Hollywood Murder

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I don’t believe this.” Meagan Pressley looked at her husband. “You remember the Potters. They attended one of our fundraisers for the new church, just before Christmas.”

  Stan scratched his chin before his eyes grew wider. “Yes, of course. The Potters. Oh, my, this is terrible.”

  “Their murders have been all over TV and the papers.”

  The reverend released a breath, the impact of what he’d learned now apparently hitting him. “We make a point of not polluting our minds with what’s on television or in the papers. It’s not good for the soul.”

  “I see.” I looked at Meagan. “Were you close to Maggie?”

  She blinked, maybe taken aback by my question. “No…not really. I mean…” Her beautiful eyes darkened. “Are you trying to make a point, Detective?”

  I was surprised that she was defensive, but I wasn’t ready to give anything up yet. “I’m just asking a question. Were the two of you close?”

  Her eyes fixed on me and she took a breath. “No. I mean, we talked a few times, mostly about the construction project, but that was about it.”

  “Did you ever go to the Potters’ home?” Leo asked.

  If looks could kill, Leo and I would have been ready for a sausage factory. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  The reverend looked perplexed as his gaze went over to this wife. “Why would you go to their house?”

  “Maggie had made some promises to me about making a significant contribution to the church. When that didn’t happen, I went by to talk to her.”

  “When was this?” Leo asked.

  “I don’t remember the date.”

  “Give us your best guess.”

  The defensiveness was back, along with an angry edge. “I don’t remember and I don’t like your questions. What does me visiting Maggie Potter have to do with…with what happened to her and her husband?”

  I softened my tone, sensing she was closing down. “Maybe nothing. It’s just a routine part of our investigation to follow up with anyone who might have seen the Potters before their death.”

  Meagan ran a hand through her thick curly hair. I thought about my Peter Pan bob and stifled a wave of jealousy. “I guess it could have been sometime in January.” She looked at her husband. “We had that fundraising goal for the church that we set at Christmas, and I was trying to help us achieve it.”

  “Our congregation has been very charitable,” the reverend told us. “And my wife is our best fundraiser.”

  I’ll bet she is. I nodded and fixed my eyes on Meagan again. “Did you and Mrs. Potter have an argument when you visited her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A disagreement. Did you exchange heated words with her?”

  “No, not that I recall.” Her flawless skin grew tighter around her eyes. “I still don’t understand this line of questioning.”

  “The Potters’ daughter, Samantha, was home when you made your visit,” Leo said. “She told us she heard you and Mrs. Potter arguing.”

  Meagan looked at her husband, shaking her head. “It was hardly an argument. I may have spoken up to get my point across about needing funds for the church, but it was nothing more than that.”

  “Samantha said that it was more than that,” I said, raising my voice for emphasis. “You need to tell us exactly what went on.”

  Meagan Pressley stood and looked down at me. “I’ve already been more than cooperative and I’ve told you everything I know. I don’t appreciate you showing up here trying to damage my reputation. If you have any further questions, you can talk to our lawyer.” She turned and stomped out of the room.

  The reverend was on his feet, calling out to his wife as she left. She ignored him, slamming the door behind her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Meagan has a bit of a temper and I’m afraid she’s under a lot of stress with the fundraising and construction.”

  Leo and I were now also standing, along with Bernie. “What can you tell us about your wife’s relationship with the Potters?” I asked.

  Reverend Stan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Maggie and I have a pact. What one says, goes for the other. You’ve heard everything we have to say on the matter. If there’s anything further, you’ll need to speak with our lawyer.” He looked up and nodded at a couple of very large men who had entered the trailer. I realized he must have used some kind of remote control to signal them. “These gentlemen will escort you off the premises.”

  Leo and I were in the car when my partner looked at me and said, “A reverend with his own bouncers. That puts a whole new spin on brotherly love.”

  “My take is that Meagan Pressley was backpedaling as fast as she could and trying to cover her tracks.”

  Leo pulled onto the highway. “I can’t disagree.”

  “Let’s have Selfie and Molly dig a little deeper into things. I have a feeling that Mrs. Pressley is the power behind the Stairway to Heaven, and she just might be hiding a dirty little secret from all of us.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  After spending the rest of our day pushing paperwork, Bernie and I were headed for home when I got a call from Natalie. “We need you to stop by The Canyon. They’re offering free drinks ’cause Archibald’s in the house.”

  “Archibald?”

  “The AG, Archibald Griswald. He’s gonna work with us on our fashion show rap. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  The Canyon was one of the original Hollywood nightclubs, dating back to the 1970s. It was still popular with a lot of celebs and locals. Any other night and I might have accepted Natalie’s offer, but I was running on fumes after my night with Noah and the busy day at work. “It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”

  “You can’t pass up a chance like this, Kate. If you do, people will be saying you’re the biggest party pooper since that time you slept through New Year’s Eve.”

  “That was because I had one of your drinks and it knocked me out.”

  “Come on. Just come by for a few, then I’ll take you home and tuck you into bed with your teddy bear.”

