Hollywood Quest Read online

  “It’s a nice little getaway,” Callaway said, responding to what Darby had said, “but I spend most of my time in Kauai.”

  Susan Callaway looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and a figure that was lean and muscular. I had the impression she spent a lot of time in the gym, as we took seats on wicker furniture across from her in the family room, and Bernie settled at my side. I glanced around the room, seeing nothing in the way of family photos, giving me the impression that she might live alone.

  “Laura’s in the shower,” Callaway told us. “She’s having a difficult time coping, as you might imagine.”

  “And Amy?” Leo asked.

  “She’s watching TV in her bedroom.”

  “Has the child said anything about what happened?”

  Callaway brushed the hair out of her eyes. “No. It’s strange...kind of like before when...when her sister Linda died. She hasn’t said a word about anything.”

  A door opened down the hallway, and an older version of Susan Callaway appeared a moment later. Laura Bratton had the same hair and eye color as her sister, but she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked at least ten years older than her sibling, even though I knew from the background reports she was only three years older.

  After introductions, Callaway went off to get some coffee, and Bratton took a seat across from us. She seemed listless and didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge us, giving me the impression that she might be on medication.

  “Thank you for meeting with us,” Leo said, beginning the discussion. “We know this is a difficult time.”

  She finally made eye contact. “Is...are they...really gone?”

  Leo nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  We gave her some time as her eyes filled and her sister came over with coffee and a box of tissues. After some comforting words, Callaway took a seat beside her sister and put her arm around her.

  “Can you tell us where you were yesterday?” Leo said, softening his tone after Bratton regained some composure.

  She dabbed her eyes. “I went shopping with my friend Haley, then out to lunch. I had my phone turned off and didn’t realize what happened until late in the day when I checked my messages.”

  After getting her friend’s last name and contact information, Leo asked, “Were you or your husband having any kind of problems with anyone recently?”

  She shook her head and blotted her tears again. “No. What happened doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What about your husband’s work?” I asked, thinking maybe she would be more responsive to a woman. “Was he having any problems with anyone he represented?”

  She took a moment before answering. “Not that I know about, but you could talk to Jason.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason Taylor, Lee’s partner.”

  After getting Taylor’s phone number, Darby said, “We understand that your husband represented a lot of high profile Hollywood types. He had to come across a few nuts in that line of work.”

  Bratton shrugged. “I suppose, but Lee didn’t talk much about his job. He valued his clients’ privacy.”

  “Yeah, but you’re his wife. He must have told you a few stories along the way.”

  She shrugged. “Not really.”

  Darby looked at us like he didn’t believe what she was saying.

  I took over again. “What about friends or family members who might have been causing problems? Does anyone come to mind?”

  She shook her head and blew her nose, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  After a moment Callaway lowered her voice and said to her sister, “Maybe you should explain about what was happening between you and Lee.”

  There was a long pause before Bratton said, “My husband and I were having problems ever since...since Linda died. We were still together, but...”

  When she didn’t go on, Callaway said, “I think what Laura’s trying to say is that she and Lee lived separate lives. There was even some talk about divorce.”

  Bratton nodded in agreement, but remained silent.

  “Who was he seeing?” Darby asked her, demonstrating his usual lack of tact.

  “What?”

  “Your husband. Who was he seeing?”

  “I don’t know if he was seeing anyone. All I know is that he worked long hours, and...as Susan told you, we’d grown apart.”

  Darby rolled his eyes as I treaded into deeper water. “What about the cameras and listening devices found in your home? Any thoughts on who might have been watching your family?”

  Bratton’s eyes narrowed on me. “What are you talking about?”

  I realized that no one had told her about what we’d found in the residence. I took a moment and explained about the electronic equipment.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  I shook my head. “Someone was watching everything that went on in your house.”

  “Oh, God.” She broke down crying again as her sister tried to comfort her.

  As her sister sobbed, Callaway said, “Why would someone be spying on...on her family?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Darby said. He looked at Bratton. “You need to come clean about the affair. Who was your husband seeing? Was he involved with his ex?”

  Darby’s insensitivity and his questions seemed to push Bratton deeper into despair. She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably for several minutes. When she excused herself to use the bathroom, Callaway stayed behind and tried to explain her sister’s marital situation.

  “I think the marriage became extremely strained after Linda died. In the months that followed, Lee became more distant and withdrawn.” She looked at Darby. “I don’t think this is an issue of him being involved with someone else, and especially not his ex-wife, but rather there being a strain on the marriage brought about by a murdered child. I don’t believe my sister or her husband ever recovered from what happened.”

  Darby shook his head, asking Callaway. “You married?”

  “Divorced.”

  “Then you know how things go. When a marriage is on the rocks, the parties start to look for comfort elsewhere. I think there’s something your sister isn’t telling you.”

