#3 Hollywood Crazy: A Holllywood Alphabet Series Thriller Read online

  “Marcello,” Charlie said. “Harry Clinton killed Michael and China for Marcello. He must have had an interest in the patent and the software.”

  I shook my head, looking at him. “Yes, but there was something else. Mags said something about him killing them for...she started to mouth a word but then lost consciousness. She made it sound like he was acting on behalf of someone else.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say what she meant.”

  “Then let’s go ask Harry Clinton when we arrest him for murder.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The Shamshee Apartments in North Hollywood were located on La Brea Avenue. I had no idea how they came up with the name, but I did know that the building was one of the tallest in the area. From the top floor on a clear day, it offered sweeping views all the way from the city to the ocean.

  It was almost two in the morning as Charlie, Jessica, Bernie, and I walked through the parking lot to the apartments. We’d gone to Harry Clinton’s house in Brentwood earlier after talking to Mags and were told by the housekeeper that Clinton was staying at the Shamshee while some renovations were being done to his home.

  I ended my call and said to Charlie and Jessica, “According to the super, Clinton’s apartment is on the top floor. He gave me the elevator code. It opens directly into the apartment.”

  “I still can’t believe the SOB killed his own son,” Jessica said as we walked.

  I thought about Tex being right about the statistics showing that most homicides are committed by family members or close acquaintances.

  “According to Mags, it sounds like Harry Clinton had a business interest in the Mishio Sequence and software with Marcello,” I said.

  “Money is sometimes thicker than blood,” Charlie said as my phone rang.

  I listened for a minute before ending the call. “That was the super again. Clinton’s apparently already made us. The housekeeper must have called him, despite us telling her not to tip him off. He said the elevator’s been locked down. He gave me Clinton’s phone number.”

  “We’re going to have to use the stairs,” Jessica said.

  When we got to the building, we realized that Clinton’s penthouse apartment was on the twenty-sixth floor. I looked at Charlie who was already huffing and said, “You stay here and cover the elevator in case he decides to unlock it and come down.”

  “Why him?” Jessica said. “I’ll wait here.”

  I looked at my overweight partner and knew he could never make it up the stairs. “Suit yourself, Jessica, but I want Charlie down here also. Bernie and I will go up together.”

  Ten minutes later, as Bernie and I reached the penthouse apartment I realized that the stairway opened onto a deck with a doorway into the building that was locked. There was no other way to get inside the apartment. I was still breathing heavily as I dialed Clinton’s number.

  “We have the building covered,” I said after he answered and I identified myself. “You need to come out, now.”

  “You have a long wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “We know everything,” I said. “Mags told us that you killed Michael and China because of the patent Marcello had an interest in through his company, Abex.”

  Clinton laughed, I heard what sounded like ice clinking in a glass and realized that he was drinking. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters.”

  “How long have you worked for Marcello?” I asked, buying time and trying the door again. It didn’t budge.

  “We go back a long way, Detective. I was his enforcer at one time. He asked me to come out of retirement to pay back some debts and I agreed. ”

  “What kind of debts?”

  “I convinced him to invest in Michael’s company, provide some seed money. He agreed to the arrangement.” Clinton laughed, swallowed. “But, he not only wanted the seed money back, he also wanted interest on his investment.”

  “So you became his hit man again,” I said.

  “As you probably know, Malik Brown was blackmailing China. He was beginning to also figure out some of our other business arrangements, so Marcello wanted him out of the picture.”

  “And Marla West?”

  “Jimmy had already lost faith in her, but also found out that she was running her own game, blackmailing clients. That wasn’t something that Jimmy ever tolerated.”

  “Mags told me that she handled Discrete’s exclusive list,” I said. “Marcello, in turn, blackmailed some of those clients to further his own interests. He then set up Harmon Sanders for the wedding murders.”

  “Sanders was a fool, but his gun did come in handy. At least for a while, until you started interfering with everything.”

  I decided to try a different tactic. “Abex is worth billions. With Marcello gone you’ll have enough money to hire the best lawyers money can buy in your defense.”

  “I have nothing. “I’m flat broke.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  There was a pause and I had the impression another drink was being poured. “Abex was a shell company. Steven Drummond knew he would eventually lose the court case and the patent would revert to Abex. He partnered with Marcello and they developed the company together.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The patents and software belong to Abex and, now with the death of Marcello, exclusively to Steven Drummond again.” He paused, tossing down whatever he was drinking. “Michael, of course, had no idea about any of it. If he’d known that Steven had orchestrated everything to get the rights to the patent back if he lost the court case, he would have gone crazy.”

  “So you were working for Drummond?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t know any of this until I confronted Marcello yesterday. I became suspicious and looked deeper into Abex’s financial arrangements. That’s when I found out Drummond was behind everything.”

  I paused, the reality of what he was saying sinking in. “You mean that Steven Drummond not only got the rights to the patent back, he also orchestrated the death of his biggest business rival and his wife.”

