Hollywood Homicide: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 4

  A decade earlier he’d been new to Hollywood, having been in the city less than three years. He’d worked small jobs at the time, mostly taking care of celebrities who had gotten out of control, either because of alcohol, drugs, or sex. His fixes usually involved taking them home, sobering them up, and then trying to do damage control behind whatever mess they’d created. That usually involved some sort of payoff to any injured parties and making sure the paparazzi didn’t get involved.

  The job had been routine until a wealthy movie producer named Ernst Koch had found his fourteen year old daughter in flagrante delicto with an actor named Martin Beal. Koch had gone into a cold rage, sending his daughter to an all-girl’s boarding school in Germany, before tracking down Beal and killing him. Landon had been called and agreed to clean-up the scene and dispose of the body, both because he knew that Beal was a sexual sadist, preying on children and young girls, and because Koch had been a close friend of his father.

  While Beal’s body had never been found—Landon had given him an inauspicious burial at sea—suspicions had swirled around Koch for years and Landon had twice been questioned by the police about his possible involvement. Koch had died three years ago, taking his secret to the grave. His death had finally put to rest Landon’s fears that the police would somehow learn of his involvement in the homicide and charge him with being complicit in the crime. Now, all those fears were returning as he walked into the Montrose Gardens cottage.

  Night had fallen as Landon put on paper booties and gloved up. He found the victim in the second bedroom of a two bedroom suite. Despite having dealt with death before on the job and in Iraq, he was unprepared for what he saw and had to leave the room. He stepped outside, glanced around the nearly deserted parking area, and took several deep breaths to regain his composure.

  When he went back inside, Landon took a moment to survey the scene. Scarlett Endicott was nude, lying across the king-sized bed with her arms spread out and her feet crossed together at the ankles. The actress had been bludgeoned to death, the blood spilling out onto the duvet and spraying across the bedroom’s expansive white marble floor. The murder weapon, a large hunting knife, was on the bed next to the deceased actress, after having been used in the worst way imaginable.

  The actress’s throat had been slashed, but not before she’d endured several cuts and puncture wounds to other parts of her body. Landon realized the torture session must have gone on for hours. He contemplated where to begin cleaning the scene when the bile rose in his throat again and he had to leave the room for a second time.

  As he gulped in air and steadied his nerves in the kitchen, Landon thought about Scarlett Endicott. He knew that she was twenty-six, the same age as his own daughter. She had been a beautiful young actress who was a rising star in Hollywood. Landon was friends with Scarlett’s father, Mark, having gone to college with him at Stanford. His own daughter, Madison, had been good friends with Scarlett when they were younger.

  The pornographic photos that he had in his pocket flashed through his mind again. While Madison had never mentioned it, he decided that maybe Scarlett and his daughter had stayed in touch over the years. He knew that Madison was not someone who engaged in casual sex or was into the party scene. There had to be an explanation for what happened but he didn’t look forward to confronting his daughter about the photographs.

  After regaining control, Landon took a moment to glance through the widows and listen for sounds outside the cottage. Before arriving at The Gardens it had occurred to him that he might have been set up by the caller to take the fall for Scarlett’s homicide. It could be that whoever killed Scarlett had waited for him to enter the cottage before calling the police. Despite those fears, he’d decided that the revealing photos of his daughter had left him with no choice but to fix the crime scene.

  After deciding there was no one around, Landon went back into the bedroom and looked through the closet. It was apparent that the deceased actress hadn’t fully unpacked her suitcase. He rummaged through her belongings before deciding there was nothing remarkable there. Then he noticed a small notebook on the floor that looked like it had fallen out of the suitcase. He glanced through the notebook, realizing that Scarlett had started writing a letter to someone. As he scanned the missive his eyes held on some key words that he realized might have predicted the actress’s fate.

