Hollywood Dirty: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 4

  “Since Jessica’s out on stress leave and Liebowitz is on another case, it’s yours for now. But I want more bodies on this. I’m assigning Gooch and Glade to work with you two.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. The detectives had a reputation for acting like a couple of teenage boys in heat. “They’re total goofballs.”

  “They’re all I fucking got, for now.”

  Charlie swallowed the sugar rat, finally found his voice. “You’re really gonna make us work with the Douche Brothers?”

  Edna pinched the bridge of his nose, maybe trying to suppress a headache. “Don’t call them that.”

  Charlie took a gulp of water from a plastic bottle. “Everybody calls them that. They even call themselves that. The Douche Brothers are idiots who got dropped on their heads at birth by their doctor.”

  “Enough,” Edna said. “You two have the lead on this, but I want the four of you to divide up duties. Take another swing at everything. Re-interview Jezzie’s parents, friends, her coaches, anyone of interest. Turn every stone over again. And, I don’t have to tell you that, with the press on the case, you don’t have a lot of time. If Barry Ralston did the crime, then let’s nail it down for good.”

  On the way out of Edna’s office, I said to Charlie, “The Douche Brothers. Really?”

  Charlie’s moustache twitched. It was dyed and had red highlights, in an attempt to impress his girlfriend, Wilma. “Guess it could be worse. You could be partnered with Jessica again.”

  He had a point. I’d been forced to work with Jessica Barlow a few weeks back while Charlie was on leave recovering from a mild heart attack. The experience ended with Jessica filing a hostile work environment complaint against us and taking a stress leave after Charlie returned to work. While the department’s HR department said the complaint was without merit, Charlie and I had nevertheless been forced to write reports and give depositions defending ourselves.

  “Our noble partners in crime,” Detective Kyle Gooch said, coming down the hallway with his partner, Eric Glade, as we left the lieutenant’s office.

  Gooch was in his early-thirties, about six-two with a solid build, and a swagger like Jagger, as in the rock star. His gelled brown hair was streaked with blonde highlights.

  Glade was shorter and thinner than his older partner. He was handsome in a boyish way. His hand came up in a salute. “Reporting for duty, as ordered, hombres. We even brought ammunition.” He held out a box of donuts.

  I glanced at Charlie who was salivating, his eyes fixed on the donut box like a teenage boy with a Playboy Magazine. I guessed that the sugar twist he’d downed a minute ago had just been an appetizer.

  I turned back to our new partners and sighed. “Let’s meet in the conference room in ten and divide up duties.”

  I took a moment before our meeting to call Haley Tristan. When the reporter came on the line I got right to the point. “For the record, Ms. Tristan, we’re relooking at the Jezzie Rose murder in light of Barry Ralston’s death.”

  Tristan’s response reminded me of some old movie I’d seen where the defense attorney turned to the jury in a courtroom and said, “You mean you now have doubts about Ralston’s guilt.”

  “I didn’t say that. We’re just doing due diligence.”

  “As in reopening an investigation because you know Ralston was falsely accused.”

  I took a moment and sucked in a breath, trying to calm myself. “We’re just covering all the bases…”

  “As I mentioned yesterday, Barry Ralston told Latisha Hill that he was innocent. The exclusive interview I did with Ms. Hill in Bakersfield will be running on tonight’s news. I believe the real killer is still out there.”

  Tristan rambled on about Ralston being innocent. It was all just speculation on her part, but the reporter did have the benefit of having talked to Tyson Gray’s girlfriend. I knew that we were going to have to interview Latisha Hill. My spirits sank at the prospect of going back to Bakersfield. But then I realized something. Charlie and I had the lead. We could put Gooch and Glade on it.

  When she’d finished with her rant I made an effort to end the conversation. “I’m not at liberty to discuss any further details at this time.”

  “Just so you know, we’re also running with the story in tomorrow’s edition of the Herald-Press, focusing on how the police botched the initial investigation into the death of a superstar athlete. Your department is going to be held accountable for incompetence.”

