Hollywood Games: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 22

  He scoffed. “High term, bullshit. It was self-defense.”

  California’s determinant sentencing laws allowed for a defendant to be sentenced to a low, middle, or high prison term for an offense, depending upon the seriousness of the crime. The result could mean the difference between a few months in prison or several years.

  “If you want to take your chances with a jury it’s up to you,” I said. “But if you’re convicted we’ll be sure the DA argues for the high term.”

  The little gangster patted his cornrows. “What the hell you want?”

  “Just a little information,” Pearl said. “Specifically we want to know about Rafi Wayland dealing heroin.”

  “What? Naw. Rafi don’t roll like that.”

  “If that’s the case I want to hear it from the inside. We release you on a plea with credit for time served and you go inside, find out if there’s any hint that Blood Nation is in the heroin business. We also want to know about Rafi’s beef with Jiggy Biggs.”

  “Heard that motherfucker ate it.”

  “We want to know if your boss served him his last meal,” I said. “We’re only looking for a little information. After that, as long as you stay out of trouble, you’ll never hear from us again.”

  It took JQ a dozen more curse words and about ten more minutes to agree to our deal. As he was getting ready to leave the interview room Pearl said, “There’s one other thing. If I don’t hear directly from you within forty-eight hours of your release, word will get out about you being a CI.”

  After a meltdown, the little gangbanger left, telling us he would be in touch.

  “A little insurance is a wonderful thing,” Pearl said to me after JQ was gone.

  ***

  We met Barry Steiner on the set of a show he produced called Reality Rites. From what I knew about the series it involved a group of people coming together and performing a rite of passage from different cultures. The results often ended up with the contestants arguing with one another, even occasionally coming to blows. It was Steiner’s classic formula that Jerry King had mentioned a few days earlier, about life being a bitch, but drama making you rich.

  We took chairs in a small office where the little producer was finishing berating one of his employees. As Steiner’s assistant left in tears we realized the woman was being blamed for a recent dip in the show’s ratings.

  “You know what life is?” Steiner asked us. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Random acts of stupidity with brief flashes of lucidity.”

  I had no respect for the bully sitting across from us. “Thanks for the armchair philosophy.”

  The ruddy little producer smiled at me. “Anytime. One of these days if you have a few hours I’ll tell you what’s wrong with the police department.”

  “What’s wrong is we have to deal with idiots like you.” Okay, I was fantasizing again. Instead I said, “We’re here because we recently learned that Jiggy Biggs owed you a lot of money.”

  He smirked. “So what?”

  “Why don’t you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Biggs,” Pearl said.

  “He was on my show, we gambled, he lost, end of story.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “We know that Biggs was on your TV show because you lost a bet with him.”

  His smile grew tight and then evaporated. “It was unfortunate, but I always made good on my bets.”

  “And you expected Biggs to make good on his.”

  “What’s the supposed to mean?”

  “He owed you almost a million dollars and wasn’t paying up. That must have made you angry.”

  The smile blossomed again. “You think I hired somebody to kill the fuck don’t you?”

  “You tell me.”

  He turned away from me, glanced through some papers on his desk. “You people really are idiots. We’re done here.”

  I was on a roll now. “Not quite. Tell us about your relationship with Leila Jacobs, Biggs’ ex.”

  “He glanced up. “Nothing to tell, other than she was a beautiful woman who deserved a lot more than her idiot ex-husband.”

  “And you gave it to her.”

  He shrugged. “For a while.”

  “You were in love with her and jealous of her relationship with Jiggy.”

  He looked back at his paperwork. “As I said before, we’re done here.”

  Maybe he was done, but I wasn’t. “How did your wife feel about your relationship with Leila?”

  Steiner glared at me. “I’m sure you know by now that slut I’m married to fucked Biggs. It was her way of getting back at me.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you have a very happy domestic life.”

  He grumbled. “What did I say before about random acts of stupidity? My life is no exception.” He met my eyes. “Get the fuck out.”

  ***

  Late in the day Bernie and I left Hollywood Station and drove to Homicide Special Section at the Police Administration Building in downtown Los Angeles. The PAB, as it’s called, is a ten floor high-rise built at a cost of almost half a billion dollars. I’d heard somewhere that the building was considered a state of the art green building because of its design and energy efficiency. For all its design features, as far as I was concerned, the building was still full of hot air thanks to the administrators who worked there.

  From what I knew, the thirteen detectives assigned to the cold case unit at the PAB spent most of their time screening cases based upon leads, including arranging for DNA analysis of evidence where applicable, and writing federal grants for funding. From my perspective it involved pushing around a lot of paper on hundreds of unsolved murders. Something about the unit sent a wave of depression through me when I thought about the families of victims waiting for justice that I knew in many cases would never come.

  I met with John Duncan and Leo Edgars, the two cold case detectives assigned to the Bridget Welch homicide, a case that was again considered an active murder investigation. Bernie settled in a corner as we discussed the former cold case.