  MSL,

  It seems like forever since we were together at the Pantry. I miss you and we need to talk. Maybe it’s my imagination but I think someone’s…I know this sounds crazy but I don’t feel safe anymore. Last week there was…

  The letter was unfinished. It might have been that Scarlett was interrupted while writing it, maybe by the killer. He removed the letter from the notebook and pushed it into his pocket, at the same time knowing that he would need to talk to Scarlett’s father about his daughter’s murder and what he’d found.

  As Landon set to work, he knew that he’d have to remove all the coverings from the bed, along with the body in case any DNA evidence had been left behind by the killer. The thought also crossed his mind that maybe Scarlett had been sexually assaulted prior to her murder. It was even possible that one of the men in the horrifying photographs he’d been given could have been involved. Covering for the killer and possible rapist went against everything Landon knew was right. Despite that, he decided there was no other option.

  After slipping into a maintenance worker’s uniform, he spent the next couple of hours removing the evidence from the cottage and using bleach to clean the bedroom floor. He left the room and dumped what he’d removed in a trash receptacle a couple of blocks over from the hotel before returning to the cottage. He was about to move Scarlett’s body onto the floor where he had a plastic tarp when he heard the sound. It was a car door closing, followed by the crackle of a police radio.

  The cottage was in an isolated area of The Gardens and Landon had been uninterrupted in his work, until now. He took a moment to peek into the adjacent living room and saw the flashing red lights in the parking lot beyond the window. His pulse rate spiked as he realized that his earlier suspicions about being set up had been right.

  It took Landon less than twenty seconds to put his escape plan into place. He moved through the master bedroom and opened the sliding glass door to the patio. Seconds later, he was moving through the grounds of The Gardens at the same time the police were knocking on the door to Scarlett’s cottage.

  When he got to his car parked on the street, Landon took a moment to calm himself and catch his breath. His mind raced with the possibilities. Maybe someone had photographed him entering the cottage. While he was sure that he’d left no physical evidence of his own at the scene, it could be that the police had already made him as the primary suspect. If that was the case, even though the crime scene was clean, he knew the only thing that might save him from a first degree murder charge would be the bags of evidence that he’d dumped earlier.

  As Pearce Landon started his car and pulled onto Sunset Boulevard he knew that he had to retrieve the evidence. Then he would work on finding Scarlett Endicott’s killer and the man who had set him up for the crime.

  ELEVEN

  Bernie and I met Ted Grady at Dirty Ray’s on La Brea a little after eight the next morning. The place had great coffee, but it was the cinnamon rolls that always brought me back to the eatery. If smell could be a marketing tool, the establishment had mastered the craft of olfactory advertising. My big dog and I were on the sidewalk, almost a block up the street when the heavenly scent hit us.

  “Okay, I’ll give you one bite,” I said to Bernie. He looked up at me and licked the air. “We’ll take an extra turn around the park tonight.”

  We ordered and found my wannabe new partner already waiting for us on the patio overlooking the city. Ted Grady stood up and came over to us, giving Bernie a big dose of detective love.

  “If you ever decide you want to be bored by my theory of canine evolution, just let me know,” Grady said after we
settled in.

  I broke off a piece of my roll and gave it to Bernie. He wolfed it down.

  “It’s early and I’ve got the day ahead of me,” I said. “So bore away.”

  The big detective laughed, his heavy jowls lifting. “Most experts think that wolves became domesticated, eventually becoming what we now know as the modern day canine, because they hung around campfires about ten thousand years ago and begged for scraps.”

  “Or cinnamon rolls.”

  The smile stayed on his face. “I think the so called experts got it all wrong.”

  “You mean the wolves were after something besides table scraps?”

  He nodded. “In a sense.” He looked over at Bernie who was watching me eat, maybe thinking if he stared hard enough he could hypnotize me into giving him another bite. “What dogs really had in mind was the domestication of humans.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You lost me somewhere, Sherlock.”

