Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  My eyes bore into him. “You might be in the driver’s seat, but you need to cooperate with us. The only way we’re going to get your family back is if we all work together.”

  “Consider me a team player, then.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting in Los Angeles.”

  Leo and I also stood. “Just make sure there are no surprises this time,” I said. “The feds are going to be working with us, beginning this afternoon.”

  “The feds.” He said the words like someone encountering a lower life form. “That’s all we need.” He started to leave, but stopped and turned back to me. “Tell me something, why the hell are you working with the reporters on this? Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m not working with anyone, despite what you might have heard.”

  Montreal made a huffing sound that accompanied his sneer before leaving the room.

  I turned to Leo. “You might have to arrest me before the day’s over.”

  “What for?”

  I suppressed an image of me bludgeoning Shelia Woods to death. “Journalistic homicide.”

  Leo smiled. “Forget it.” He glanced out the window as Henry’s Porsche roared to life. “Let’s see if we can talk to Georgette like our new colleague suggested. Maybe she can mellow out her husband.”

  We made the request through a servant and ten minutes later Georgette met with us in the great room. After we all took seats, she asked, “Is there anything new?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. We’re hope…waiting for another call.”

  She exhaled and wrapped her arms around herself. I had the impression that Georgette Montreal had been an attractive woman when she was younger, but the years, and her considerable weight problem, had taken their toll. “I was so worried, I didn’t sleep a wink all night.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult.”

  We gave her a moment before Leo softened his deep voice and said, “We’re hoping you can help us out with a couple of things.”

  She sniffed and brushed away her tears. “Of course. I’ll do anything.”

  Leo’s voice came down even further. “Your husband…he’s a man who likes things a certain way…sometimes that creates problems.”

  She nodded. “Like what happened yesterday.” Her features hardened. “I told him if he’d just backed off and delivered the money, Allison and the kids might be free by now.” The tears flowed again, this time harder.

  “All we’re asking is that…when another call comes in, we need you to use whatever influence you have to get your husband to cooperate.”

  She drew in a breath and exhaled, her heavy breasts rising and falling. “I’ll try, but…” She met my eyes. “I’m so worried something bad will happened after…” She choked up, and managed to continue. “…after what they already did to Allison.”

  I glanced at Leo, then back at her. “We’ll just have to hope for the best. All we’re asking is that when the kidnappers call again, you make sure your husband understands that he needs to work with us.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

  Georgette was showing us to the door when we saw a collection of family photographs on an antique table. I stopped, noticing there was a photograph of her with Allison and her stepdaughter, Karen. Our hostess was considerably younger and thinner in the photo, and it looked like it might have been taken when the girls were in college.

  “You have beautiful children,” I said, referencing the photograph.

  Her smile was wistful. “Thank you. I looked just like Allison when I was younger.”

  “Do you stay in touch with Karen?”

  Her painted brows inched together. “Have you spoken to her?”

  “Yes, she came by the station right after…after everything happened. Even though she hasn’t seen Allison in years, she said she was concerned about her.”

  She didn’t respond and mumbled something that sounded like the word strange.

  I decided I needed to clarify what she meant. “What’s your relationship with Karen like?”

  She looked at me. “We haven’t spoken in years.” Her gaze moved off and she seemed lost in thought.

  When she didn’t go on, I asked, “Why is that?”

  The silence between us lingered as she heaved out a breath. I realized she was trying to control her emotions again. “I guess there’s no reason to keep the family’s dirty laundry a secret. Karen is my husband’s daughter by another woman. She was born to his mistress.” She met my eyes. “I guess that still technically makes her my stepdaughter. Despite how it might appear in the photograph, we have no relationship.”

  FORTY

  Leo and I stopped for an early lunch at Mel’s Drive-in. Their burgers and fries were to die for, and I’d forgotten all about trying to watch my weight. My headache was now a dull thud with just the occasional drumbeat.

  As we ate, Bernie eyeballed my fries. I gave into the stare-down as Leo mentioned our talk with Georgette. “I get the impression she’s a very unhappy woman.”

  “I think her whole life revolves around Allison and the grandkids. She can’t be happy with the way Henry handled things.”

  “I doubt she has that much control over anything her husband does.” Leo took a bite of his burger as I indulged Bernie again.

  “You think he’ll try an end run on us again?”

  “Not sure. All I am sure about is that with Henry, it’s all about the money.”

  “Or the women,” I said. “There’s obviously still a lot of bitterness over the affair he had, and his love child.”

  Leo swirled the last of his malt in his glass. “Given that, it’s a little surprising to me that Karen Dodd took the time to show her concerns about her sister and meet with us.”

  Bernie still had his eyes on me like a couple of dark moons. I gave him the final fry on my plate and said to Leo, “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have another chat with Karen.”

  Leo’s brows lifted. “What are you thinking?”

  “It seems to me this case is as much about the family dynamics of the victims as it is about the kidnappers. I just think it’s worth another shot.”

