by M. Z. Kelly
“You seem to know a lot about the inner workings of the show.”
“Sly called me about being on the show last year, telling me it would be good for the ratings. I needed the money, so I agreed. In between shots, I got a lot of gossip about what was going on behind the scenes. Even Lady confirmed that Bert was an abusive asshole when we were off camera.”
What she’d said caused some red flags to start waving for me. Lady Prince was smart and manipulative. She’d also shown little in the way of real remorse after her husband was murdered. There was also the matter of her sister having an affair with her husband. All those facts told me that we needed to keep her on our short list of potential suspects.
“We know that your ex was a womanizer, ma’am,” Buck said to Nolan. “Can you tell us who he was involved with recently?”
She smiled at him. “Are you from the south?”
“Texas, but it’s been a few years.”
Nolan tugged at her dress. Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed to hike it up a bit.
“I can give you a list as big as a phone book,” she said.
Buck pulled out a notepad and smiled. “Ready when you are.”
Nolan’s smile grew wider. Buck was a handsome man and his charms obviously weren’t lost on her.
“Let’s see,” she began. “I know for a fact that he was involved with Lady’s sister, Christina. There was also a singer…Miska somebody…” She took a moment. “…sorry, the last name escapes me. There’s also been a half dozen groupies.” She went on for a few minutes, giving us names and some sketchy information about her ex-husband’s numerous hookups. She then added, “I can probably ask around and get some additional names, including the boys.”
“Boys?” Buck said.
“Young men in their early twenties who wanted to break into the business. Bert used that.”
“I didn’t know Bert was bisexual,” I said.
Nolan laughed and extinguished the half-smoked cigarette. “If it was possible, Bert would have been tri-sexual. He preferred women, but if the opportunity presented itself, he took advantage of it, regardless of gender or sexual orientation.”
She went on for several minutes, giving us some more names that she remembered and details about our victim’s sexual preferences. When she finished, there were so many names and potential sex partners that I thought it would be almost impossible to clear everyone. I decided that I needed to try to narrow down the possibilities.
“You’ve given us lots of names and information, Ms. Nolan,” I said. “Other than Lady, is there anyone who Bert was close to who might be able to help us with our investigation?”
Her gaze drifted off. “There’s his assistant, Danika, but I think their relationship is strictly business.” She took another moment, then finally said, “I guess you could try his lawyer. From what I know, Bert didn’t make a move without him.”
“Mark Swenson?”
“Yeah, Mark. When I was on the set, Bert’s daughter Florence told me they were like brothers.”
TEN
After leaving Bailey Nolan, Leo and Buck dropped me back at the station, where I picked up a car and drove to the Metro Division in downtown Los Angeles. The division had a financial section that was tasked with forgery, fraud, and white-collar crimes. While our investigation didn’t fall into any of those categories, they offered technical support to other divisions regarding complex financial cases. Since the spreadsheets on Bert Prince’s computer were beyond our expertise, Darby and I hoped that someone in the division could offer some analysis and interpretation.
I found Darby in the lobby, where I learned he’d just gotten there because he had to make a stop and got caught in heavy traffic. He then said, “Nice of you to finally show. What did our boy’s ex have to say?”
“Pretty much what we already knew. Bert was a sex addict, involved with lots of women and even a few men. She also said he cleared everything through his lawyer.”
“I told you talking to her was a waste of time. I made an appointment for us to meet with Swenson when we’re through here.”
I decided it was useless to argue with him, so I let him take the lead in explaining why we were there. After meeting with one of the Metro Division lieutenants, we were shown into a back office, where we were introduced to Angie Montoya, a civilian financial analyst. Montoya was pretty, with large coffee-colored eyes. She looked nothing like your typical numbers cruncher.
We took seats in her cubicle, where she told us about her findings. “I’ve spent most of the morning reviewing the spreadsheets and other financial documents that were sent over from your victim’s computer. Mr. Prince was involved in over twenty separate businesses, including the TV show. Almost all those business were losing money. He was heavily in debt.”
“When you say heavily in debt, what exactly do you mean?” Darby asked.
Montoya shifted her monitor, so we could see one of the spreadsheets. “These are the financials for Looking Glass, the corporate structure for the TV show. The business made over fifty million dollars during the past year, but almost all of that profit was diverted to make up for the losses in the other businesses.”
“What kind of other businesses was he involved in?” I asked.
“It ran the gamut, everything from investing in a thoroughbred racing horse that didn’t pay off, to an Internet startup for a soy sauce company. None of the businesses have been successful, and some of them have lost millions.”
Darby scratched his fleshy chin. “So, Bert Prince was operating a financial house of cards that was ready to crash.”
Montoya nodded. “Yes, and, I’m not sure if they know it, but it appears he was diverting most of the money that his wife and daughters made from the TV show, their fashion lines, and commercial endorsements to pay off his debts. They’re also essentially broke.”