  “We’ve listened to all the tapes that you provided,” Duncan began. The detective was pushing sixty with thin silver hair. He had a reputation for being an earnest, hard-working cop in an impossible assignment. “From what we’ve been able to piece together, Bridget Welch and Russell Van Drake were secretly involved in a relationship for more than a year starting back in 2010 before she went missing.”

  “Not so secret,” I said. “I understand the press has speculated about their involvement for years.”

  Leo Edgars nodded. He was about fifty, stout, and bald. “We looked at that lead a couple of times, but it never went anywhere until now. The tapes show there was an increasing pattern of violence in their relationship. The bloody knife probably confirms that.”

  Duncan pushed his wire rimmed glasses up on the top of his head. “Welch visited her mother the night before she disappeared. Her mom confirmed the rocky relationship with Van Drake and always suspected that he was involved in her disappearance.”

  “And then there’s the matter of Van Drake himself,” I said. “Didn’t he go missing about the same time as Welch?”

  “Three days later,” Duncan confirmed. “He was last seen on February 2nd on the set of a movie he was filming. He took a few days away from the filming and went up north to Santa Barbara. He was never seen or heard from again.”

  “It seems strange to me that both Welch and Van Drake went missing around the same time. Weren’t there some reports that they might have taken off to some remote place to get away from their high profile lifestyle and the press?”

  “There have been reports of sightings in Hawaii and other locations,” Edgars confirmed. “But nothing’s ever been proven.”

  I took in a breath and released it slowly. My headache was still with me as I asked the question I dreaded, “So, where do we go from here?”

  Duncan met Edgar’s eyes for a moment, then looked back at me. “We’d like to bring in the cadaver dogs again and have them go
over the property. If that doesn’t work…” He looked at Edgar again.

  “We’ll need to excavate, set up a grid pattern, and start digging,” the heavyset detective said. “I’m afraid it could take several days.”

  I wasn’t entirely surprised by what they said, “I guess you have to do what’s necessary.” I stood up and pulled Bernie up with me.

  “There’s one other thing,” Duncan said. I turned and met his eyes. “Your friends and roommates. They’re…difficult…”

  I sighed. “Yes, I know. I’ll talk to them and try to make them stay out of your way.”

  “We appreciate that,” Edgars said.

  Bernie and I were standing at the elevators when I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Kate, I was just planning to give you a call.”

  I turned and saw Rob Nelson, the commander of the department’s Media Relations Section, walking over to me. Nelson was in his fifties with the build of a long distance runner. I knew the commander because of our contact on a prior case. He was a competent administrator in a thankless job.

  We exchanged greetings and chatted about Bernie for a moment before he told me what was on his mind. “Chief East wants to finally right a wrong about your father.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “He’s scheduling a ceremony to honor your father by displaying his badge in the memorial monument downstairs.”

  “Oh,” I said, momentarily lost for words.

  The Police Administration Building included a reflection garden and memorial monument honoring the badges of officers killed in the line of duty. My father’s badge hadn’t been part of the display because, until recently, his homicide had been considered an off-duty crime.

  “Chief East would like you and your family to be here for the ceremony next Wednesday,” Nelson added.

  I thanked the commander and assured him that we’d be there. Bernie and I were getting in the car when I brushed a tear away. In my blurred vision I imagined seeing my dad in his uniform walking through the shadows of the building. I found a breath, brushed my tears, and said, “They’re finally doing the right thing, daddy.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  The throbbing in my head had finally exploded into a full blown tension headache by the time I got home. When Bernie and I got out of my car and I saw my roommates, I decided I might as well just cut my head off. Everyone was gathered in the yard near the fence line with shovels.

  I trudged over to them, stepping into a gopher hole, and wrenching my ankle. “Damn it,” I yelled, sitting down, pulling off my shoe, and rubbing my ankle.

  Mo and Natalie came over while the others continued digging up the yard.

  “You want us to call an ambulance?” Mo asked. “If you can’t help us out with the body excavation you might as well be in the hospital.”

  “Maybe she fell on purpose,” Natalie suggested. “This grave digging stuff is hard work.”

  I stood up and said, “Listen to me. The department’s Scientific Investigation Division is planning to excavate this entire area tomorrow. You can’t continue to do this. You’re disturbing a crime scene.”

  Mo put her hands on her hips, stared at me. “I’d say Van Drake already disturbed the crime scene when he cut off Bridget Welch’s head.”

  “Besides we already found us a piece of evidence,” Natalie added. She held up a gold necklace. “Bet it belonged to Bridget.” She turned to Mo. “Hey maybe there’s buried loot all over this place. We need to keep digging.”

  In the distance I saw Larry and Phyllis working the ground with Claude and Dr. Lester. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie with a couple of human monsters, a vampire, and a troll all looking for a dead body. I was about to head over to them and threaten their arrest if they continued when I heard a voice behind me.

  “Whatever you find belongs to the estate,” Barnabas Farnsworth said, coming over to us. “I insist that you cease and desist.”

  The monsters and the ghouls complied, walking over to the attorney to join us. It seemed that a cop had no impact on them, whereas a big-mouth lawyer got their immediate attention.

  “You don’t understand,” Dr. Lester said to Farnsworth. “We’ve solved the crime of the century. We’re going to be famous.”