  I suppressed a groan. “I have no further comment. Goodbye, Ms. Tristan.”

  The reporter was still talking as I hung up the phone. I took a moment and filled Charlie in on what she’d said.

  My partner drained his water bottle, set it down. “When that hits the papers, the heat’s going to be turned up on us big time. And we have Jessica to thank for screwing up the investigation.”

  We took a few moments, badmouthing our shared nemesis before meeting with Gooch and Glade in the conference room. Bernie settled at my feet as I pushed copies of the original reports on the Rose case across the table to them.

  “I saw Jezzie take the gold in the hundred at last year’s Olympics,” Kyle Gooch said as Charlie dipped a paw into the pastry box. “They called her black lightening.”

  Eric Glade was already working on a donut. “Ten-four, bro. She was one fast mama.” The younger detective had short brown hair and glassy green eyes that reminded me of a cat. I wondered if he wore contacts as he went on. “Reminds me of that Badge Betty I met last summer. She went totally road rage on me all the way down Sunset. I barely escaped with my testicular anatomy intact.”

  “Nuts to you, hombre,” Gooch said. He turned to me. “My colleague and I tend to have female problems from time to time and I’m not talking PMS. It’s called RS Syndrome.” I arched my brows, not having a clue about what he meant. “Rock Star Syndrome,” he explained. “I’m the Springsteen, to my esteemed partner’s Bono.”

  Glade stood and began playing air guitar, at the same time making strange twanging sounds. Gooch also got up and warbled something about dancing in the dark while doing a full turn.

  “Enough,” I said, looking at Charlie who was too busy stuffing his face again to offer any support. “Let’s get down to business.”

  Our new partners retook their seats. I summarized our case and divided up duties.

  “Charlie and I will re-interview Jezzie’s parents.” I looked at the Douche Brothers, deciding that the name really did fit them. “I want you two to start with a woman named Latisha Hill. She was the girlfriend of the drug dealer who Ralston shot. She needs to be interviewed in Bakersfield.”

  “Sorry, Kate,” Kyle Gooch said. “Can I call you Kate?” He didn’t wait for a response. “We don’t do Bakersfield. It’s just not a good geo-fit for us. We’re more like beach rock star types.”

  “Kate’s fine,” I said. “But if I had to do Bakersfield, so will you. Just take some foul weather gear and a couple of gas masks.”

  “I guess we can gulp the gas for the cause,” Gooch said, turning to his younger brother. “It’ll be like junior high school gym class all over again, dude.” The taller of the two goofball detectives met my eyes. “We just have one request, Kate.” He looked at his partner again and they nodded at one another.

  “Since you’re the lead on this case we’d like permission to go NPC,” Eric Glade said.

  I looked from the brothers, then to Charlie who was busy having a sugar orgasm. I doubted that he’d heard a word that was said. I turned back to Glade. “Come again?”

  Non-Politically Correct,” the younger of the two brothers explained with a smile. “Me and Mr. Gooch, my colleague and soul brother during this incarnation, tend to work better if we can speak without worrying about some big dog saying we didn’t play by their rules and telling us to BOHIC.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bend Over Here It Comes,” Glade explained.

  “We don’t want to play clarinet in the brass band,” Gooch agreed,
pointing to Captain Decker, the station’s highest ranking officer. I saw through the glass window that he was in the hallway walking toward Lieutenant Edna’s office. “We’d rather not spend our time kissing air and spreading our cheeks for the sharks.”

  I looked at Charlie who was swallowing, licking his fingers. “Any comment?”

  He shrugged. “Works for me, long as they do their share of the leg work.”

  I shook my head, thinking how I was partnered with a tubby food addict and a couple of knuckleheads who were thirty-something minus about twenty years of maturity.

  “Fine,” I said to the brothers. “Just do your jobs and we’ll all get along.”

  Kyle Gooch high-fived his partner. “You won’t regret this. The DB’s are locked and loaded.”

  “We’re ready to kick some shit in the name of the vic,” Glade agreed.