  “I’m sure it was Steven’s way of getting back at both of them. He not only killed his best friend who betrayed him, he also killed the girlfriend that Steven had stolen.” It sounded like Clinton was taking another drink. “Payback’s a bitch, Detective.”

  “And you paid back Jimmy Marcello when you found out everything?” I asked.

  “That was my plan, but Drummond beat me to it.”

  I thought about the path of death and destruction that he and Marcello had left. That path had been brutal, without playing any favorites.

  “You killed your own son,” I said, hearing the revulsion in my voice.

  Clinton’s anger surfaced for the first time. “He was my stepson and one of the biggest assholes on the planet. Michael was an egotistical, controlling bully who would stop at nothing to get his own way. He got exactly what he deserved.”

  “And you have nothing,” I said, feeling disgust as I tried the door again and wondered if there was a way to pick the lock.

  “You’re right about that.”

  I heard what sounded like movement, maybe a door opening somewhere in the apartment. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Open the door.”

  The line was silent for a long moment as I continued to plead with Clinton to talk to me. Finally, his voice came back, but it was changed. I heard the resignation in his tone.

  “I’m going to be leaving you now,” Clinton said. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  I thought about my father, how Harry Clinton was the only one left alive who could tell me what exactly had happened to him. I spoke quickly, unsure about how much time I had. “My dad was a police officer. He was investigating Discrete back in the 1980s and was murdered. Do you know who killed him?”

  There was a hesitation. I thought maybe he’d put the phone down and then came back to it. “I think we’ve chatted long enough.”

  I had the sense that ti
me was growing short. I wasn’t sure what he was planning, but I knew that somehow Clinton was going to end his life.

  I pulled out my gun and said into the phone, “Mags. She told me that you did everything for someone else, someone you were involved with.”

  “Goodbye, Detective.” The line went dead.

  I pulled Bernie’s leash hard until he was behind me, shielded by my body. I fired one round into the door’s lock and it sprung open. We moved into the room as my phone was ringing. I did a quick search of the apartment, finding it was empty, before opening the line. It was Charlie.

  “He’s dead, Kate. Clinton just did a swan dive onto La Brea.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  By the time I got down twenty-six flights of stairs and to Harry Clinton’s body, the street was being blocked off by a couple of patrol units. Charlie and Jessica came over to me and Bernie.

  “What did Clinton tell you?” Charlie asked.

  I leaned over with my hands on my knees. Between gasps of breath, I told them about Steven Drummond being involved in Abex Holdings with Marcello, that he had orchestrated the murders of Michael and China. I came up from the knee bend and added, “According to Clinton, Drummond’s the one who killed Marcello.”

  Charlie was saying something about both men being assholes when I heard a phone ringing. It was coming from Harry Clinton’s body.

  “It’s his phone,” I said.

  I walked over to the body. Clinton’s arms were spread out like broken wings. I turned the body over, trying to avoid the blood splatter and bones protruding through the skin and clothes. I found the phone in his coat pocket and answered the call, not saying anything.

  “Harry, where are you?” a woman’s voice said. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  When I didn’t respond, the woman asked for Clinton again and became increasingly agitated. I ended the call and walked over to Charlie and Jessica. “I know who was behind everything with Harry Clinton.”

  ***

  An hour later, we had assembled in the street in front of Linda Warner’s house. I’d recognized Warner’s voice on Clinton’s phone from my previous contacts with her.

  “I think she and Harry were involved in a relationship,” I said. “She must have been working with him behind the scenes.”

  “Clinton not only killed his son, but also his girlfriend’s daughter?” Charlie said.

  “What was it you said about blood?” I said, opening Clinton’s phone and dialing Linda Warner’s number.

  “Harry, what’s going on?” I heard Warner shout. “Where are you?”

  “Ms. Warner, this is Detective Kate Sexton. I’m standing in front of your house with several other officers. Harry Clinton is dead. You need to come out now and surrender.”

  The line went dead. I tried calling again, but she didn’t pick up.

  “She’s killed all the lights in the house,” Charlie said a moment later.

  I looked up and saw that the three-story Tudor mansion was dark.

  “We need to call in SWAT,” Jessica said. “Let them make the entry.”

  Calling SWAT was the established protocol, but I didn’t want Linda Warner ending her life like Harry Clinton had without her telling me what she knew, if anything, about my father.

  “I’m going in with Bernie,” I said and explained my rationale.

  “I’m calling SWAT,” Jessica said. “You’re violating procedures and I’m going to report it.”

  Charlie said something about Jessica being a big-mouthed pain in the ass, then motioned to the house. “Let’s go.”

  We made entry with our guns drawn via a backdoor that was unlocked. After a downstairs search turned up nothing, we made our way upstairs with Bernie leading the way. We were in a dim-lit hallway outside what looked like a parlor, when we heard Linda Warner’s voice call out from across the room, somewhere in the darkness.