  It occurred to me that Darby might be referring to his own failed marriage when I heard a door close down the hall, and Bratton returned a moment later. After she’d settled in again, I softened my tone and began asking about her daughter.

  “As you know, Amy had Z-91 tattooed on her wrist previously. Yesterday someone underlined it. It matches what was written on the masks placed on Lee and the other children.”

  “Masks? What are you talking about?”

  I took a moment and explained how the bodies of her husband and children were staged and posed. After giving her some time to process that, I said, “Do you have any idea about the significance of Z-91?”

  Bratton shook her head. “After Linda died, Lee and I asked her about it, but Amy...” Her voice broke and she paused for a moment. “...we were both convinced that she didn’t have any memory of what happened. Maybe she was drugged when it happened.”

  “We took a blood sample from Amy yesterday and are awaiting the results, but a sample was also taken three years ago when Linda was killed. There was no evidence of drugs in her system at that time.”

  Callaway spoke up. “As I mentioned, both Laura and I have tried talking to Amy since...since she got here, but she says she doesn’t have any memory of the recent events.”

  “Would it be okay if we tried talking to her?” I asked.

  Bratton looked at her sister, then back at me. She nodded. “I’ll get her.”

  Callaway followed her sister down a hallway. When they were gone, Darby said, “You ask me, this is a case of her husband cheating on her and getting paid back.”

  “But why kill the daughter three years ago, and now him and the rest of the family?” Leo asked.

  “Like I already said, the first killing was to send a message that she meant b
usiness. When he tried to break things off this time, his lover went off the deep end.”

  “If that was the case, it doesn’t make sense that Laura would be unharmed,” I said.

  “Maybe the lover is still planning...” Darby stopped talking when we saw Bratton returning with her sister and her daughter.

  “These are police officers,” Bratton said to her daughter after they all took seats on the sofa across from us. “They’re here to ask you about what happened...” She took a breath, steadied her voice. “...yesterday.”

  I was again struck by Amy Bratton being a pretty girl, with dark hair and big blue eyes. She was slender and kept her eyes downcast, not looking at us. I decided to take the initiative in questioning her before Darby opened his big mouth.

  “Amy, can you tell us what happened to your family before I found you in the back yard yesterday?” She didn’t look at me, or respond. I got up, went over, and took a seat on the sofa next to her. I spoke softly. “This is important. Please talk to me.”

  Amy’s gaze finally met me. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see what happened?”

  She shook her head. “I was taken outside.”

  I glanced at her mother, whose brows went up. “Who took you outside?”

  Her voice was just above a whisper. “A woman.”

  “Can you tell us what she looked like?”

  She shook her head, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  I bent closer to her. “Please, Amy. Try to remember.”

  After a moment, she said, “She had brown hair, and...and a mask.”

  Images of Lee Bratton and his children all sitting at the dinner table wearing masks came to mind again. “What kind of mask?”

  “It was like...I think what doctors use to make you go to sleep.”

  I looked at Leo as it occurred to me that she was talking about the woman wearing a surgical mask and maybe using a medical device to administer anesthesia.

  “What happened next, Amy?”

  “She made me put on the mask, and I went to sleep.”

  “When did you wake up?”

  “A little before you found me.”

  “Do you remember the woman doing anything to the tattoo on your wrist?”

  She looked down at her wrist and rubbed it. “There’s a line under it, but I don’t remember it happening.”

  “Do you have any idea what Z-91 means?” She shook her head before I went on. “Did you...did you see your daddy or your brothers and sisters before I found you?”

  She shook her head. “Are they okay?”

  I glanced over at Laura Bratton and her sister, realizing that she hadn’t been told about the death of her family members. They both had tears in their eyes.

  I turned back to Amy. “Your mom and aunt will talk to you about what happened later.”

  I spent another twenty minutes, trying to get Amy to remember details about the woman she saw and what had happened in the house before Charlie and I got there. She wasn’t able to give me any more details, other than telling me that she had come out of her bedroom when the woman took her outside and that she didn’t see anyone else in the residence. I also asked her if the woman who took her was the same person who had taken her when Linda had been killed. She said she didn’t remember.

  When we were in the parking lot, I asked the others for their thoughts. Darby again presented his theory about an angry lover, while Leo said he thought there was much more to the story.

  “What about you?” I asked Charlie. “Any ideas about what we’re dealing with?”

  “A message and a trauma victim,” my partner said, popping some gum in his mouth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The killers posed the family, put masks on the victims, and left the message Z-91, whatever the hell that means. They’re sending us some kind of message. I also think the girl saw a whole lot more than she told us. All we have to do now is figure out what the message means and what else Amy Bratton saw.”

  EIGHT

  After leaving Malibu, we got a bite to eat, and got to the Coroner’s office in downtown Los Angeles by mid-afternoon. We then waited almost an hour for Dr. Earl Mumford to show up and begin the autopsies of the Bratton family. The coroner and his two assistants completed the procedures, but offered nothing in the way of analysis or insight while they worked. I’d left Bernie with an assistant during the autopsies. After retrieving him, I met up with Mumford and my coworkers in a conference room to go over the results.

