#3 Hollywood Crazy: A Holllywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 21

  I shook my head. “I’m already in hot water over talking to Mags Warner. They would have asked me where I’d been before the shooting. I didn’t want to tell them about my visit with my father’s old partner. It wouldn’t have done any good to report it, anyway. I didn’t get a look at the guy, but I saw his car as he sped away on the street. It was a blue Mustang from the 1960s.”

  “Have you seen the car before?”

  “No. But I know somebody who has a classic car collection.”

  Charlie’s brows lifted.

  “Captain Andrews.” I exhaled. “I don’t want to believe it was him. I’m just not sure what to think anymore, Charlie.”

  “Things are spinning out of control, Kate. I’m worried about you.” He stuffed a powdered sugar donut into his mouth like it was a worry pill. So much for salads and protein. “What did your dad’s former partner have to say?”

  “Basically what I already knew, that he and my dad went undercover to investigate Discrete for prostitution. Somebody tipped off the escort service and the investigation went nowhere. My dad complained up the chain, saying someone was dirty behind the investigation. He also said that he thought Marcello had a hand in his brother’s disappearance. The next thing you know, my father ends up dead.”

  “Marcello had a brother?”

  “From what I know, they were fighting over the spoils from the business and Tony went away for good.”

  Charlie broke off another piece of donut, swigged his coffee, and then said, “Guess you heard about the mayor.”

  I shook my head. “Been a little busy.”

  “He resigned. The city council is calling for a full investigation about his relationship to Harmon Sanders and any political favors that were granted. There’s even some talk that Reed could end up with a no confidence vote.”

  “The chief?”

  “Yeah. That community organizer, Reverend Vollmer, is also out there stirring up shit. There’s supposed to be a big demonstration tonight at city hall.”

  I was sorry to hear about the chief of police possibly resigning. Tom Reed had been there for me when I needed him. He was an honorable man in an impossible job.

  I wasn’t surprised to hear about Vollmer. He’d been a fixture on the political scene in LA for years. The reverend was an opportunist, always looking for a cause to stir up his supporters.

  I checked my watch. “I need to run. I’m supposed to meet Brie Henner for an early lunch.” Charlie gave me a look like he didn’t want me to go. “Have you seen Wilma lately?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “We talked on the phone. She’s mentioned that hiatus you two talked about.” Charlie finished his donut. “I’ve been thinking about talking to my doc again, see if he’ll release me to come back to work early.”

  The thought that I might get Charlie back and no longer have to work with Jessica thrilled me, but I didn’t want him pushing things. “Take your time. The crooks will still be out there when you get back.”

  I met Brie at Café Audrey on Hollywood Boulevard. The little café was all about Audrey Hepburn, her pictures, her movies, her quotes. I took one look at the starlet’s beautiful hair in a large photograph in the lobby and felt depressed. The keratin was definitely gone from my hair. My do was in full rebellion.

  The restaurant was small, but had a pleasant atmosphere and good sandwiches. After we ordered, I asked Brie about our homeless killings.

  “The autopsies are completed. Nothing remarkable, except for the lack of defensive wounds. Both victims had high blood-alcohol levels and were probably too drunk to fight back.”

  “We think they were killed for their social security debit cards,” I said. “The killer probably got them to give up their PINs when they were drunk before killing them and taking the cards.”

  Brie shook her head. “Sometimes it seems like there’s nothing good in this world.”

  I agreed. After our sandwiches were delivered, I updated her on the wedding murders, the possible link to Discrete and Jimmy Marcello and my father’s murder.

  “I had no idea that your father was killed in the line of duty.”

  “Strictly speaking he was killed while off duty in a park. I only recently learned that I was with him when he was murdered.”

  “Oh Kate, I’m sorry.”

  “I was only four years old at the time and don’t remembered anything that happened.” I sipped my iced tea, then said, “The more I look into the current case, the more I think Marcello was also behind my father’s death. He may have been getting protection from someone in the department for a number of years.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No, but whoever it is tried to kill me last night.” I told her about my run-in with the intruder. “I have no proof, of course, but I think someone believes I’m getting too close to the truth, both about the wedding murders and my father’s death.”

  “You need to take this up the chain. Get some help.”

  I lowered my voice. “I don’t know who to trust, Brie. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I can trust my own captain. He’s part of the reason the wedding murder investigation was closed.”

  “Maybe you need to talk to somebody who’s not with the department, someone you can trust to give you good advice.”

  I smiled. “Most of my friends aren’t what you would call, stable.”

  “What about Mack?”

  I’d told already her about our disastrous date. “I don’t know if he even wants to talk to me again.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Besides, with his background, he can probably help.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you should talk to him, Kate.” Brie took my hand. “Please?”

  ***

  I was still thinking about Brie’s suggestion when I got to my mom’s house. She was right, I did need someone on the outside to give me advice on how to proceed. But it just felt wrong going to Mack with my problems after what had happened between us.

  I found Mom and Bernie in the living room watching television. Bernie did his usual tail wag and hello sniffs as I took a seat on the sofa. I noticed they were watching a recording of last night’s demonstration.