  “For Jezzie,” Gooch said.

  “Let’s go for the gold.”

  “Hey, I can already hear the music playing.” Gooch cupped a hand around his ear and warbled, “Hey sexy lady.”

  The brothers suddenly stood up, put on sunglasses, and began gyrating like the guy in that Gangnam style video, acting like they were riding invisible horses and waving their hands in the air. I could almost hear the electronic whir of music pulsing in the background as they gyrated and sang that they were solving the case, not Gangham style, but Douche Brother style.

  It went on like that for a full minute, the brothers dancing, riding their invisible ponies, and singing about solving our case. During the performance Bernie came over to my side and looked from the brothers to me while doing a tail wag. Maybe he had a soft spot for idiotic musical acts, considering he’d seen my roommates’ performance a few times before their band had broken up.

  “Enough,” I said, unable to suppress my laughter any longer.

  The brothers mercifully relented, sat down. Gooch looked over at my tubby partner and said, “Next time we’ll include you in our performance, C-Dawg.”

  Charlie looked from the brothers to me. He had the remnants of a donut on his face and deadpanned, “Anybody got milk?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Charlie drove us to meet with Jezzie Rose’s mother while Bernie lapped up air from an open window in the backseat. I glanced at my partner, still trying to get the images of the brothers doing their ridiculous dance out of my mind. “When we left the station our new partners said they were heading to Bakersfield. I just hope they don’t do anything stupid and get arrested.”

  “All I know is that if they end up in jail I’m not bailing them out. My asthma’s been acting up ever since we were there.”

  I wondered if it was asthma or Charlie being short of breath due to his recent heart attack. There was also the matter of him smoking again, despite promises that he was going to quit. “Speaking of your health, you need to lay off the cigarettes and junk food. What happened to the new lifestyle?”

  We’d reached the Glendale city limits where my partner turned off the freeway. I often drove Olive, my personal car, so that I could get reimbursed for the mileage since my divorce had ruined my credit and left me broke. My car had rolled off the assembly line back when Bruce Willis still had hair and was lately having a spell of radiator problems so I’d decided to give her a rest.

  Charlie didn’t look at me as he made excuses for the junk food binge. “Tell you the truth, I’ve been a little depressed lately.”

  “You just had a bad heath scare. It’s to be expected.”

  He shook his head. “It’s because of Wilma. She told me yesterday that she only wants to see me one night a week.”

  Probably because she’s tired of you jumping her bones, Charlie.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” I said, trying to be diplomatic. “A little distance can sometimes make a relationship stronger.” The moment I’d said the words I knew it wasn’t true. I hadn’t talked to Mack since I’d left for Bakersfield. And, truthfully, I wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to see me again after running into my ex-boyfriend, Jack Bautista, at a park.

  “I think Wilma’s got another guy, Kate. And if that’s the case I need to move on. A guy’s got his needs.”

  “I think your imagination is working overtime.” I knew that Charlie’s needs had been brought on by a combination of male enhancement herbs and Internet sex sites. My partner’s girlfriend had recently dyed her short, spiky hair red and started dressing like a Lady Gaga wannabe. The likelihood that she had another boyfriend seemed remote. “If I were you I’d back off and give it some time.”

  We turned into a residential neighborhood as Charlie said, “Maybe you’re right. I’ve got my hands full with Irma right now anyway.”

  My partner’s sixteen year-old daughter had been a challenge ever since Charlie and his ex split up. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s got a new boyfriend named Cleo. Irma’s been helping him out with his homework.”

  “That’s not such a bad thing.”

  “It is when Cleo’s going to tattoo school.” He pulled to the curb in front of the Rose’s house. “Irma’s become his homework canvas. She even got a tattoo of Cleo’s mug on her arm. It looks like a jackass.”

  I offered my sympathies as we got out of the car and Bernie sniffed his way up the sidewalk. The Roses’ home was a single story ranch style, painted gray with white shutters. The neighborhood was your typical middle-class affair with manicured lawns and flower beds lining the sidewalks.

