Hollywood Intrigue: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller Page 7

  “What about the 290 registrants?” I asked, knowing that the state required sex offenders to register their address with the local police jurisdiction.

  “Same issue,” Molly said. “Lots of registrations for rape with a foreign object, some who are out on a bracelet, but there’s nothing in the system that’s specific to the type of object that was used in the crime.”

  “I’ve never seen anything as bizarre as our case,” Ted said, “But I’ve worked a few cases in the past where the suspects had a prison jacket. Maybe we should check with state parole and see what they’ve got.”

  The lieutenant picked up a newspaper. “As you probably know, the Herald-Press ran an article on the boys who found our victim. They know about the body being posed and are using the tag Stone Canyon Strangler. One of the local TV stations is also running a story about registered sex offenders living in proximity to the reservoir, some of whom are in violation of their 290 requirements. Let’s talk to parole, see if we can follow up on anyone who’s been released in the past twelve months who might look good for something similar.” Oz looked at Selfie and Molly. “Let’s also continue to look at VICAP. Something as bizarre as our case doesn’t just fall off a turnip truck.”

  As the others packed up to leave the lieutenant’s office, Oz asked me to stay behind for a minute. When Ted closed the door behind him I took a breath, hoping Jessica Barlow wasn’t already trying to stir up more trouble by filing a complaint.

  Oz straightened his bowtie and regarded me for a moment. “How are you doing with everything, Kate?”

  I met his sapphire eyes. “I’m doing okay, just feeling a little pressure to find our suspect.”

  “You let me deal with the pressure. As I said before, this is about the victim and stopping our suspect, nothing more.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Just keep in mind that I’m here for you.”

  I thanked him and was about to pick up my briefcase when I looked back at him. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course.”

  “From what I know you’ve got almost forty years on the job. Why are you still working?”

  His blue eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. “My daughter asks me the same question almost once a week.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “Not a problem.” His gaze drifted off and he took a moment before continuing. “My wife and I had some big plans to travel when she unexpectedly passed away a couple of years ago. After she was gone I took a month off and thought about retiring.” He smiled. “I realized I needed a family. That’s why I’m still here. The department, for all its shortcomings and problems, is my family. I don’t want to give that up.”

  I stood up and gave voice to what was in my heart. “Thank-you for being here and for caring. You don’t know what it means to me.”

  Oz came out of his chair, walked over and hugged me. If anyone else in the department had done the same thing, it would have felt awkward and out of place. Instead, it brought a tear to my eye.

  “You need anything, ever,” Oz said, finding my eyes. “You just ask. I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

  ***

  Ted and I made arrangements to meet with a parole supervisor in downtown Los Angeles that afternoon. Before heading over there, I used my lunch hour to meet Brie at The Roost. The establishment was a combination coffee shop and bookstore, not too far from the coroner’s office.

  A weather front was moving in from the ocean, bringing with it a light rain as we took sandwiches and drinks to a quiet area of the cafe overlooking a small park. Bernie used the occasion to warm himself near a heating vent in the floor.

  “What’s the latest on our victim?” Brie asked after sipping her hot chocolate.

  I filled her in on our meeting with the entomologist and then said, “It’s pretty bizarre. Dr. Jernigan has never heard of a human being used as a host for the process.”

  Brie shook her head. “I’ve seen a lot of strange cases in my time, but our suspect appears to be off the charts.” Her gaze moved off and she exhaled.

  I set my coffee cup down, reached over and took her hand. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help.”

  Her eyes found me, a wistful smile touching the corners of her mouth. “You always could read me like a book.”

  I looked into her beautiful chocolate eyes. “It goes with the job. Now, what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

  Brie found my eyes but then looked away. When she spoke, her words became daggers, piercing my heart with sorrow. “I have breast cancer.”

  “Oh God…” I squeezed her hand harder, tears springing from the corners of my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” My tears then came freely, spilling down my cheeks.

  Brie’s own watery eyes found me. “It’s bad, Kate. It’s going to require a double mastectomy and chemo.”

  I came over to her side, bent down, and hugged her. We held onto one another, crying without shame for several minutes. Finally, I moved back to my side of the table but continued to hold her hand. “Tell me what I can do to help?”

  “I’m…” She heaved a breath. “…I’m not really sure. I just found out a couple of days ago.” Her misty chocolate eyes found me. “It’s Lily I’m worried about.” Tears streamed down her cheeks again. “I don’t know what I’ll do if…”

  I continued to hold her hand. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to fight this, do everything we need to until we beat this together. I’ll be there with you every step of the way. That’s a promise.”

  She tried to form the words thank-you but broke down again. I gave her a few moments and then asked about the surgery. “Have they scheduled a date?”

  She took a moment, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, before answering. “Next week. I’m going to tell Joe, my ex, this afternoon and then I thought the two of us could talk to Lily together.” Her eyes filled again. “I’m not sure how you explain cancer to a five-year-old.”

  “You’ll find a way and I think it’s smart to do it together. She’s going to need help understanding everything.”

  Brie brushed away her tears. “Just so you know…Phyl and I are…” She cleared her throat. “I broke up with him. I told him I can’t be in a relationship with everything that’s happening.”

