Hollywood Assassin: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  I took the elevator to the top floor where a secretary led me to an ornate conference room with lots of oak paneling and even a fireplace. I found Blaylock and Preston sitting at an oval table like rigor mortis had set in. Maybe working for IAD caused both stupidity and muscle rigidity. Blaylock stood and motioned for me to take a seat.

  I made a point of looking at Preston. When he didn’t make eye contact, I leaned over the table and said, “Done any shopping lately?”

  The beefy detective blushed. He glanced at his partner who was giving him a questioning look.

  Blaylock reached into a briefcase and shoved an official looking document across the desk at me. “This is formal notice that you will be subject to interrogation proceedings this Friday at 11:00 a.m. in this office. You have the right to representation during the proceedings, if you so desire. The letter explains your other rights.”

  I scanned the document, then folded it in half. I cut my eyes to Blaylock who showed no emotion. “Why am I under investigation?”

  Preston spoke before his partner could answer, “Possible disciplinary action related to your conduct on October 2nd during the failed arrest of a felon wanted on a murder warrant.” The chubby detective’s grin was a twelve on a ten point shit-eating scale.

  “I want the OIS report.”

  “If the report is used during your interrogation, you’ll get a copy then,” Blaylock answered. “Not before.”

  As I was heading for the door, Blaylock noticed Bernie was limping. “So, what happened to your partner?”

  I stopped and turned back to the detective. “Bernie wanted to get laid and came up limp.” I motioned to Preston. “Heard your partner’s an expert on that. Let me know if he starts singing soprano in the church choir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Melvin Coben sits next to Nathan Kane as they wait for the two parole commissioners to enter the hearing room. The clock on the wall above where the jurists will sit shows that it’s after four. The commissioners are half an hour late.

  Kane whispers to his attorney when he’s sure no one is watching, “What the hell’s taking so long?”

  “Probably just dealing with some administrative issues,” Coben says. “Prisons run on paperwork, if nothing else.”

  Kane hates the little bastard and his excuses. When this is over, he decides, Coben will find himself out of a job. It’s taken months to get his hearing on the parole calendar and now he senses his long sought freedom is in jeopardy. If he dies in prison, Kane will make sure before he’s gone that the attorney will suffer for his incompetence.

  Ten minutes later, the doors to the hearing room swing open. Ben Walker and Ann Warren take their seats. The hearing is called back into session.

  Walker renders his decision first. “When we adjourned, I stated on the record that I do not consider the prisoner a threat to the health and safety of the community.” He pauses, letting his eyes sweep over Kane and his attorney. “I maintain that position. I state again for the record, based upon the medical issues presented at this hearing, I have no opposition to a compassionate parole release for Mr. Kane.”

  Walker leans back in his chair, looks at his counterpart. Kane lets his dark eyes sweep up to the female jurist. Ann Warren looks exhausted, maybe from arguing against his parole. If she denies his release, the bitch will pay with her life.

  “I have carefully considered all of the testimony and reports prepared for this hearing,” Warren begins. “I want to again state for the record I have concerns about parole based upon the serious nature of the prisoner’s conviction. However, I am now convinced that the costs of continuing to incarcerate this prisoner, given his serious and deteriorating medical condition, mitigate what would be gained by continuing to house him in a secure setting. I have also studied the extensive medical records in this case. I am persuaded that the defendant’s medical condition makes the risk to public safety minimal.”

  Kane senses the jurist is trying to make eye contact before rendering her final decision. He keeps his eyes downcast but moves a shaky hand up to his mouth, concealing the smile he is unable to suppress.

  “I concur with Commissioner Walker,” Ann Warren says. “However, while I said there is minimal risk to the public, that does not mean there is no risk.”

  A rage explodes in Nathan Kane. What is the bitch saying? If she considers him a risk there will be no release. He will spend the rest of his life in prison.

  “I agree that a release on parole should be granted,” Commissioner Warren states, “under the condition that the prisoner is required to wear an electronic monitoring device at all times. Should he tamper with or remove that device it will cause an immediate alert so that his parole can be revoked and he will be returned to this facility.”

  Melvin Coben thanks the jurists before they adjourn the hearing and leave the room. He then reaches over, tries to shake his client’s hand. “We did it. You’re free.”

  Kane refuses the handshake. He is livid. “What about the monitoring?” he whispers.

  “Just a formality. You wear an ankle bracelet for a few months and go about your business. Eventually they’ll remove the monitor and you’re free.”

  “Eventually. In the meantime it means they will know my every move, watch everything I do.”

  “Yes, but..”

  Kane holds up his beefy hand, silencing the attorney. “How soon?” Kane murmurs. “When can I walk out the door?”

  “Let me check with the administrative clerk.” He tells the orderly who has come for his client to wait while he speaks with the clerk.

  When he returns, Coben bends over to Kane and says, “They will begin processing the release papers immediately. The electronic monitoring is another matter. They probably won’t be able to hook you up until tomorrow morning.”