  “Let’s make it happen.” He tossed his cup in the trash. “We’d better get going. I know a certain reporter who wouldn’t be happy if her inside source kept her waiting.”

  My head started pounding again as I stood. “Just so you know, I’m not sure how much longer I can play nice with Shelia Woods.

  ***

  Leo shared my unhappiness with the reporter as the afternoon wore on. We spent the better part of the day shooting exterior scenes around Hollywood and in front of the station for what Shelia Woods called “fillers” for the TV show.

  We finally got back to the station around three and met in Oz’s office. In between doing idiotic things like walking down Hollywood Boulevard and pretending we were on the phone in the forecourt of the TLC Chinese Theater, we’d checked in with Nadine McKee several times. We learned there was nothing breaking on the Marsh case.

  Selfie and Molly had joined us in Oz’s office, which again felt hot and stuffy because of the equipment and cameramen jostling for position. Bernie was stretched out in a corner, oblivious to the commotion. The lieutenant had temporarily moved to empty quarters down the hall, a wise move considering there was a blonde-haired witch in his office.

  “I have some news about our part of the investigation,” Woods said after the cameras began rolling again. The reporter was wearing a pink silk blouse that showed off her ample breasts, probably intended to boost the ratings with the male viewership of her show. “A detective in Santa Maria said the diamond knot that was used to tie the Potters was also used in their jurisdiction.”

  She had my interest, but at the same time I dreaded the idea of her developing a lead we’d missed. So much for baiting the shark. “What exactly did he say?”

  “They had what he called a false imprisonment case up there about t
hree years ago. A man detained a teenage girl, probably with the intention of raping her, but had a change of heart and let her go after a couple of hours. During the time he held her against her will, she was bound with a rope using the diamond knot.”

  In California, false imprisonment was a penal code violation that made it a felony to falsely imprison someone with the intent to commit a sexual assault. It was a lesser charge than kidnapping, but still carried a prison sentence.

  Leo spoke up. “And, this detective, he was sure the knot was identical to ours?”

  Woods rolled her seductive blue eyes. “Of course. I described it in detail and the detective said he remembered it because it was unusual.”

  I got the name and contact information for the detective and said we would follow up. Woods then mentioned the daughter of our victims. “As I mentioned before, Samantha’s aunt has given us permission to interview her, but we’ve had to reschedule it for tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to meet at her house. I think it will add some human interest to our case. I’ll handle things, so there’s no need for you both to be there.”

  “We’ll tag along,” I said.

  Woods thick brows came together. I wondered how you got eyebrows that full and shapely as she said, “There’s no need.”

  “This is our case. We’ll be there, if nothing else to offer emotional support for the girl.”

  “You sound like you don’t think I’m capable of handling the interview appropriately.”

  You’re very perceptive. “On the contrary, I’m sure you will be extra sensitive because you’re dealing with a young girl who recently lost her parents.”

  Woods’ breasts rose and fell as she exhaled in frustration. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw the cameraman getting a close-up. She went on again, telling us the interview was a private matter. I continued to hold my ground, insisting that we would be there.

  It was enough to cause the reporter’s unhappiness with me to surface, and she killed the cameras. Her eyes fixed on me. “Let’s take a moment and clear the air, Detective. You don’t like me, do you?”

  I took a breath, remembering that, even though the cameras weren’t rolling, everything I said would get back to the chief. “On the contrary, I understand that you have a job to do and are trying your best.”

  She smiled and swept the blonde bangs off her forehead. “You resent the fact that I quoted you as a source yesterday during the coverage of the Marsh case.”

  I kept my voice even. “I won’t deny that I would prefer that, in the future, you stick with the facts and leave me out of things.”

  “I always speak the facts, Detective. And, whether you like it or not, you and I are stuck with one another, so we’d better find a way to get along.”

  It took every ounce of control I had to push down my anger and be civil. “Then let’s work this case and keep things on a professional level.”

  After the cameras began rolling again, I let Leo take the lead. He told Woods about the sex offender who lived on the hill above the Potters’ house. “We’re going to talk to Howard Dern’s probation officer this afternoon. It’s likely that Mr. Dern has court imposed terms that will allow us to search his residence.”

  “And you think he could be connected to the Potters’ murder?” Woods asked.

  “We have no way of knowing, but it’s not unusual for sex offenders to engage in other offenses. Due diligence requires that we take a look.”

  Woods turned and mugged for the cameras. “Finally, it looks like the detectives working this case have developed a legitimate lead. Let’s see if this pans out.”

  Selfie then spoke up. “Molly and I have come up with something else that everyone should know about.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Leo said.

  “We talked to Maggie Potter’s sister, Heidi, last night. We mentioned the TV show and that we were following up on what happened. She was pretty defensive at first, but we soon realized that Heidi’s the kind of person who likes to talk. Just like with Anna Moss, Heidi eventually agreed there were problems in her sister’s marriage. She went on to tell us she thinks Maggie was involved with someone she knew from her college days.”