  “Stop right there or I’ll shoot. You have no right to be in my home.”

  “We’re here to arrest you for conspiracy to commit murder,” I said, taking cover with Charlie behind a desk. “Harry told us everything before he died. We know about Discrete, how both your daughters worked for the service, how you and Harry were involved in Marcello’s company, Abex Holdings, and how Steven Drummond cheated you out of everything.”

  We heard her weeping in the darkness. It sounded like she was somewhere in the corner of the room.

  After a moment, she said, “I can’t believe that bastard Drummond used us. I swear to God I’m going to kill him if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Discrete,” I said, thinking about my father. “You were there when the business began.”

  Warner’s laugh was low and derisive. She seemed completely sober. Was she really a drunk or had it all just been an act—her way of making us think she was harmless?

  “I was the original Hollywood Madam,” Warner said. “Jimmy and I opened the business together, right after he took Tony out of the picture. Harry came along as our original enforcer, before Arroyo and Andrews began taking care of things.”

  “How could you let your own daughters become involved in the business?” I asked, motioning for Charlie to move down the hallway so that we each had an angle on her.

  “Mags had a keen eye for business. As for China, let’s just say that she had some different, but very valuable assets.”

  “You pimped your own daughter,” I said.

  Her voice became defensive. “She wanted into the business to help her career. That’s how she got hooked up with that asshole Michael again.”

  “And you used her relationship with Michael to learn about his patents which you told Marcello about?”

  “Of course. We stood to make a fucking fortune, especially with Michael’s death.”

  “But you allowed Harry to murder your own daughter?” I said, at the same time turning and seeing that Jessica had come up the stairway behind me.

  “That was unintentional,” I’m afraid. “My daughter was a selfish, shallow bitch. Her death is what you would call collateral damage.”

  I was horrified by what she’d said. But then something else crossed my mind. Had China known that her own mother was working with Jimmy Marcello to steal her future husband’s fortune? If so, maybe that was the real reason she’d gone to Hank Stanley with her concerns about Michael’s debt and business relationships. We would probably never know.

  I knew that time was growing short and we had to get the situation under control. I motioned to Charlie and mouthed the words, light switch.

  “I need you to tell me something about Discrete,” I said. “Back in the 1980s an officer was working undercover, investigating the business. He was shot and killed.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Jessica was moving up between Charlie and me.

  “Your father,” Warner said. “Fortune smiled on us that day.” She chuckled. “Someone else got to him first.”

  I saw that Charlie had his hand on the light switch, but I held up my hand for him to wait.

  “Tell me what happened,” I said to Warner.

  I saw what I thought was movement in the direction of Warner’s voice. I couldn’t be sure, but I had the impression that she was moving her chair.

  “I’m not the one you should be asking about your father,” she finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes the past catches up with people, Detective.”

  I heard a shuffling sound in the direction of Warner’s voice. I nodded my head, motioning for Charlie to hit the lights, at the same time wondering what she had meant about my father’s past.

  When the room lit up, I realized what had been going on. Warner had turned her chair, positioning it so that it looked like she was facing away from us and we couldn’t see her.

  The lights were now blazing in the room and there was movement in the opposite corner.

  “She’s got a gun,” Jessica yelled.

  I turned and saw that
Warner had apparently crawled to the far corner of the room, near a doorway. She was crouched low. From where I stood, I couldn’t see a gun, but Jessica had a different angle than mine.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot,” Jessica said, the pitch in her voice rising with anxiety.

  Warner stood and turned toward us. In that same moment, we all saw the gun in her hands.

  “Put the gun down, NOW,” Jessica yelled.

  I was releasing Bernie just as Jessica decided that our lives were in danger and fired.

  By the time I got Bernie back under control and came over to Jessica and Charlie, I knew it was too late. Blood was oozing out of Linda Warner’s chest onto the floor, taking with it the force that had been her life along with what she knew about the death of my father.

  The Hollywood Madam was dead.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  It was after nine in the morning by the time we finished up at Linda Warner’s house. We had all been interviewed separately by OIS, the department’s Officer Involved Shooting team. Jessica broke down crying a couple of times, even as Charlie and I tried to convince her that the shooting was justified. Then she turned on me.

  “Sexton violated procedures,” Jessica said. “She wouldn’t wait for SWAT, but insisted that we make entry without backup.”

  I explained my rationale for entering the residence, telling the detective who interviewed me I had reason to believe that Linda Warner would do harm to herself or others based upon her mental status.

  I didn’t know what the outcome of the OIS investigation would be, and I didn’t care. I was exhausted and frustrated and had only one thing on my mind—trying to understand what Linda Warner had meant about the past catching up to people, an obvious reference to what happened to my father. The more I thought about what she’d said, the more I knew that I had to talk to my mother again.

  Mack called as Bernie and I drove to my mom’s house. “We’re grandparents. Thelma gave birth to two healthy puppies late last night, a male and a female.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” I said. “Things were a little busy last night.”