  “You, me, the rest of the human race, have been in training for a few thousand years, we just don’t realize it.”

  I glanced at Bernie, back at him. “I’m not the one wearing a collar and a leash.”

  “Of course you are, it’s just invisible.” Grady’s grin widened. “Think about it. Dogs get free room and board, medical care, grooming, and all expenses paid vacations courtesy of humans. I’m willing to bet that your life pretty much revolves around Bernie.”

  I looked down at my big dog. The hypnosis worked. I gave him another crumb. I then found Grady’s soft brown eyes again. “Maybe you’ve got a point.”

  He laughed. “Actually, it’s probably more of a two way street. Dogs wouldn’t be dogs without humans, and humans wouldn’t be nearly what we are without dogs. There’s a world of things they teach us when we pay attention: kindness, loyalty, nurturing, and love. If you ask me, it’s a pretty good arrangement.”

  It was now my turn to return the hefty detective’s smile. I had to admit that I liked Ted Grady. “There’s a park up the street. What do you say we let Bernie take us for a walk, burn off a few calories.”

  He glanced over at my dog. “I think that’s just what he’s been planning for us all morning.”

  The park was only a block up, one of those small patches of grass and trees that almost seemed out of place in the city. It was still early and there was just a scattering of people, some of them also being walked by their dogs. After a few turns around the park, we found a bench. The winter morning was cool. I pulled my sweater around me for warmth as we settled in.

  Grady waited patiently, not saying anything about the assignment that had been offered before I decided I needed to bring it up. “I’m still conflicted, unsure about the new job.”

  He regarded me for a moment, looked away. “It’s okay. Pearl told me you had some things to work through.”

  “You know Pearl?”

  He nodded. “Many years.” His eyes seemed to turn inward as he added, “Best man I’ve ever known.”

  I nodded, my gaze drifting off. “Me too.” I took a breath. “He’s helped me through a lot but…I’m…” I found his eyes again. “I’m not sure I want to continue working for the department, being a cop.”

  He locked eyes with me and released a heavy breath. “I know exactly what you’re going through, Kate.”

  The big detective had no idea. “It’s not just the job. There are some personal issues that I’m trying to resolve.”

  He folded his arms across his big chest and let his gaze drift off. I had the sense that maybe he’d been struggling with his emotions when he finally spoke. “There was a time when I almost quit the force.” His eyes found me. “Can I tell you about it?”

  “Of course.”

  He breathed, sat up a little straighter. “I had twelve years on the job and was working vice out of Metro at the time. Peggy, my ex-wife, called me while I was chasing a bad guy through an alleyway. I saw the call come up on my phone but didn’t take it.” He looked back at me. “Long story short, she was calling to tell me that our seven year-old daughter, Gabriel, had been shot in a drive by at a local park and that she was being rushed to the hospital.”

  I reached over and touched his hand. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

  Teary-eyed, he drew in some air, and continued. “I checked my messages twenty minutes later, after I had our bad guy under arrest. It was too late. Gabby died five minutes before I made it to the hospital.”

  I brushed tears from my own eyes, again telling him how sorry I was. It struck me how rare it was for two cops to cry, without shame, in front of one another.

  “I failed her, Kate,” Ted finally said. “I also failed, Peggy. All because of the job.”

  I let the sadness of what he’d said settle between us for a moment. Finally, I spoke up. “How…how did you find the strength…to go on?”

  He met my watery eyes. “It took years. Peggy and I divorced as a result of the crushing loss of Gabby. But I eventually found my own way back from the loss. In time I realized that I needed to honor what happened to Gabby as part of my healing process. I came to understand that, while I wasn’t there for Gabby when it mattered, I could be there for others—other boys and girls, men and women, all victims, who need someone to care about what happens to them.”

  I took a breath, at the same time removing a tissue from my purse to wipe my eyes. “You certainly made the best of the worst possible situation.”