  “I suppose you’re going to want something in the way of findings,” Mumford began, chewing on a toothpick.

  “That would be helpful,” Leo said, taking a breath. We were all irritated with Mumford’s lack of cooperation and making us wait around all afternoon.

  “I should be able to dictate my report tomorrow, have it transcribed, and sent over to you within seventy-two hours.”

  Leo demonstrated the patience of a saint. “Thank you, but we need your preliminary results.”

  Mumford worked on his toothpick again, took his time answering. “All three victims likely succumbed to the administration of an intravenous sedative.”

  Leo glanced at me, looked back at Mumford. “What kind of sedative?”

  “Propofol.The blood levels were all in the 4.3 micrograms per milliliter range. That would have resulted in respiration and heart rates being depressed, with death following quickly.”

  “Isn’t that the stuff that was used on Michael Jackson?” Darby asked.

  Mumford nodded, but otherwise kept quiet.

  “How was it administered?” Charlie asked.

  Mumford’s fleshy features seldom changed, and this was no exception. “Any additional details will be in my report.”

  Charlie looked at me. “Is this guy for real?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  Charlie tried again, asking Mumford, “What’s your best guess as to how the victims were handled during the administration of the drug?”

  “I’m a physician, I don’t engage in guessing.”

  “Jesus Christ. We’re asking for your educated opinion about the circumstances of a homicide.”

  “I deal in facts, not opinions.”

  I had the impression Charlie would have come around the table and punched Mumford if Leo hadn’t intervened. “The injection sites, where exactly were the victims injected with the drug?”

  “The left antecubital fossa.”

  “What’d he say?” Darby asked.

  “The inner elbow,” I said. I looked at Mumford, trying to rephrase Charlie’s earlier question. “Would it be likely that the victims were restrained during the administration of the drug?”

  Mumford deadpanned. “I can’t say.”

  “What the hell can you say?” Charlie demanded, leaning closer to Mumford. He looked at Leo. “This guy’s a piece of work.”

  Mumford rose. “I believe we’re done here.” He put on his coat.

  “Time of death,” Leo said, before he could leave.

  “Probably sometime between two and six in the afternoon, but that’s a non-definitive statistical range.”

  Mumford left the conference room, turning out the lights in the surgical suite, and leaving us sitting alone in the darkened area.

  “I don’t believe what I just saw,” Charlie said. “That guy has no business being a medical examiner.”

  “I agree,” I said, “but I’m not sure where this leaves us.”

  Darby massaged his brow. “With a giant headache. I say we pick this up in the morning.”

  Leo agreed. “I think we’ve all had about enough for one day.”

  Charlie rose from the table, along with the rest of us. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a syringe full of propofol. I’d find Mumford in the parking lot and stick it in his fat ass.”

  ***

  After leaving the coroner’s office, I called my friend Brie Henner, who lived nearby. She agreed to meet me for an early dinner at a nearby Mexi
can restaurant. Bernie settled on the outdoor patio near us as we glanced at menus, I told her about our murder case, and how I spent my afternoon.

  “Dr. Mumford, as usual, offered nothing in the way of insight into how the crime might have gone down,” I said.

  My beautiful African-American friend looked up from her menu. Brie was bald from chemotherapy, and her cheekbones were showing. “That’s pretty typical of the way he operates. You said propofol was used?”

  “All three victims had a lethal dose. Other than telling us the drug was administered in the left arm, we didn’t get much.”

  The server came over, and we placed our orders before Brie gave me some particulars about the drug. “Propofol is a general anesthetic that’s usually used in a hospital or surgical setting. It anesthetizes the brain and nervous system. It’s often used to prepare a patient prior to surgery or for the insertion of a breathing tube when someone is placed on a ventilator.”

  I took a sip of my iced tea. “Have you ever seen it used in a homicide?”

  “No, but there have been murder cases in other jurisdictions where the drug was used. I think there was a male nurse somewhere back east who stole the drug and administered it to a woman he’d become obsessed with when he learned she was engaged to marry someone else.”

  “In our case we have an entire family that was murdered, then posed at their dining room table. Would it be likely that the drug would have been administered elsewhere, before the posing?”

  “Yes. Propofol causes pain receptors to be activated at the injection site. Unless the victim was restrained, there would have been resistance, even though the drug is very fast acting after administration.”

  “Do you think it would be likely that more than one party would be involved in the process of administering the drug?”

  “Probably, unless the victims were under some kind of duress that caused them to cooperate.”

  Brie went on for a few minutes, giving me more details about the drug and its lethality. I asked her about the Z-91 designation possibly being something she’d come across before, but it meant nothing to her. After our food arrived, I moved the conversation in a different direction, asking about her health.