Hollywood Rage (The Hollywood Alphabet Series Book 18) Read online

  “I doubt that’s going to happen,” I said as the door swung open.

  Tex joined us on the porch, saying, “There should be actual physical signs in the event Kate actually does become possessed by the devil. The literature of exorcism is replete with reports of possessed subjects levitating and objects moving with no physical causality. There would also likely be a change in the timbre of the victim’s voice, a drop in the air temperature, and sometimes there’s even a cutting, scratching, and the biting of skin.”

  “Stand back,” Natalie said, giving me a wide birth. “I don’t know ‘bout you guys, but I don’t want Kate takin’ a bite out of me.”

  We heard a voice behind us as the door swung open. “We don’t have anything to worry about. Even if Kate does bite you, she doesn’t eat enough to keep a fly alive.”

  We all turned, seeing that Nana was coming up the steps with Howie. I was in no mood for their nonsense and couldn’t help but groan.

  “What an excellent day for an exorcism,” Howie said.

  I had the impression he was quoting a line from an old movie, but couldn’t place it. His hair was slicked back and he had a maniacal look, like maybe he’d just buried a body somewhere.

  “Move inside,” Nana said, giving me a push. “Let’s see if the place really is haunted.”

  Nana was our former landlord, who had inherited a fortune after her husband Claude had passed away on their wedding day. My friends were of the opinion that Claude and his family hailed from somewhere around Transylvania, although that had never been proved. Nana had recently taken up with Claude’s brother, Boris, but after living together, she decided they weren’t a match. Boris, who we speculated might be a direct descendant of Dracula, was now engaged to Jessica Barlow, a fellow detective who had more baggage than a bellman at the Beverly Hilton.

  Nana had recently undergone a full body makeover, making her look at least three decades younger than her actual age, which was somewhere north of eighty. My friends and I suspected she was now hooking up with Howie, someone a half-century her junior.

  Once we were inside the great room, I felt a little better about our new home. It was spacious, with a family room and large kitchen. Then I saw there were cameras and studio lighting set up in the corner of the room.

  “Are they shooting some kind of movie here?” I asked.

  “We’re gonna have to work ‘round a couple of stars named Emma and Ryan for a few days,” Natalie said. “They’re shootin’ a movie called Evil Possessions.”

  “Are you talking about Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling?” Nana asked. “Ever since I saw that movie La La Land, I’ve been a dancing fool.”

  As if on cue, Howie took Nana by the hand, and they began dancing around the room, even as Natalie explained that Emma and Ryan were a couple of up and coming former soap opera stars.

  “I think I need a drink,” I said.

  Mo shook her head at the dancing duo. “I think I need drugs.” She looked at the stairway. “Guess we should check out the rest of the joint.”

  As we all went upstairs, Natalie recounted the murder that had taken place in the house. “Bobby Craven was sixteen when his brain train went off the rails. From what I heard, he was so crazy his parents locked him in the basement. The news reports said he was down there for weeks, talkin’ like a mad man and not wearin’ any clothes, ‘til he just snapped one night.”

  “I heard the boy’s father had a sword collection, and the kid used it to murder him and his mother,” Mo said.

  Natalie confirmed that. “Bobby sliced their heads clean off, then carried ‘em both downstairs. He put their heads on the fireplace mantle and was talkin’ to ‘em when his brother and sister came out of their bedrooms. He then gave them the same treatment.”

  We stopped in the darkened landing at the top of the stairs.

  “I saw a reenactment of the whole thing on one of those nighttime crime programs,” Nana said, lowering her voice for dramatic effect. “They said the house was like a river of blood when he finished. They also confirmed this place is haunted.”

  Tex and Howie had followed us upstairs and exchanged glances. Tex said, “The Craven case is not atypical of familial homicide cases, including the decapitation of family members. The literature of beheading abounds with historical accounts of severed heads speaking and even changing expressions.”

  “I would have just eaten their liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti,” Tex said, now taking on the persona of Hannibal Lecter.