“I’m willing to bet they knew about it,” Darby said, “and Bert paid the ultimate price for it.” He looked at me. “Like I said, follow the money trail. You ask me, Lady Prince has blood on her hands.”
I didn’t respond, instead looking back at Montoya. “Was anyone else involved in these other businesses with our victim?”
She nodded. “There were several minor investors, but it appears there was one individual who was helping shift the money around to keep things afloat. Her name is Marisha Dole.”
***
Since we already had an appointment scheduled with Bert Prince’s lawyer, I followed Darby to Mark Swenson’s law offices in Bel Air. We met up in the parking garage, where my partner gloated over what we’d learned from Angie Montoya.
“I told you it’s all about the money. You ask me, Marisha Dole and Bert Prince were still involved in a relationship, and he was using her to divert money from Lady and her daughters to keep his financial house of cards afloat. When the wife caught onto the scheme, Bert went bye-bye.”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “But it could be there’s a bigger picture that we’re still missing.”
“As in?”
“Our victim was shot at close range after he apparently had a sexual encounter with his assailant. If it went down the way you say, Lady wouldn’t have been intimate with him. I think this could be as much about relationship issues as it is about the money.”
“I think you smoked too much weed in college. Let’s go see what the mouthpiece has to say.”
I hate lawyers almost as much as I was starting to despise my new partner. Mark Swenson looked like he was minted at the attorney asshole factory. He was big, brash, and, beneath the odor of cheap aftershave, I detected that factory fresh smell—essence of turd.
“I’m not sure I can be of any help,” Swenson said after we shook hands and took seats in his office. The attorney was about fifty and heavyset, with a comb over. His office was full of trophies, awards, and photos of him hamming it up with celebs and politicians. He went on. “I’m still in a state of shock over what happened. I don’t suppose you have any suspects.�
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“We were hoping you could help us out with that,” Darby said.
“Really? Now, what makes you think I would know who shot Bert Prince?”
“You knew all about his business dealings. One thing might follow from the other.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Darby looked at me, then back at Swenson. “We know all about how Prince was moving money around, juggling one business against the other. You were his lawyer, involved in all his financial dealings. You had to know about what was going on.”
Just like before, Darby had given up the keys to the kingdom before pumping Swenson for information. I wasn’t sure if it was a matter of impatience or stupidity.
Swenson didn’t respond right away. I could tell he was considering his options, how much to tell us. He finally said, “If what you’re saying is true, I don’t know anything about it.”
I decided to speak up before Darby gave up anything more. “Both Lady Prince and Bert’s ex, Bailey Nolan, tell a different story. They say Bert didn’t make a move without you.”
Swenson’s moody eyes regarded me. “I don’t care what they said. I was only tangentially familiar with his business practices and, since Bert Prince was a client of mine, I’m asserting attorney-client privilege.”
“Your client is dead,” Darby said. “And we know you were helping him and Dole hide his wife and daughters’ money.”
Swenson laughed. It was one of those big asshole laugh-factory jobs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He checked his watch. “I’m afraid I have another appointment, so if there’s nothing else…”
“There’s a great deal else,” I said, raising my voice. “Either you tell us what you know about Bert Prince, Marisha Dole, and their dirty business practices, or we’ll go to the DA and subpoena all your records. And when we do, my guess is that you’ll eventually be implicated in everything and be indicted for fraud.”
What I’d said was a bluff. We had nothing to take to the DA, and Swenson apparently knew it.
The attorney pointed to the door, and his fleshy features contorted with anger. “Get out, or I’ll have you thrown out. This conversation is over.”
ELEVEN
Darby and I got back to Hollywood Station around three, where we met with Lieutenant Edna and the rest of our working group in his office. We learned that Leo and Buck had spent a fruitless afternoon after our interview with Bailey Nolan, still unable to contact either Sly Sylvester or Carlyle Waggoner.
I let Darby take the lead, telling the others what we learned about Bert Prince’s financial dealings and his attorney’s response to what we knew.
“You ask me, the crime went down like this,” Darby said. “Lady Prince knows her husband cheats with everyone around her, including her own sister and her agent. When she learns that Marisha Dole and Bert have been skimming every cent they made from the TV show to keep his leaky financial ship afloat, she snapped. She ended both the nightmare that was her marriage and the financial black hole that was sucking the family fortune dry.”
“What about the sex act?” Edna said. “If it went like you say, she wouldn’t blow him before sending him to eternity.”
Darby shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t. It might be he hooked up with someone else before she blew him away.”
“Anything on DNA yet?”
I answered. “I talked to Brie this afternoon. She’s hoping to have something within the next forty-eight hours.”
Leo and Buck then gave Edna an update on our meeting with Bailey Nolan. “She pretty much confirmed what we knew, that Bert cheated with everyone, including men. She also said he ran everything through his lawyer.”
“Which means the lawyer’s also dirty,” Buck said.
“He wasn’t cooperative,” I told the lieutenant. “He practically kicked us out of his office.”