  As we approached the residence, Charlie said, “So what are you going to do about seeing your mother since your vacation got cancelled?”

  “Before we left the station I talked to the lieutenant. He gave me the day after tomorrow off. I’m flying to Vegas for the day to try and locate her.”

  He rang the doorbell. “Do you think you’re ready for that after all these years?”

  I shrugged. “All I have to do is find the mother I’ve never seen and my father’s killer in my spare time. Just another day’s work.”

  I was surprised when Jezzie’s father answered the door. I recognized him from the TV coverage of his daughter’s Olympic games. The Roses had been constant cheerleaders for the gold medalist and had even given network interviews about Jezzie’s life and career. I’d heard somewhere that the family had been working on a book about their lives before Jezzie’s untimely death.

  “I’m Al,” Jezzie’s father said by way of introduction in a deep baritone. He was big in the way that some former athletes become jowly and heavyset when they get older. His hair was graying on the sides and his brown eyes were set in a way that seemed permanently mournful. Maybe he’d dramatically aged since Jezzie’s death.

  “Heard you were coming by,” he continued, “so I took off work. Wanted to hear about Ralston and any news you might have about Jez.” He reached down and nuzzled Bernie with a big hand before motioning us inside.

  “Thank-you for meeting with us,” I said, following him into the residence.

  When we were in the hallway his wife came over from the kitchen. “I’m Flo,” Jezzie’s mom said. She was short and small boned, probably in her early forties, but gave the appearance of being much younger. The resemblance to her deceased daughter was dramatic, Flo looking more like Jezzie’s sister than her mother. “Thanks so much for taking the time to come by and talk to us. We truly appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” I said, and then introduced myself, Charlie, and Bernie. My big dog, as usual, got lots of attention and reciprocated by doing a little happy dance.

  “Can I get you drinks or anything?” she asked as we settled in on a buttery leather couch. It complimented the other furnishings in the cozy family room that gave the home a comfortable, lived-in feel. Family photographs, including several shots of Jezzie during her many track meets, lined the walls.

  We declined her offer as Bernie settled at my feet and Flo dabbed her eyes. “Forgive me. It’s just that with what’s been on the news and…you coming by like this…it brings every
thing that happened back.” She blew her nose as I noticed there was a young man in the adjacent kitchen.

  “Bix, please come join us,” Al Rose said. He stood and introduced his son after he came over.

  We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, Bix bending down and letting Bernie sniff his hand for approval. Jezzie’s brother was about five ten with a thin build like his mother. I wondered if he also ran track. If that was the case I’d heard nothing about him having any of the success Jezzie had achieved.

  “Bix,” Charlie said as the young man took a seat next to his father. “It’s a name you don’t often hear.”

  He smiled. “Dad wanted a couple of musicians for kids. All he got were runners.”

  Al’s heavy jowls lifted. “Guilty. I’m a big fan of jazz and the blues.” He looked at his wife. “Jezzie was a compromise. Our daughter was like beautiful, soulful music. I wanted the name Jazzie but Flo prevailed.”

  “And I’m named for some guy who’s been dead about eighty years,” Bix said.

  His father smiled, putting a big hand on his son’s shoulder. “Bix Beiderbecke. I guess some tastes can’t be passed down from one generation to the next.”

  After a little history lesson on the jazz musician, I got down to business. “While I’m sure you’ve all seen the news reports, I wanted you to hear it from the department that Barry Ralston was shot and killed by the police in Bakersfield yesterday.”

  “Thank-you for taking the trouble to come by,” Al said. He released a breath, his sad eyes were moist. “It won’t bring Jezzie back but maybe it will help with closure.” He looked at his wife, exhaled and added, “Maybe.”

  I turned and saw that Flo was crying again. I said to her, “I’m so sorry. Can I get you anything?” She shook her head and seemed unable to speak.

  “How did he die?” Bix asked, drawing my attention away from his mother. “I heard the police shot him but…what led up to that?”