  “I see you and your friends made the national news last night,” I said.

  Mom smiled weakly. “Yes, it exceeded our expectations. We’re thinking of doing something similar in the spring.”

  I started to voice my disapproval, but thought better of it. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

  “Do you think I have a saggy fanny, Kate?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been watching the reruns. I think I need a booty lift.”

  The thought of my mother having more plastic surgery and hallucinating again was too much. “I think you’re butt’s fine for a woman your age. Don’t even think about it.”

  “A woman my age,” she said, her voice lowering. “I’m getting old.”

  I decided to change the subject. Mom had a tendency to wallow in self-pity lately and I wasn’t going there. “I met with Dad’s old partner, Sam Weber yesterday.”

  “Really. Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to ask him about Dad’s death, about how his investigation of the escort service at the time might have been the reason he was killed.”

  “What did he say?” Mom’s voice had ticked up a notch, the anxiety evident.

  “He said that Dad went up the chain with the department because he thought their undercover investigation of Discrete was being compromised by someone, possibly another officer. He also said that Jimmy Marcello, the owner of the escort service, might have had a hand in his own brother’s death.”

  Mom shook her head. “I wish you’d leave it alone. We can’t change what happened.”

  I couldn’t believe what she’d said. “No but my father, your husband, was murdered. He deserves justice. He was a cop, after all. That’s what his life was all about.”

  Mom stared
at the television, not saying anything. I remembered what Robin had said to me about the last time she’d discussed our father with him.

  “A few days ago I was talking to Robin about Dad,” I said. Her gray eyes came over to me. I again saw the anxiety. “He told me that after he’d told you he was gay that you talked about Dad. He said you told him that his father wasn’t the man most people thought he was. You also told him that Dad wasn’t much of a family man.”

  Mom stood up. Her face was stony. “Leave it alone, Kate. Your father is dead. I don’t want to talk about the past—ever.”

  After a couple of more tries, I got nothing out of Mom. As I drove home with Bernie my head was spinning from the events of the past several days. A young married couple had been murdered. Two other people had also lost their lives. The mayor’s assistant had committed suicide. My relationship with Jack was apparently over. I didn’t know if I’d ever see Mack again. And I was being targeted for murder, possibly by the same man who’d killed my father. The world around me was collapsing and, as the tears spilled from my eyes, I felt powerless to stop it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “We finally heard back from social security on the debit cards,” Jessica said the next morning as Bernie and I walked into the squad room. “Pearl wants to meet with us in his office.”

  I hadn’t slept well, something that Jessica apparently noticed as we walked to Pearl’s office. “Rough weekend?”

  “It was fine.”

  “I saw your mother on TV.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

  I stopped at the doorway to Pearl’s office and turned to her. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Oh nothing.” She entered the office, smiled at Pearl, and took a seat.

  I tried to ignore her as Pearl explained the status of our case. “The debit card belonging to George Elkins was used in Santa Barbara in September and October of last year. After that, it looks like our suspect moved south. He’s been using the card at various ATMs around Los Angeles.”

  “What about our victims?” I asked.

  “Joshua Defoe’s card was used on the first of the month in Glendale. Wakefield’s card hasn’t been used yet, no doubt, because it won’t be refilled until next month.”

  “Do we have photos from the ATMs?” Jessica asked.

  “We’ve provided dates the cards were used to the financial institutions. We’re hoping to have digital photos of our suspect later today.”

  ***

  By early afternoon we received the ATM photos and caught a break.

  Pearl called us back into his office. “I just got a call from Santa Barbara PD. They recognized the ATM shots of our suspect from some prior arrests he had up there for petty theft and burglary.” He slid a digital printout of a mug shot across the desk to us. “His name is Terrance Spencer. According to relatives in the Santa Barbara area, he moved to Burbank last fall and is living with his uncle. We’ve got an address.”

  It was late afternoon by the time we’d filled Lieutenant Edna in on everything, asked Burbank PD for assistance, and assembled a small taskforce at a strip mall down the street from Spencer’s house.

  “I want eyes on the residence before we go in,” Edna said. “From what we’ve been able to put together, the house is owned by Carl Aniston, Spencer’s uncle. He works at an electronics factory in Van Nuys, so he probably isn’t home.”

  “I can do a walk-by on the street, see if it looks like anybody’s home,” I said, grateful that the possible take-down of our suspect was taking my mind off my own problems.

  Edna agreed and I had Pearl take Bernie. A few minutes later, I’d parked up the block and began walking toward our suspect’s house. I was less than fifty yards from the residence, when I saw the door open and Spencer leaving. He was on foot, walking in my direction. I kept my head down, trying to be inconspicuous as he passed by me. I then called it in.

  “Our suspect is on foot, traveling north from the residence. All units move in now.”

  I turned around and began moving cautiously behind Spencer as the taskforce came around the corner. When the cars approached, our suspect apparently realized what was happening and took off running—in my direction.

  I pulled out my gun, crouched, and yelled, “Police. You’re under arrest. Get on the ground, NOW.”