  The attorney bent down to Lester, eyeballing the little man who reminded me of an elderly munchkin. “That might be the case, but the terms of estate clearly stipulate that no property can be removed from the premises without probate.” He turned to me. “That includes any items taken by the police.”

  “Sorry, but homicide trumps whatever civil proceedings might be impacted. Anything taken from the estate that’s part of a criminal investigation is police evidence.”

  Farnsworth went on, arguing about the issue and stating that he would go to the press if any items taken were not immediately returned. My head throbbed until it felt like the Fukushima nuclear reactor melting down.

  I finally had enough. “I don’t care if you go to the press, the president, or the pope, this is a police matter. End of story. You need to leave.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he hissed and swiveled on his heel heading for his car.

  I then told everyone in my best Dirty Harry voice to put their shovels down and back away from the crime scene. There was lots of grumbling, but they complied. I then hobbled into the house with Bernie.

  “I’m gonna get us some libation,” Mo said after she came inside with Natalie. “If Kate doesn’t have a drink soon I think she might go berserk.”

  Larry and Phyllis then came through the front door, followed by Claude and Lester. They all wandered off toward the kitchen.

  Natalie took a seat next to me and spent a few minutes trying to consoling me before Mo arrived with drinks. I told Natalie that I was beyond help and she finally stopped trying to cheer me up.

  “These are Skull Punchers,” Mo said, handing me one of the exotic cocktails that were hues of red and yellow. “Limit two zombies to a customer, otherwise I’ll have to lock you in the basement with the vampire and the troll.”

  “Some days I think that might not be such a bad thing,” I said.

  Natalie took a big gulp of her zombie, set the drink down, and looked at Mo. “I think Kate’s on the verge of having one of her full blown pity parties.”

  Mo nodded her big head that tonight was adorned with an orange wig and looked at me. “Okay, go ahead and let it out.”

  I took a big sip of my drink, swallowed, and said, “Let’s see. Work is a disaster. I’ve been forced to work with a wannabe actor and an arrogant asshole. We have an unsolved homicide and a gang war brewing. We live with a bunch of ghouls in a house that’s like something out of the Adam’s Family, there’s no hot water, and there’s probably a dead body or two on the grounds. Oh yes, and my relationship with Buck is on the rocks.”

  You forgot something,” Natalie said. “His ex-wife is stalking you.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I gulped down the rest of the Skull Puncher at the same time feeling my headache finally beginning to ease. Mo handed me another drink that I readily accepted.

  “Maybe you just need a fantasy,” Natalie said to me. “I’ll see if Sonny can work on something involving a couple of horny soccer guys from Argentina who know how to use their balls.”

  I did an eye roll. “Great.”

  “I think baby sis and me are getting closer to finding out what happened to Biggs,” Mo said. “Maybe that will keep you from going psycho.”

  I sipped my zombie, my eyes narrowing on her. “What have you got in mind?”

  “Our realtor friend, Mary Jane Collins, told us about an open house in the hills tomorrow night. All the big brokers are supposed to be there, probably even those two bozos from Hollywood Gold. Baby sis and me are gonna show up and get the low down on Biggs.”

  I shook my head, started to give her a lecture, but decided it was useless. “I’m going to bed.” I stood up, took a step toward the stairs, and m
y ankle began throbbing, “Ouch.”

  Mo called over to Larry and Phyllis who were coming from the kitchen. “You two hulks get in here and make yourselves into a pedicab. Kate needs herself a ride upstairs.”

  I took another step. “I’m perfectly capable of…” I fell over and grabbed my ankle in pain again.

  Larry and Mo came over, each of them took an arm, and began carrying me upstairs. I was half drunk and laughed when Mo called out from below, “You two put get her in the shower, put her in some jammies, and tuck her in bed.”

  As it turned out I was able to take my own shower and get into my jammies by myself. My ankle was slightly swollen, but after I sobered up I was able to hobble around and even managed to grab my robe and head downstairs to walk Bernie. The night was cool and foggy as we strolled along the fence line. I saw where my roommates had been digging and could only hope they would stay out of the way when the SID technicians arrived tomorrow.

  I was about to head back into the house when I glanced over to the highway. The fog was heavy, but I thought I made out a figure on the edge of the road. I took a couple of steps closer to the street and was now sure someone was standing there. It was a woman with flowing dark hair.

  “Hello,” I called out.

  Silence.

  My adrenaline surged and I tugged on Bernie’s leash, a silent signal that we shared. He immediately alerted, now also staring at the figure. We moved closer to the road, but the figure moved back and had turned away. In a moment the woman had disappeared into the fog.

  Bernie and I were standing at the edge of the roadway when we heard a car starting. Seconds later the engine revved and the car came barreling down the highway coming within inches of us.

  I only got a momentary glimpse of the woman at the wheel. I again saw that she had long dark hair; but it was her smile that struck me. It was full of contempt, maybe even hatred. My thoughts immediately went to Buck’s ex-wife.

  When I got back to my room I called Buck and told him what happened. I also mentioned that a woman had been at the estate yesterday asking questions. “Do you think there’s any chance she could be your ex?”