  Kane dismisses Coben. He lets the orderly push his wheelchair through the now empty hearing room. Before he leaves, his eyes move up and sweep over the desert landscape outside the window. He could be in Hollywood by noon tomorrow if all goes as he’d planned. But there are a few other matters to attend to first. Things that no electronic monitoring device will be able to stop.

  When they move back into the medical wing, the orderly is handed a note from one of the clerks. He reads the request before abruptly changing directions, moving Kane back out of the medical ward.

  “Looks like a busy day for you,” the orderly says. “You’ve got a visitor.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After meeting with the IAD detectives, I dropped off Bernie at my mother’s house with orders to attack if there was any sign of an orgasm. I then went home and changed into a pair of pants and a sweater. On my way out the door, I wolfed down some Ghirardelli Chocolate squares for my headache.

  Three hours later, Olive belched to a stop in the parking lot of Avenal State Prison. The little desert community north of Los Angeles was in the middle of nowhere. Cold. Windy. A barren moonscape. All things considered, a good place for thieves and killers.

  I showed my credentials at the inmate visiting center where an attractive young woman introduced herself. “I’m Patty Washington. We spoke a couple of days ago.”

  As Patty processed my paperwork, we made small talk. She then handed my credentials back, lowered her voice and said, “Good luck with this one. Heard he’s an HB.”

  “Is that an inmate classification code?”

  “Hairball,” Patty explained. “He’s just been granted a parole release as a medically incapacitated inmate.” The clerk went on to tell me about Kane’s medical condition. “Word has it behind the fence that his medical issues are exaggerated.”

  Behind the fence meant inside the walls of the prison. “They think he’s been faking it?”

  Patty shrugged. “Just letting you know what the rumor mill is saying. I’ll let you make your own assessment.”

  “When will he be released?”

  “He’s going out on a bracelet. Our Electronic Monitoring Unit will probably ho
ok him up in the morning.”

  I found my way to the visiting area via a series of electronically locking interior doors off the medical wing where I was told Nathan Kane was housed. The windowless room where I waited was warm.

  I removed my jacket, folding it over the back of my chair. There was a steady hiss of a radiator somewhere blowing air that had no effect on the room temperature. My chocolate meds hadn’t touched the headache still pounding behind my temples.

  A door swung open and Nathan Kane was wheeled into the room. Despite his physical condition, the prisoner was a formidable man with muscular forearms and a wide chest. He made no attempt at eye contact, but I could see his dark eyes moving beneath a heavy brow.

  As the orderly moved the prisoner’s wheelchair up to the desk across from me, his medical issues aside, I sensed the man in front of me was dangerous and calculating.

  “I’m Detective Kate Sexton with LAPD,” I said after the orderly left the room. I took a few moments, explaining my duties with the department and telling him that I was there on a special assignment. It wasn’t entirely factual, but I had no qualms about stretching the truth with a convicted killer.

  I then got right to the point. “I’m here to talk about Cassie Reynolds and Roger Diamond.”

  No reaction. Eyes downcast.

  My head was throbbing and I was out of patience after the long drive. “I know about the phone calls Conrad Harper’s been making to you, about Roger Diamond’s visits.” No response. “Tell me about your relationship with them.”

  I might as well have talked to the wall. I stood, walked away and brushed a hand over my damp forehead.

  Why not try a lie, I decided. I had already stretched the truth and could be a pretty good liar when it was necessary. Maybe it would get a reaction. I came back to the prisoner, placed my hands on the table, and pitched my frame forward.

  “I know that you had Roger Diamond murdered,” I said.

  Zero. The thing about lies is that it’s almost impossible to stop at just one. But sometimes a lie can lead you to the truth.

  “I’ve talked to Harper. You both set up the hit on Diamond. It was arranged during one of your phone conversations.”

  Dead eyes. A heavy breath.

  “Tell me Mr. Kane, was Cassie Reynolds also murdered because Roger Diamond told her something about your drug dealing?”

  I thought I saw something flicker in Kane’s face, but his eyes remained downcast. I had no way of proving he was still involved in the drug trade while in prison, but that didn’t stop me.

  “Diamond was your middle man on the streets. He was also your laundry boy. Your connections on the outside supplied the drugs; Diamond was the runner. He washed the money through his porn movies, while Harper bankrolled everything.”

  I thought I saw Kane’s thick lips move. Progress?

  “I’ll give you thirty seconds to tell me what’s been going on before I go to the warden. I’ll have your parole revoked before it begins.”

  That was a good one. I had no idea if the warden was around at this hour or if anything I told him would affect Kane’s parole status.

  “You have no idea,” Kane whispered, his dark eyes slowly lifting.

  Despite my racing heartbeat and pounding headache, I tried to remain cool in a room that was getting hotter by the second.

  “I have lots of ideas,” I said. “One of them involves you spending the rest of your life in this prison unless you tell me what’s going on.”

  The hint of a smile played on the prisoner’s lips, but as quickly as his gaze had come up, it swept down and away from me again.

  I moved away from the table, wondering if I had just wasted four hours and forty bucks worth of gas listening to a convicted killer say nothing worthwhile.

  “Time for me to talk to the warden,” I said, moving toward the door.