  Spencer’s eyes held on my gun for an instant before he took off running through a neighbor’s yard and hopped a fence.

  When Pearl pulled up, I grabbed Bernie’s leash and we took off on foot in the direction Spencer ran while Edna and the other taskforce members fanned out.

  I pushed open a gate to a backyard as Bernie began straining on his leash. I was about to turn and look over the fence into another yard when I saw some branches in a tree moving. Bernie apparently saw our suspect at the same time I did and began barking and pulling on his leash.

  “Come down now or I release the dog,” I yelled. “It’s over, Spencer.”

  I wasn’t kidding about releasing Bernie. I’d once seen him climb up into the crook of a tree to go after a suspect.

  What happened next could have been a page in one of those world’s dumbest crooks books. Our murder suspect fell out of the tree and over the fence into a neighbor’s yard. He then took off running again toward the next street over. When Bernie and I finally made our way to the street, Spencer was gone.

  Moments later, the taskforce was also on the street.

  “Where the fuck did he go?” Edna asked.

  I turned, doing a complete circle as I scanned the neighborhood. “He just disappeared.”

  “The trash truck,” someone yelled.

  We all turned and watched as our suspect, who’d been hiding in one of the trash receptacles on the street, screamed as he was picked up by the mechanical arm of a rubbish truck and unceremoniously dumped onto the pile of trash.

  Ten minutes later, after I threatened to release Bernie again, Terrence Spencer surrendered. We spent the afternoon searching his residence where we found the murder weapon, as well as our victims’ debit cards. Spencer lawyered up, but we were confident we had enough evidence to convict him on multiple counts of murder.

  As I headed for home, the sun was setting. The rain of a couple of days ago had washed away the brown haze that often hung over the city. The horizon was awash in yellows and reds.

  I was about to turn into my Mount Olympus neighborhood when I looked into my rearview mirror. A car that I thought I’d seen earlier was a couple of hundred yards behind me. Was I being followed? After the events of a couple of nights ago, I decided I wasn’t taking any chances.

  I made a couple of quick turns and headed up Laurel Canyon. As I drove, I thought about what Brie Henner had said and made an impulsive decision. I turned off on Kirkwood and drove farther up into the hills, making sure that no one was following me. When I didn’t see the car again, I pulled up in front of Mack’s house.

  I rang the bell, wondering how I would explain myself.

  “Kate,” Mack said, after opening the door. “This is a surprise.”

  “Sorry for not calling first. Would you have a few minutes to talk?”

  He took my hand and pulled me through the doorway. “Of course. I just lit a fire on the patio. I’ll get a bottle of wine and you can join me.”

  On the way to the backyard, we checked on Thelma who was holding her own. I left Bernie with Piper. I heard her giving him a lecture about keeping his “ding-dong” away from Thelma as we closed the French doors onto the patio. The fire pit was already casting an orange glow across the courtyard as Mack uncorked a bottle of Riesling.

  “To Trader Joes,” he said, as we lifted our glasses. “My personal wine cellar.”

  Mack was wearing jeans and a sweater. As usual, there was something easy and unpretentious in his manner that attracted me. I’d seen some clippings on the grass and it occurred to me that he’d probably spent the day doing yard wo
rk.

  “The grounds and flowers are beautiful,” I said. “Even this time of year.”

  “Give it another couple of months and Kathy’s handiwork will be in full bloom.”

  I thought about how he always made a point of mentioning his ex-wife when he talked about the beautiful grounds. She’d been killed in an automobile accident four years ago and Mack was just now putting his life back together. I had the feeling that maybe he still hadn’t gotten over what happened.

  “Did you just get off work?” he asked.

  I gave him a brief rundown on our latest case, ending with the arrest of Terrence Spencer in the back of a rubbish truck. “I guess you could say that we took out the trash.”

  We made some more small talk before I told him what was on my mind. “I went to Palm Springs this weekend to see my dad’s former partner, Sam Weber. He retired to one of those over fifty-five communities.” I spent the next few minutes unburdening myself, telling him what Weber had said about their investigation of Discrete and my father’s suspicions that Jimmy Marcello had killed his brother.

  “Do you think your dad had something definite that tied Jimmy to his brother’s death?”

  “I don’t know. All I do know is that Sam said my father went up the chain to report his suspicions. He also said my dad thought someone in the department was tipping off Discrete about their undercover investigation.”

  “Did he have any idea who?”

  “No, but the next day my father ended up dead.” I pushed my glass away and looked into his bottomless blue eyes. “There’s something else, Mack. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I took a breath and said, “When I got home from Palm Springs, I was alone in the house. There was a noise upstairs. I thought it was coming from a bedroom. After searching the rooms, I turned and saw someone in the hallway. He took a shot at me but missed and ran off. I went after him, but he got away.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “No, but I did see his car as he raced down the street. It was a classic Mustang. The captain assigned to RHD is a car collector. I don’t want to believe it was him, but he’s the one who killed our investigation. I’m at the point where I don’t know who to trust.”