  I told her that I understood her decision. Brie then went on for a couple of minutes, talking about the surgery. It seemed to help her to talk about it and she eventually regained most of her composure.

  After we’d talked for a while, she looked at me and said, “I guess it’s the ultimate irony.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She heaved out a breath. “I’m someone who looks into the face of death every day. It’s how I make my living. Now the dark visitor is coming for me.” She shook her head, her gaze drifting off.

  I took her hand again and squeezed it. I thought about both her and Jenna Collins as I said, “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to beat the visitor at his own game. Nothing else is acceptable.”

  TEN

  The state parole office was located on Alameda Street in Los Angeles, about a half hour drive in light traffic from Hollywood Station. We brought Selfie with us, thinking she might be able to cross reference whatever information we obtained with the existing databases. She gave Bernie lots of attention as we drove through a light rain.

  Ted asked me why I was so quiet as we turned off the freeway. Brie had told me it was okay to discuss her condition, so I explained what was happening to both him and Selfie. “Brie’s surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday, so I’ll need to take part of the day off.”

  Ted glanced at me, exhaling. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend. It’s going to be a difficult road ahead.”

  Selfie also expressed her sorrow, adding, “Brie’s not only great to work with, she’s a terrific person. It’s such a shame.”

  I sighed and told them both, “It seems like loss tends to follow me wherever I go the
se days. It’s pretty depressing.”

  Ted found my eyes again. “I’m sorry to say it seems to happen a lot, especially as you get older.” He apparently thought better of what he said, quickly adding, “Not that you’re that old.” I had the sense that he was thinking about his daughter as we pulled into the parking lot. He then went on, “You need anything from me, just let me know.” Selfie seconded what he’d said.

  I thought about how Oz had said something similar to me earlier in the day. With the exception of Belmont and Hardy, Section One was beginning to feel like a family to me, something I was grateful for, given my recent problems.

  We met with a parole supervisor named Bob Gibson a few minutes later. He was a big guy with a shaved head and lots of tattoos, something that he probably had in common with his parolees.

  Ted took a moment and explained in general terms why we were there, leaving out specifics of our case. “We’re interested in anyone paroled in the past year that has a 289 PC conviction, or anything similar.”

  Gibson’s office was cluttered with sports memorabilia. He swiveled in his chair and made several keystrokes on his computer. He printed out a list and handed it over to Ted. “This is based on release date and county of residence. You’re looking at over two hundred subjects in L.A. County alone.” The heavyset parole agent’s gaze moved over to Selfie. “You a cop, too?”

  Selfie twisted her mouth to one side, as was her custom. “Crime analyst, aka paper zombie.”

  Gibson displayed a lopsided grin. “Maybe we could get lunch sometime.”

  Selfie chewed on a nail decorated with a skull and said, “I’ll have to check with my boyfriend first.”

  “Are these guys being monitored?” I asked, looking over Ted’s shoulder at the list, and trying to get us back on track as Bernie panted at my side.

  “Some. I can print out the GPS list, if you’d like, and you can compare it.”

  I was feeling frustrated at the sheer number of subjects we’d need to check out but agreed to what he’d suggested.

  As Gibson worked his keyboard, Ted said, “Is there a way to bring up the 289 subjects based upon the type of foreign object that was used in the offense?”

  “Is this about the Stone Canyon Strangler?” Gibson asked, looking up from his computer terminal.

  “Yeah, just between us.”

  The parole agent sighed. “I’m afraid it would require a hand search for each subject. I don’t have the manpower.”

  “Then you need to find some help,” Ted said, his voice becoming deep and serious. “Or we go up the chain.”

  Gibson scratched his big, bald head. “I’ll see what I can do…”

  Ted leaned forward, his eyes drilling into Gibson. “Not good enough. We need the list by tomorrow morning or I go to the top.”

  The parole supervisor ran a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Okay. I’ll call in some staff to work overtime.”

  “What about a map of the areas where the subjects live relative to the reservoir?” Selfie asked, looking at me.

  “That I can do,” Gibson said before I could respond.

  Five minutes and multiple keystrokes later he handed over some printouts with maps. There were over twenty 290 registrants within ten miles of where our victim was found. I again felt overwhelmed by the numbers, thinking we could spend days chasing paper and not getting anywhere.

  We made arrangements for Gibson to email us the information and were about to leave when something occurred to me. “What about treatment? Are there any psychologists or other treatment facilities where your offenders are required to attend therapy?”

  I got a nod and after a couple of minutes another printout with a list of offices throughout the county. I glanced at them and said to Selfie. “Do you think you and Molly could organize these by areas closest to where our victim was found?”

  She took the printout. “Consider it done.”

  ***

  It was after five by the time we slogged our way back to Hollywood Station through heavy traffic in the rainstorm. I told Ted and Selfie that I’d see them in the morning.

  I wasn’t in the mood but I’d agreed to meet Natalie and Mo at Mile High in Hollywood. The trendy club was located on the top floor of an industrial building. It had a loft-like feel with lots of high tech lighting and an ambiance that made me feel like I’d entered one of those exclusive Hollywood nightclubs.