  “Enough talk about murder and hauntings,” I said, massaging my brow as a headache surfaced. “Let’s take a look at the bedrooms.”

  As it turned out, the upstairs bedrooms were in better shape than the rest of the house, except for what looked suspiciously like a bloodstain on the wall of the master bedroom.

  “Looks like you’re gonna need to paint in here,” Mo said.

  “It won’t do any good,” Natalie told her. “I heard the wall pours blood every night when the ghosts of Maurice and Lola appear. They pop out of thin air and roam the halls at night, lookin’ for their dead kids.”

  Mo’s heavy shoulders sagged. “Let’s go unload the cars. I’m gonna need a drink when we’re done.”

  We spent the next half hour moving boxes into our bedrooms. I did my best to try and remain positive, despite our dreary surroundings. As we finished up and were following Mo to the front door, there was a loud groaning sound that came from upstairs.

  “Bloody hell,” Natalie said. “It sounds like the ghosts of Maurice and Lola just did the nasty in Kate’s bedroom.”

  Mo looked at me. “You’re the detective, you wanna go take a look?”

  “If two headless corpses are having sex, I definitely don’t want to see it.” There was another groan, followed by a rattling sound. “Maybe it’s just the plumbing. You can have Cleo take a look after we move in.”

  As she locked the front door, Mo said, “I got a feeling when Cleo sees this place, he’s gonna start screaming and take off runnin’ down the street.”

  Nana came over and said she wanted to talk to us before we left. “I’m planning an engagement party for Boris and Jessica, and want you all to be there.”

  I groaned, remembering that Boris’s mother, Wilhelmina, and my friends had nearly come to blows on several occasions, and her family members had chased us off the property. “I’m not sure I can deal with Boris’s family again.”

  “If Boris’s crazy mama tries anything, she’ll regret it,” Natalie said.

  “That woman is bat shit crazy,” Mo agreed.

  Nana tried to console us. “I’ll have a talk with her and make sure she’s on her best behavior.”

  “That would require that you drive a stake through her heart.”

  Nana looked at me. “Be sure you invite that stallion you’re dating.” When I didn’t respond right away, she looked at my friends. “Don’t tell me she still hasn’t saddled him up.”

  Natalie patted me on the shoulder. “Kate’s a little slow gettin’ to the rodeo.”

  Nana looked at me. “Maybe you should just become a rodeo clown.”

  Howie began pretending he was juggling balls in the air and had a creepy smile on his face. He said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself...and evil clowns.”

  I exhaled. “I think I’ve taken all I can for one night.” I turned to my friends. “Let’s go home.”

  As we were on our way home, my friends had started to tell me about their million dollar idea when my phone rang. I saw the call was from Leo as I answered. “What’s up, partner?”

  After listening for a moment, I ended the call and wondered how I’d find the strength to work another case. I then said to my friends. “Can you drop me off in the Hills?”

  Mo cranked the wheel of her big Caddie as she turned off Hollywood Boulevard. “What’s up?”

  “There’s been a murder on Wonderland Drive.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Maybe Mo and me can help you wi
th the case,” Natalie said, as Mo pulled her car to the curb on Wonderland Drive.

  I got Bernie out of the back seat. “Sorry, but you know the rules. I’ll check in with you later.” I walked away as she and Mo continued to plead their case.

  I met up with Olivia and Leo on the front steps of the sprawling house that overlooked the city. “What do we have?”

  “House is unoccupied and for rent,” Leo said. “Somebody broke a rear window, setting off an alarm. The real estate agent who was trying to rent the place responded and found our vic, a male, dead in the upstairs master. No one else in the residence.”

  I saw there was a woman on the sidewalk with one of the uniformed officers. She was crying, and I assumed she was the Realtor.

  “It looks like some kind of sexual play was underway when the victim’s throat was slashed,” Olivia said, as I put on gloves and booties. I then took Bernie over to one of the uniformed officers, who agreed to watch him while we examined the crime scene.