  “Who is this person?” Woods asked, before Leo or I could respond, making a motion to the camera crew to be sure they were rolling.

  “She wasn’t sure about his name, but she said they worked on the school newspaper together years ago.” Molly looked at me. “They went to Long Beach State, so I thought we could try and get a list of names from the school.”

  “Let’s make that a priority,” Woods said, speaking for me.

  I heaved out a breath and nodded at Molly. “See what you can find out.” I then pulled out my gun, pointed it at the reporter, and blew her head off.

  FORTY-ONE

  “Let’s hope this isn’t a big waste of time,” Shelia Woods said as we stood in the lobby of the probation office in downtown Los Angeles an hour later.

  The reporter had managed to make a miraculous recovery from the bullet wound to her head, only because her homicide had been a product of my overactive imagination. By the time we met with Dern’s probation officer, I’d also drawn and quartered her and composed a brief eulogy: bye-bye bitch.

  The office was a bureaucratic maze of cubicles and desks, with files scattered everywhere. All eyes turned in our direction as Leo and I were escorted to a back office by a clerk, followed by Woods and her two cameramen. Selfie and Molly had volunteered to walk Bernie while we met with the probation officer.

  “Mr. Dern’s file is right here,” Maggie Clausen said, handing a thick file across her desk to me after we took seats across from her. Woods’ camera crew was behind us, shooting scenes through the doorway. Dern’s probation officer was about fifty and heavyset, with an overbite. I wondered if she ever got out of the office. She went on, “He’s in our bank caseload.”

  “What’s that?” Woods asked.

  “It means that he’s on NSS. He reports by sending us a green sheet once a month.”

  I’d never heard of the terms she was using. “Can you explain what you mean in layman terms?”

  Clausen smiled. I wasn’t sure why, maybe for the cameras. “We use a Wasserman Assessment of Risk scale for all of our probationers. The WAR allows us to manage our offenders based on the likelihood of recidivism and future victimization. Dern scored in the twentieth percentile, that’s why he’s on NSS. It means Non-Supervised Status.”

  The probation officer was engaging in classic bureaucratic speak, something that wasn’t lost on Shelia Woods. “Are you telling us that a convicted sex offender who has to register his home address with the authorities isn’t a risk?”

  Clausen’s smile waned. “Low risk. At least that’s what the WAR says.”

  “Have you ever had any contact with Mr. Dern?” Leo asked her.

  She shook her head. “As I said, offenders in our bank report by sending us a monthly green sheet. It requires that they self-report any violations of probation or changes in their work or living conditions.”

  Woods raised her voice. “Are you kidding me? How many others are in what you call your bank caseload?”

  Clausen flinched, apparently suddenly aware that she had disclosed something that wasn’t common knowledge. “In this office, we have close to ten thousand. I’m not sure about our other locations.”

  I’d been thumbing through Dern’s file while she spoke and didn’t find anything recent in the way of the green sheet forms she was referring to.

  “There’s nothing here that shows he’s sent a report form since February,” I said.

  “Let me see,” Clausen said, taking the file back from me. She took a moment, going through the reporting forms. “Oh, my. It would appear that Mr. Dern is in VOP.”

  I glanced at Leo, then looked back at her. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s in violation of probation. It’s a technical violation. Usually we call the probationer and ask him to send us the forms we
’re missing.”

  Woods said, “Are you kidding me…”

  I cut her off. “Isn’t a probation violation grounds for someone to be arrested and brought before a judge?”

  Clausen sighed. “Yes, but nothing would happen if we did that. The courts don’t want to be bothered with this kind of technical violation.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said, standing. “We’re going to pay Mr. Dern a little visit. In the meantime, do us a favor and keep this confidential. I don’t want you calling him, asking him to send you a wad of your green sheets, and tell him we’re coming by.”

  Woods grilled Clausen for ten minutes about how they handled their probationers. By the time it was over, we learned that active supervision of offenders was reserved for those who were violent, aggressive, or active gang members. It was obvious that the department was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cases under their supervision.

  After Woods told her camera crew they could pack up, she said to me, “This is an outrage. Wait until our viewers find out what’s been going on.”

  I did my best to defuse the situation. “I don’t think the department is at fault. It looks like they’re just overwhelmed with cases, through a lack of manpower, and are doing what they can to manage the risk.”

  “I don’t care what excuse they have. It’s contemptable, and I intend to do something about it.”

  ***

  An hour later, we stopped down the street from Howard Dern’s house in the Hollywood Hills. According to his probation file, Dern lived with his parents and had a condition of his probation that allowed us to search his residence and belongings, something we intended to utilize.

  I tried to get Woods and her crew to stay back, but they insisted on following us to the door. Bernie was on alert as a woman, who we learned was Howard Dern’s mother, answered the door.

  I explained why we were there and asked, “Is your son home?”

  Dern’s mother was probably pushing fifty. She was overweight, with stringy brown hair. She had one of those wary, skeptical looks that seemed to be standard protocol for parents I’d dealt with in the past who would do anything to protect their kids.