Selfie spoke up. “Swenson’s got a reputation for representing a lot of powerful people. He was able to get Tyler Jacobs off. He’s that CEO who embezzled millions from investors in his stock fund.”
We all knew about the case. Jacobs walked after ruining the lives of thousands of elderly people, putting him right up there with Bernie Madoff on the sleaze scale.
“It sounds like we’ve got a lot more work to do on this,” Edna said. “Let’s go back to Lady and Marisha, and see what they have to say. In the meantime, I’ll update Dumbo and the rest of the fucking brass.”
We spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to track down Lady and Marisha, without success. I was leaving the station when I glanced into the breakroom and saw my former partner, Charlie Winkler. Charlie was retired, but had come back to work part-time. I’d recently heard a rumor that he and Jessica Barlow, another detective at Hollywood Station, were engaged. Word had it they were planning to get married in the forecourt of the TCL Chinese Theatre. I decided to see if the rumors were true and if my former partner had, indeed, lost his mind.
I got a cup of water from the dispenser and took a seat across from him. When his bloodshot eyes came up to me, I said, “How goes it, partner?”
“It goes.” His gaze drifted down to something he’d been slurping up that looked like lasagna or maybe the remnants of a cheesy enchilada, I wasn’t sure which.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
His gloomy eyes found me again. “For what?”
“You and Jessica. I heard you’re getting married.”
“Oh, that.” He blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his thinning, graying hair. “Guess so.”
Even though he’d confirmed it, I found it difficult to believe he was actually marrying Jessica Barlow. Jessica and I had gone to high school together before she’d decided to ruin my life and also become a cop. She was difficult, arrogant, and petty—and those were her good qualities. To make matters worse, she and Charlie had nearly come to blows when they’d worked together in the past. They’d somehow moved past their differences and become romantically involved, but the idea of them getting married seemed ridiculous.
Charlie just sat there, not saying anything more or looking at me. He looked like a lost child, in need of a friend.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I finally said, lowering my voice out of concern.
“I accepted a proposition, that’s all.”
My brows inched together. “What kind of proposition?”
He pushed back in his chair and lowered his voice. “I owe some people some money, and Jessica agreed to help me out.”
“Money for what?”
I got another sigh. “I lost a bet.”
I shook my head. “So, Jessica agreed to pay off your gambling debts if you marry her.”
“Shh.” His eyes shifted, looking around the room. “I’m stuck…unless…”
When he didn’t go on, I said, “Unless what?”
“Unless you can loan me the money. I need twenty grand.”
I couldn’t believe what he was asking. Charlie knew that I was broke. “I can barely pay my rent.”
His gaze drifted off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“So, you’re really going to marry her?”
His eyes found me and he whispered. “I owe money to a guy named Harley Boykin. He’s somebody who you better find a way to pay off what you owe him.”
I knew Boykin by reputation. He was a loan shark who used physical violence to enforce his debts. “I can’t believe you got yourself into this situation.”
Despite what I’d said, I could believe it. Charlie had a drinking problem and a history of making bad decisions when he was under the influence.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“To the wedding?” He nodded. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Consider yourself invited. You’re my best friend.”
What he’d said made my eyes mist over. I desperately wanted to help him, but didn’t see any way to do that. I reached over and touched his hand. “Of course I’ll be there.”
***
I stopped by the hospital to check on Bernie on my way home. He was doing well and I made arrangements to bring him home in a few days. My friends and I had two days left at the Mission Bell, and when I arrived at the inn, I remembered that we had all scheduled massages for that evening. After entering the hotel’s spa, I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard a familiar voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
“Get over here and get naked, Kate. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
It was Nana, our eighty-something former landlord. She was on the massage table between Natalie and Mo. All three women were nude. From where I stood, I had the impression that I’d entered Brie Henner’s morgue and found a dead body between my friends. To make matters worse, three male massage technicians were working on them. The look on the face of the masseur tending to Nana reminded me of Bernie after he’d eaten something that didn’t agree with him.
“Get busy, Johnny,” Nana said to her masseur. “And make sure you use lots of oil. I’ve got some knots in there that are a couple of decades old.”
Johnny, to his credit, did as he was instructed, even as he grimaced like a rookie cop seeing his first dead body.
A receptionist came over and gave me a locker key as Natalie said, “We made us a group appointment, Kate. ‘Fraid Nana showed up and took your spot.”
Nana lifted her head and looked at me. She worked her oversized, loose dentures around in her mouth like an elderly shark looking for a victim and said, “I didn’t take anybody’s spot. I just asserted my ownership privileges.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
Mo moaned like she was having an orgasm, then said, “Nana made an offer for the inn last night. It was accepted a couple of hours ago.”
“I’m now the Mission Bell madam,” Nana said. “Hey, that gives me an idea. Maybe I’ll turn this joint into a brothel.” She looked over at the receptionist. “Monica, get Rosie in here.” She looked back at me. “You look like hell. Go take your clothes off while Monica gets your masseur. I’m going to have them give you the full Monty, work you over from one end to the other.”