  We began heading upstairs at the same time Darby and Woody came through the front door. Olivia called over to them. “Come up when you’re ready.”

  The crime scene wasn’t the worst I’d seen, but it was bad. The nude body of a man, probably in his mid-thirties, was slumped on the floor. The knife attack appeared to have severed his carotid artery, and blood was everywhere. There were chains and a mask on the bed, similar to one I’d seen on the cover of an erotic novel.

  “Looks like somebody pooped on the party,” Darby said, coming into the bedroom with Woody. He was referring to the fact that the decedent’s sphincter muscle had relaxed at death, resulting in the elimination of waste.

  “What do we know?” Woody asked me.

  “We just got here. There’s a Realtor downstairs who found the body and called 911, but we haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”

  “I’ll bet money the vic’s also a Realtor,” Darby said. “Those clowns go around using empty houses to fuck. Maybe somebody wanted a discount on the rent, and it didn’t end well.”

  “Nice theory, but there was a window broken at the rear patio door,” Leo said, “If our victim was a Realtor, he would have used the lock box on the front door.”

  Darby sneered at my partner. “Whatever. It still looks like somebody got real pissed when the foreplay began.”

  Olivia was on the phone and came over after ending the call. She said to Darby, “Let’s keep it professional. The coroner and SID are on the way, so let’s finish our preliminary review before they set up.”

  Leo had gone over and found a wallet in the victim’s pants pocket on a dresser. “Guy’s name is Kenneth Weston. Lives on Hanover Street in the valley.”

  “What about a phone?”

  Leo found the victim’s phone in his coat pocket. After looking through the call and text history for a couple minutes, he said, “He had three separate contacts today with the same number. The first one was a call about three hours ago. The ensuing texts reference a hookup with the girl, someone who called herself ‘Mattie’, telling him to meet her here at the house. It doesn’t look like there were any prior contacts between them.”

  “Working girl,” Darby said. “Probably ripped him off before ending the date early.”

  Leo held up several bills he found in the wallet. “I don’t think robbery was the motive.”

  “Maybe there was another motive, but it’s obvious our suspect is a prostitute.” His gaze moved to the bed. “Maybe she wasn’t happy about the role he wanted her to play.”

  “That might be the case, but it’s not clear from the texts that she’s a prostitute.”

  “Really? Guy gets a call and a couple of texts from someone he has no prior contact with, and you don’t think she’s a pro? You ever work Vice, Kingsley?”

  Leo smiled. “Two rotations, over seven years total.”

  “Yeah, well maybe you should have paid more attention.”

  Leo ignored him as he continued to look through the phone’s call history. While the others processed the scene, Olivia and I went downstairs to talk to the Realtor. Along the way, I asked her why the case was coming to Section One.

  “It’s in our jurisdiction and a high rent neighborhood, so Bronson called and said it’s ours.” She opened the front door. “The wealthy get their share of attention, as we both know.”

  We went over and introduced ourselves to the Realtor, a woman named Connie Dyson. She looked to be in her forties, and had platinum blonde hair. She wore lots of makeup that did little to hide some plastic surgery that hadn’t gone well.

  Dyson’s emotions were still on the surface as she told us what happened. “One of the security guards with the alarm company called and said there was a break-in. We checked downstairs before he said he had another call and had to leave. I then found...” She teared up. “...the man upstairs.” She shook her head. “There was blood everywhere.”

  “Did you see or hear anything else?” Olivia asked.

  “When I...” She took a breath. “After I found the body, I was pretty upset.” She found a tissue, then went on. “I ran to a neighbor’s house and had her call 911.” Her watery eyes fixed on the house that contained our crime scene. “What do you think happened here?”

  “It’s too soon to say.” Olivia’s gaze moved off. “Can you tell us which neighbor called the police?”

  Dyson pointed out a house that was across the street and a couple doors up. Olivia said to her, “We have your information, so you’re free to leave. We’ll be in touch if we need anything further.”