  She went on begging and pleading, until I finally gave in. “Okay, but I’m not having anything to drink. I’m still in recovery from your M&M.”

  Twenty minutes later, Bernie and I entered The Canyon. The nightclub was named for the long hallway at the entrance that was painted with murals of the canyons and hills around Hollywood. The lower portion of the walls were signed by the acts that had played there over the years, everyone from The Doors to Marvin Gaye. The place had a bluesy, rustic vibe that reminded me of the way Hollywood nightclubs probably were forty years ago.

  After several inquiries, an assistant manager led me through the club and past the main stage. I found my friends in a rehearsal area for the acts that performed there. My spirits sank when I saw that they were with Nana.

  “I’m surprised you showed up,” Nana said, placing her hands on her skinny hips. She scowled at me. “I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve been out past eight at night.”

  I ignored her and the laughter from her posse, aka band of gigolos.

  “This is Archibald,” Natalie said, bringing over and introducing a large black man with a shaved head.

  The rapper was about six three, probably pushing three hundred pounds. He had a deep seductive voice that reminded me of Barry White. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he purred, at the same time taking my hand. His chocolate eyes swept over Natalie and Mo, then came back to me. “I’m lucky to be in the presence of such beautiful women.”

  After I greeted him and introduced Bernie, Mo spoke up. “AG’s got our rap song for this weekend’s performance already worked out. Tonight’s all ’bout making sure we got our outfits picked out.” She looked back at the big rapper, raising the twin mountain peaks that were her eyebrows.

  “I’m also a part-time fashion consultant,” Archibald said. He glanced at Nana. “Your friend here wanted some help with the theme for your upcoming event.”

  �
�We’re calling the show Zombie Rap,” Nana said. “So we all gotta look the part.”

  I now remembered that Natalie and Mo had said something before about doing a zombie version of a fashion show. I said to her, “I’m not dressing up like a dead woman, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  Nana looked at me like I was a piece of rotting flesh. “I knew she would be difficult.” She cut her eyes to Archibald. “Since she’s a pain in all our badonkadonks, you can let her be the zombie princess.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  Natalie pulled me by the arm toward a dressing room. “You’ll see in a minute.”

  Ten minutes later, I came back into the room looking like the Bride of Frankenstein, with one big exception. I was a bride surrounded by a group of dead bridesmaids. My friends were all dressed like they’d just crawled out of a mass grave, their dresses ripped and their hair teased into something reminiscent of fright wigs. Then there was Nana.

  “What do you think?” Nana said, twirling around in her zombie ensemble.

  I held a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing as her posse all came over, saying she looked hot. If this was hot, Nana should have been shot. With her skinny frame, she looked like a pole that had been wrapped in rags and topped with a blue fright wig. Her dress was ripped in several places, revealing sagging flesh that I had to admit was perfect for a living dead performance.

  “I think you make the perfect zombie,” Mo said, coming over to her and shaking her head that was crowned with a frizzy gray wig. “You look like you just crawled out of a coffin.”

  “Everyone will think you’ve been dead for at least a hundred years,” Natalie agreed.

  Nana’s features twisted up as she spoke to her posse. “They’re just jealous because they don’t have the fashion chops I’ve got. I watch that Tyra Banks show and know all her tricks. I even know how to give myself a boob lift with some duct tape.” She turned to us. “Wanna see?”

  “A zombie with perky eighty-year-old breasts,” Mo said, frowning at her. “Now that puts the u in ugly.”

  “I don’t wanna see no dead titties,” Natalie agreed, making a face.

  If there was such a thing as a beautiful zombie, Natalie filled the bill. She was stunning, even in her ripped dress that, unlike Nana’s, strategically covered her perfect assets.

  Nana was going on about her acting and fashion talents as I went over and caught sight of myself in a full length mirror. I was horrified. Natalie had worked on my hair in the dressing room and it was standing on end. I looked like a bride who had been dug up and plugged into a wall socket. Then I had another thought, deciding I looked more like one of those bristle brushes used to scrub toilets.

  “I look ridiculous,” I said to my friends.

  I got some half-hearted comments that only confirmed what I thought. Then Nana put it all in perspective. “You not only look half dead, I’ll bet the worms wouldn’t even eat you.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to Archibald. “I think this outfit needs some work.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll make some alternations and…” He looked down at my dress and seemed genuinely perplexed about how to help. “I’ll see if there’s something I can do with it before the show.”

  I sighed, realizing that even the rapper-fashionista thought I was hopeless. I looked around, wondering if there was a mass grave somewhere that I could climb back into.

  After changing, my friends walked me out of the nightclub, doing their best to encourage me by reminding me that the upcoming event was for charity. I was too exhausted to argue with them.

  As I was getting Bernie into my car, I remembered what Noah had said about finding a place for us to rent. I took a moment and told them about the mobile home. “Noah knows the owner and thinks there’s a good chance that she’ll rent to us.”

  Mo placed her hands on her wide hips and leveled one eye on me. “You expect me and baby sis to live with a bunch of old people, like Nana? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe I can take up knitting and wear some of them adult diapers,” Natalie said.