  After dropping Bernie at home and changing into a sweater and skinny jeans that I was in denial about being way too tight for me, I’d found my friends at a table that overlooked the city. What they were wearing made my skinny jeans look like a pair of old sweatpants.

  “What gives with the outfits?” I said, laughing.

  Natalie wore skin-tight black leather with lots of buckles and silver pins at the seams, set off by a black jacket and boots. Judging by the reaction of the nearby men, who were creating enough drool to form a small lake, she was the hottest woman in the room, probably in Hollywood.

  Mo, on the other hand, had on a form-fitting black leather dress that barely contained her enormous breasts. High boots and a green wig completed the ensemble. Something about her reminded me of a take-charge ringleader at a circus or maybe a sex show.

  “You think what we got on is funny?” Mo said, fixing one eye on me in a way that reminded me of a disapproving mother.

  “You wanna kick some street ass, you gotta give ‘em some flash,” Natalie said, explaining their costumes.

  “These are our new Sistah Sweet outfits for our PI business,” Mo explained. “Me and baby sis are gonna be on some billboards and busses ‘round town, drumming up business.”

  I took a seat at their table and said, “I’m sure you’re going to get lots of business, I’m just not sure what kind.”

  After Mo cautioned me that I needed to take their new enterprise more seriously, Natalie said, “We already ordered you a glass of wine. And, not to worry, it’s the cheapest drink on the menu.”

  I’d complained to my friends recently about my finances after having to pay the rent on my new apartment. “Thanks,” I said, bringing the drink up to my lips and adding, “Believe me, I can use this.”

  “Rough day?” Mo asked, still regarding me with one eye.

  I set my drink down. Since they were both friends with Brie, having lived next door to her when she’d rented out the carriage house at Ravenswood estate, I filled them in on her condition. “She’s going to need all our support over the next few months.”

  “That sucks big balls,” Mo said, her lungs deflating. “Me and baby sis will do everything we can to help her out.”

  “Maybe I could take Lily shopping now and then, give her a break,” Natalie offered.

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate anything you can do.” After we discussed Brie’s condition for a few minutes, I felt the need to change the subject and asked them about their new business with Jimmy Sweets.

  “We already caught our first case,” Natalie said, her voice rising with excitement. “Me and Mo are following Nora Lambert’s cheating hubby, Mr. Cornflake, ‘round town, finding out who he’s porking in his spare time.”

  “And Mr. Cornflake appears to be the biggest porker in the Hollywood pig pen,” Mo added.

  I knew that Nora Lambert was an up and coming starlet in Hollywood, but I was clueless about her cheating husband. “Mr. Cornflake?”

  “It’s the codename we gave him on account of him being a serial cheater,” Natalie said, nudging me. “Get it—Cornflake, like in cereal.”

  “Very clever.” I took another sip of my drink, finally feeling some of my stress melting away. I then moved the conversation in a different direction, asking Natalie about her boyfriend.

  “Sonny and me are gettin’ the leg over again. I got him one of them herbal remedies and he’s as randy as a rabbit in a bunny hole.”

  “I gotta get me some of that stuff for Larry,” Mo said. “The big guy’s only good for one lap around the rodeo ring, if you get
my drift.” She looked at me. “What about you?”

  I shrugged. “As I told you before, I’m not looking.”

  Natalie looked at Mo. “If Kate was a guy she’d have moths circling her balls.”

  They both shared a big laugh at my expense. I ignored them, sipping my drink.

  “Maybe we need to arrange another fantasy for Kate,” Natalie suggested, after I was forced to spend another five minutes listening to her and Mo’s critique of my nonexistent sex life.

  Natalie’s boyfriend was something called a fantasy broker, arranging for any outlandish fantasy someone could think of. I’d agreed to be a part of his last event and ended up as a nude Christmas tree ornament on Hollywood Boulevard.

  Mo said, “I think a fantasy would be a good idea, baby sis. Kate needs to change the spark plugs, tune up her engine.”

  My recent Posh Spice performance flashed through my mind, along with the prior Christmas tree debacle. “I’m not doing any nudity, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  Mo didn’t answer, she just looked over at Natalie and smiled, nodding her big head.

  After they made references to my vagina becoming an old bat cave, Mo changed the subject by trying to insert herself into my case. “So what’s the latest on the Stone Canyon Strangler?”

  I was noncommittal. “Nothing much. No real suspects at this point.”

  “Mo’s got some scam on the scum who whacked the girl,” Natalie said. “We’re gonna follow up in our spare time.”

  The last thing I needed was them interfering in my case. While my friends had been of some help on past cases, their information wasn’t always accurate. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

  “Don’t you even wanna hear what I got?” Mo asked. She looked at Natalie, the annoyance in her voice obvious. “Sometimes, I think Kate treats us like a couple of clueless ninnies instead of her primary confidential sources. Maybe we oughta just work the case ourselves, catch the murdering monster, and take all the credit.”

  Natalie supported what she’d said. “It would only add to our street cred, and we already got us a ton of that.”