  Kane began to rock back and forth in a gentle swaying motion. He whispered something I couldn’t hear.

  I moved over to him again. “What are you trying to say?”

  His voice was a soft hiss, barely audible. “It will be your fault, Detective.”

  “What,” I said, leaning in, trying to make eye contact. “What’s going to be my fault?”

  The rocking continued. “His death.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded, my forehead popping with perspiration.

  Nathan Kane’s dead eyes swung back up to me. The furtive smile found his lips again and he said, “Your brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On my way out of the prison, I asked for the warden. Patty Washington said he was gone but took my cell number, promising to get him a message to call me as soon as possible.

  When I reached the parking lot, my emotions were on overload. Anger. Rage. Anxiety. My heart was racing, only intensifying my relentless headache.

  A call to my brother went to voice mail. “Robin, it’s Kate. Listen to what I say carefully. I think you could be in danger. I need you to lie low until I can explain everything. I’m out of town, but will be back in Hollywood later this evening. I’ll stop by and talk to you then. Call me.”

  As I pulled onto the freeway, my phone rang. I snatched it up without looking at the screen and said, “Robin?”

  “Sorry, Kate, it’s just me. The guy wanted for murder.”

  “Jack!” For some reason I felt like I’d just been rescued from a desert island. “Where are you?”

  “I’m a fugitive remember? We’re supposed to hide out. It’s in the job description.”

  My relief over hearing his voice gave way to my concerns about Robin. “I just met with Nathan Kane at Avenal State Prison, Jack.”

  “Pearl filled me in on what’s been happening. So what was his story?”

  “He fooled the parole board into granting his release. He’s going out on a bracelet tomorrow, but there’s something else.” I was unable to stop the tears flooding my eyes. “He threatened my brother.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either. All I know is that I asked him about his relationship with Diamond and Harper. He didn’t react, but as I was leaving he said something about me being responsible for Robin’s death.”

  Despite my best effort, I realized there were tears on my cheeks as I continued, “Jack, I’m really worried. I think Kane or whoever he’s involved with is trying to get to me through my brother.”

  “Give me Robin’s address, Kate. I’ll do a little checking, make sure he’s okay.”

  I gave him the address and thanked him.

  The drive back to Hollywood was one of the longest of my life. Interstate five is a two lane ribbon of asphalt filled with drivers who have never heard of speed limits and truckers who weave in and out of traffic like drunken sailors. Olive was like a duck in a thunderstorm as we dodged our way back to the city.

  I was nearing Hollywood when my phone rang. It was Walt Peters, the Avenal State Prison warden.

  “Sorry it took a while to get back to you,” Peters said. “I’m at the opera, just checked my messages.”

  Avenal has an opera? “I met with Nathan Kane this afternoon,” I said. “I understand he’s been granted parole with electronic monitoring?”

  “That could be. I’ll get an update on the parole hearing tomorrow.”

  “That will be too late. He threatened a member of my family during our interview. I want his parole revoked.”

  Peters didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his tone was defensive. “What was the nature of your interview, Detective? Is he a suspect in a crime? He’s been in prison for well over a decade.”

  Now I was on the spot. If I told him about my unauthorized investigation and that I suspected Kane had some involvement in a murder, even though I had no proof of that, I would be in more trouble. And I was already up to my eyeballs in trouble.

  “Let’s just say that it was an informal interview about some issues that have come up in Hollywood,” I said. “That’s all I can
say for now.”

  Another hesitation. Peters finally said, “You do understand that Mr. Kane’s parole will be strictly monitored. He’ll be on an electronic leash at all times.”

  “That’s not good enough, Warden. You and I both know he can cut the monitor and be back in Hollywood in a matter of hours.”

  “I’m sorry, but unless you can give me some solid grounds for revocation I can’t modify the parole board’s decision. There’s also the matter of medical costs. Keeping an inmate like Mr. Kane in custody with his medical problems is prohibitively expensive.”

  My anger and my headache went to the moon. “I understand one thing, Mr. Peters. You are allowing a dangerous man who has made threats against my family walk the streets again.”

  I ended the call, tossing my phone onto the seat. What was it about administrators? Peters was like half the command staff at LAPD. They pushed a lot of paper, talked a lot about community safety, but they didn’t get it about keeping dangerous felons off the streets.

  As I turned off the 101 Freeway in Hollywood, I tried Robin’s number again. No answer. I decided to stop by his condo and check on him.

  I was ringing my brother’s doorbell when I heard a voice in the darkness.

  “He’s with your mother.”

  I instinctively reached for my gun, simultaneously jumping back. I almost fell off the brick entryway.

  “Who’s there?” I demanded.

  “For God’s sakes don’t shoot me.” Jack Bautista took a step toward me, illuminated by the lamplight. “Who do you think it is?”

  I put my gun away, exhaled. I tried to collect myself as Bautista walked over and held open the side gate to Robin’s condo.

  “Care to join me on the patio?”

  I walked past him, down the side yard. The night sky was filled with a fog bank, drifting in and out beneath the moonlight. The narrow side yard was dark. I stumbled again, nearly falling. Damn, I hated being a klutz.