  I sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Noah just thought the rent would be reasonable.”

  I was getting in my car when I felt a big hand on my shoulder. “Hold on there, Kate.” I turned, facing Mo. “I kinda got me a soft spot for old folks. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Her brow crinkled up. “How much did you say the rent was?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it will be very affordable.”

  Mo nodded. “Okay. Let’s take a look. It’s not like we got any other options.”

  Natalie came over, agreed with her, saying, “Since your dress doesn’t fit, Kate. I’ll bring me diapers with me to the fashion show. You’ll be a big hit.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  After going home, I fed and walked Bernie, and went to bed, sleeping like the dead, maybe because of the night’s events. As I drove to the station the next morning, I had visions of the press covering our upcoming fashion show, the headlines reading, Local Cop Does Zombie Rap Wearing Diaper.

  I stopped for coffee and a muffin, eating as I drove. I caught sight of Bernie in the rearview mirror and said, “Tell me the truth. Do I look like I’m half dead?”

  I got a whine and an air lick, maybe the hairy fashion show critic’s way of telling me I was hopeless.

  When we got to the station, Leo and I got a call that the feds wanted to meet in their offices in downtown Los Angeles. As Leo drove us, I told him about my evening. “Sometimes I think my life is just one big reality TV show. Maybe it’s being broadcast to aliens who are sitting in a bar on some planet in another solar system, saying to one another, “Can you believe this shit?”

  Leo laughed until he almost spilled his coffee. “I’ve had a few days like that. It could be worse.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t live next to my friends and have to put up with Nana.” I remembered Noah trying to arrange for us to rent the mobile home and told him about it.

  “I’ve driven by that place. There’s a bunch of plastic pink flamingos out front. I think it backs up to the cemetery.”

  “Great. When you die, they probably just throw you over the fence. Maybe we can all get part-time jobs digging graves.”

  My spirits hadn’t improved much by the time we got to the FBI headquarters in Los Angeles. Our meeting was held in a third floor conference room and was attended by most of the same players as before, including Oz and Captain Dembowski. The lieutenant mentioned that Darby and Buck hadn’t been invited, apparently a message that their roles in the investigation had been diminished.

  After Agent Dukes called the meeting to order, he informed us that the kidnappers had made contact with Henry Montreal again. “The call came in late last night.” He motioned to Agent Flores, who pushed a button, playing a recording of the phone call.

  “You have one last chance to cooperate,” we heard the now familiar electronically modulated voice say. “Mess this up again and they both die.”

  “You double-crossed me last time,” Montreal said. “You didn’t have my family with you. Why should I trust you?”

  “You’re in no position to talk about double-crossing someone or second-guessing anything.”

  “I’m not going…” His voice trailed off and I had the impression someone had entered the room, maybe Montreal’s wife.

  “They’re both dead then,” we heard the kidnapper say.

  Montreal lowered his voice. “Wait…” We heard a sigh. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I’ll call back tomorrow with the details. This time I want ten million. No cops and no fuckups, or I’ll send your daughter and her kid to you in a box.”

  Montreal started to respond, saying something about needing time to raise the money, before the line went dead.

  Agent Dukes said, “We’re working with Mr. Montreal on getting the money together as we speak. It will have an exploding d
ye pack and embedded tracking devices. This time there will be no chance he can pull the tracker.” He looked at Agent Shuler. “You want to fill them in on the rest?”

  The youthful agent swept her brown hair behind one ear. “When the call comes in tomorrow, we’ll have two sets of agents and…” She looked at Leo and me. “…the locals, all following at a safe distance. We expect there will be the usual cat and mouse game before the drop. We’ve talked to Montreal at length and are confident he will cooperate this time. The plan is to hang back and wait until the exchange is made, and hopefully Allison and her daughter are released, before moving in. Regardless of how it plays out, we’re going to be sure the kidnappers won’t be leaving the drop area.”

  Dukes confirmed what she’d said and nodded at Agent Flores who took over. “We’ve done a complete re-canvass of the Hancock Park neighborhood and again talked to the witness who saw Marsh with the maid. Nothing came of it, except she said she’d seen Vincent Marsh with other women.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Dembowski asked.

  “Just that he met a couple of women on the street and drove off with them. The witness thought he’d left his wife at home and had gone out on her. No real description of the women.”

  “Has anything worthwhile come in on the tip line from the photos of our kidnappers that were released to the press?” Oz asked Agent Dukes.

  “Nothing viable, but we’re still working the lines.” Dukes then addressed the rest of us. “Since this all goes down tomorrow, those agents who are directly involved need to plan on spending the day down the street from the Montreal residence. Once the call comes in, we need to be prepared to move out and follow him.” He looked at Leo and me. “You two are in the third car and need to stay at least a block back from the two trail cars.”

  I glanced at Leo, wondering if we’d be so far behind the action that we’d end up doing mop-up after the fact.

  Dukes continued a few minutes longer, emphasizing some tactical issues before saying, “This situation ends tomorrow. We get the victims back and we take down the kidnappers. This is a zero sum game for the other side.”