  We started to turn away when she said, “There’s something else I should probably mention.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know if you saw it, but there’s blood...”

  “Where?”

  She pointed to the side of the house. “It’s on the gate. Maybe the...” She took a breath, “...whoever did it, they might have left through the gate.”

  “Thanks. We’ll take a look.”

  Olivia and I went to the side yard, where we used flashlights to examine the gate. It was one of those newer white vinyl affairs. Blood was smeared on the inside near the latch.

  “It looks like our suspect got the victim’s blood on her hands during the attack,” I said.

  “Probably, unless we got lucky and she was injured during the attack. We’ll have SID process it.” She turned back to the street. “Let’s go talk to the neighbor.”

  The woman who had called 911 was Patricia Crosby. She was in her sixties and told us she’d lived on the street for more than twenty years.

  After telling us that the Realtor had been crying hysterically when she’d asked her to call 911, she mentioned what she’d seen earlier. “There was a woman. I looked out my window and saw her coming up the street. She stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes, just looking at the house. Then she went through the side gate and I didn’t see her again.”

  “You didn’t see her leave?” Olivia asked. Crosby shook her head. “Can you describe her?”

  Another head shake. “She was facing the house, so I didn’t really get a look at her face. I think she was probably young.”

  “What was she wearing?” I asked.

  “A short dress—black.” Her eyes brightened. “And she had on heels. I remember because she wobbled when she walked up the driveway.”

  “Wobbled? You mean like she wasn’t used to wearing heels?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I thought at the time, anyway.”

  After a few more questions, we got her contact information and left. As we crossed the street I said, “Maybe Darby was right about a working girl and a hookup?”

  We stopped on the sidewalk for a minute as Olivia folded her arms and regarded the house. “Maybe, but why come here?”

  I nodded. “There’s also the issue of the violence involved in the attack. We don’t usually see something like this unless there’s some past history between the suspect and the victim.”

&
nbsp; We saw a couple of SID vans were moving past the crime scene tape on the street. We began moving back toward the house as Olivia said, “As usual, lots of questions, not many answers.”

  SID staff began setting up while Olivia and I went back upstairs. Leo came over and told us what else he’d learned from looking at the victim’s phone. “Weston was an investment banker, worked in downtown Los Angeles. We’ll need to do the notification to his wife.”

  Darby came over and began giving us his theory about our suspect being a prostitute again when we heard someone screaming. We ran downstairs and found one of the uniformed officers restraining a woman who was crying.

  “My husband, where is he?” the woman demanded.

  Olivia and I helped escort the woman outside, where we learned she was Tina Weston, the victim’s wife. She told us that she’d tracked her husband to our location using an app she had on her iPhone.

  “Where is my husband?” Weston said again. “I know he’s here.”

  Olivia’s voice was full of compassion as she said, “I’m sorry, there isn’t an easy way to say this. Your husband was killed earlier tonight.”

  Weston’s eyes grew wider and she screamed like someone had plunged a knife into her heart. She then reached into her purse, brought out a gun, and aimed it at her head.

  SIXTEEN

  “Gun!” Olivia yelled as she lunged at Tina Weston. Together, we knocked her to the ground and managed to wrestle the gun from her hand.

  “I don’t want to live!” Weston screamed. “Ken and I were...we were high school sweethearts. Oh, god, I can’t believe...”

  She went on mumbling something unintelligible and crying hysterically. One of the uniformed female officers told us she would call mental health before escorting her to a patrol unit with a couple other officers.

  Olivia and I took a moment to gather ourselves after Leo and Woody checked on us.

  Woody stayed behind and told us what he’d learned about our victim. “I did an Internet search on Weston. He works with the brokerage firm of Higby and Goldman. They’ve got a lot of high rollers, but it looks like some of their investments have gone south. I don’t know if it’s a factor in what happened, but I imagine they had a lot of unhappy customers.”