d touched a nerve. “Moore is central to our case. He’s been on the terror watch list. He just sounds like the kind of person you might have run across.”

  I heard him breathing heavily and a tinkling sound in the background, maybe ice in a glass. It occurred to me that he’d been drinking.

  “What I’m going to tell you is strictly confidential. As far as I know, John Greer and his superiors are the only ones who know about this.”

  “You have my word.”

  “About three years ago, I was part of a taskforce assigned to surveil Moore. We watched his place of business and residence over a number of weeks. One night we positively ID’d a major illegal arms dealer, who had a federal warrant out, as being at the residence. A raid went down and there was lots of resistance. Moore’s wife and daughter were killed in the shootout, and he blamed me.”

  “Did you shoot them?”

  “No. Like I said, there was a great deal of resistance. The house went up in flames during the firefight. Moore got out, but not the wife and kid. It was a bad scene.”

  “Was he charged during the arrest?”

  “Yeah, but he hired a high-priced mouthpiece, who eventually worked a deal. He pled to a lesser charge, did a year in a federal white collar prison, and was released.”

  “Why was all this hushed up?”

  “Not sure exactly. I heard it was part of the plea agreement and had something to do with the government not ruining his reputation. His record was expunged, and we were ordered never to discuss what happened.”

  While I now knew why Moore wanted Joe Dawson dead, it also seemed likely to me that the terrorist knew that Dawson and I were friends. Having me kill Dawson and putting Lindsay in the middle of everything was probably his idea of the perfect setup. I had to give him credit for that—there was no better bind.

  “You still there, Buttercup?”

  “Yeah. I was just processing what you said.”

  “Doesn’t really change anything. Jenson Moore’s a terrorist and a killer whose DNA needs to be erased from the planet. I’m the one that’s going to do that.”

  We chatted for a few minutes longer before I told Joe I would see him Sunday night and ended the call.

  I walked along the edge of the water for the better part of an hour as the stark reality that either Lindsay or Joe had to die settled in. Tears sprang from my eyes as the realization swept over me. I was sure
Jenson Moore had carefully planned the choice he’d set in place and had reasoned that I would choose blood over friendship. The terrorist had reasoned correctly. He’d left me with no options.

  I fell onto the sand, weeping. My friend, the man who I knew had developed strong feelings, maybe even love, for me had to die to save my sister.

  There was no other option.

  FORTY-SIX

  I spent a long weekend struggling with my emotions and my dilemma. When Sunday afternoon finally came, I managed to wall off my feelings. I’d spent a lifetime struggling with my emotions, trying to make the right choices, and too often failing. The time for sentiment was over. I had a single purpose now and had come to terms with a simple truth: sometimes you have to do the wrong thing to do the right thing. My sister had saved my life by killing the man who had murdered my father and stalked me. She had killed her own father. It was time for me to repay that debt.

  Joe texted me just before six and said his plane had landed. We agreed to meet at a restaurant called Bailey’s in Malibu. I’d been to the place a couple times. It had an oceanfront deck and direct access to the beach. It was the perfect place to kill my friend.

  I stopped by my house and dressed casually for the night, slipping into a pair of skinny jeans, a silk blouse, a navy blue blazer, and a pair of Jimmy Choo flats that I’d splurged on. I then found the small unregistered and untraceable revolver in my closet and tucked it into my waistband. I was about to leave when Natalie and Mo knocked on my door. As usual, they barged in without being invited.

  “I’ve only got a moment,” I said. “I’m meeting Joe for dinner in Malibu.”

  “Whatcha gonna do?” Mo demanded, levelling one eye on me.

  “You gonna whack Joe?” Natalie asked.

  I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice even. “Whatever happens tonight, I need you both to swear your allegiance to me. You can’t ever say anything to anyone about tonight’s events.”

  “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” Mo said, tugging on a strand of blonde wig hair. “You’re gonna kill him.”