  “I know you’ve suffered your own losses, Kate. I also know that grief and the healing that follows is a process that’s different for every person.” His compassionate eyes fixed on me. “I’ve come to realize that life’s a choice between fear and love. We all make a decision about which one to embrace. When we choose fear it pulls us down into the darkness of despair and loss of control. Love, on the other hand, shows us how to find the beauty, meaning, and purpose in everything we do.”

  I regarded him for a long moment. “Sometimes the job makes that almost impossible.” I took a breath. “Love and homicide. They don’t seem to fit together very well.”

  He shook his head. “It’s just my opinion, but I don’t think that’s true. Being a homicide cop is all about choosing. It’s choosing love to uncover what fear has produced. Love is doing the right thing by the victim and their families. It’s about finding justice.” He took a moment, maybe letting his words settle in before continuing. “If you become a part of Section One, you have my promise that I’ll be there for you every step of the way.” His smile came back, bigger than ever. “I think we’re meant to work together, Kate.” He looked at my big dog. “You, me, and Bernie.”

  His eyes fixed on me again. They were red-rimmed, but I saw that his emotional storm had passed as he went on, “After the loss of Gabby and my divorce, I realized there was a way back for me. I came to understand that I had to move ahead by taking the same path that I’d already followed. It was my Zazen.”

  “Your what?”

  He laughed. “It’s a Zen term that refers to a meditative discipline involving a way to calm the body and mind and experience insight into the nature of existence. In my case Zazen was being present every day, sort of a working meditation where I do the best job I can in the best way I know how.”

  I chuckled and said, “Canine evolutionary theories, the philosophy of love and fear, and now Zen. I’ve got a feeling I’m dealing with a renaissance man.”

  He belly laughed, waved a hand. “Hardly. I’m just a cop, a regular guy trying to find my way in the world, just like everybody. It’s all a path, Kate. A journey about finding a little light, even in the darkness of loss.”

  Grady’s phone rang. He excused himself and walked away to take the call. While he was gone, his words still resonated with me. I’d suffered losses in my own life, but they were nothing like the loss of someone’s only child. My losses had started with my father, who was a street cop, gunned down in a jealous rage in front of my eyes when I was only four years-old. Then there was Jack, a detective who was in love wi
th me, just trying to do his job, also gunned down by my father’s killer.

  The other losses included a failed marriage and a couple of relationships that hadn’t worked out, including the one with Buck McCade. I knew that I’d begun to fall in love with Buck, but that seemed to have been taken away in an instant when his mentally ill ex-wife showed up, claiming that he was the father of her baby.

  Despite all those losses, what Ted Grady had suffered made my losses seem to pale in comparison. I’d only met the big cop twice, but I already knew he was an exceptional person, someone who truly could be like family to me. That fact appealed to me.

  I’d never had a relationship with my birthmother because she’d been killed by my father’s murderer. And now, my adoptive mother was suffering an emotional breakdown, maybe over her own failures to tell me the truth about being adopted. While I had a good relationship with my brother, Robin, my sister, Amanda, was another story. We had never been close, maybe because she was obsessed with material wealth.

  Finding enlightenment in the darkness of loss.

  Those words and the prospect of working with Ted Grady caused something to shift inside me. It told me it was time to move on and find a path toward honoring my father and Jack, who had both been killed in the line of duty.

  “I’ve made a decision,” I said when Ted ended his call and came back over to me. “I want to be your partner in Section One.”

  The big detective smiled in that way he had that seemed to light up the world. “Let’s get going then. We just caught our first case.”

  TWELVE

  Ted and I stopped by Hollywood Station for a couple of minutes before heading to what we were told was a crime scene involving an actress named, Scarlett Endicott. I wasn’t familiar with the actress’s roles but had seen her on a couple of late night talk shows. All I knew was that Scarlett was young and beautiful, and when the press got wind of her murder the pressure would be on LAPD’s new homicide unit to prove its worth.