Hollywood Assassin: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “I need to explain something to you, Detective Sexton, and you need to listen very carefully.”

  I exhaled and slumped into a chair. I was exhausted and couldn’t imagine spending several more hours going at it with Blaylock and Preston. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “By law, nothing in these proceedings can be used against you in a criminal case.”

  “I’m not guilty…”

  “I’m not saying you are guilty of anything, but you need to hear me out.” I nodded, biting my tongue. “As I said, what you tell the detectives can’t be used in a criminal case, but, as I’ve told you before, the law governing peace officer interrogations makes it clear that anything you say can be used administratively for disciplinary proceedings.”

  I started to respond, but the moment faded, along with my last ounce of energy. Everything was now clear to me. I didn’t have a chance. I never had a chance. I’d been set up and it was a matter of time until I was fired.

  Chester continued, “If you tell these detectives that you continued to receive phone calls from Jack Bautista, however well-intentioned or innocent your discussions might have been, they will use that as a basis to establish that you had an ongoing relationship with him.” Chester took a step closer to me. “They will use the admission that you were in contact with a wanted felon to terminate your employment.”

  I stood up and walked away from him. The room was spinning. I clutched my sides, trying to breathe evenly and keep my emotions in check.

  I glanced over at a poster on the wall. It was one of those public relations posters that showed an officer bending down and offering a hand to a little girl who was crying. The caption read, To Protect and Serve.

  My discussions with Jack Bautista swam through my mind. My first inclination had been to get him to turn himself in. But as we’d continued to talk, I became convinced of his innocence.

  I had to admit that I was attracted to Jack, but nothing had happened between us. I had been trying to do the right thing, both by Jack Bautista and Cassie Reynolds. It was the only solace I could find.

  I looked at the poster again. I was about the same age as the little girl in the picture when my father was murdered. He had sacrificed everything for the department, including his life. In the end, that sacrifice hadn’t even been acknowledged by putting his badge in a display case for fallen officers.

  I felt disgusted, the bitterness catching in my throat. Whatever happened, I was sure of one thing. My motives and actions had been honorable, just like my father’s. We had both done the right thing.

  I turned back to my attorney and said, “I guess it’s over.”

  Chester nodded. “The only advice I can give you is to go back into that room and assert your fifth amendment rights. Refuse to answer any further questions.”

  “And, when I refuse to answer I’ll be subject to disciplinary action. I will be fired.”

  “Yes, but there’s something else, Detective. While it’s true that nothing you say in these proceedings is admissible in a criminal court, if you talk and allow them to establish that you had any kind of relationship with Jack Bautista, it won’t stop Blaylock and Preston from doing an end run, going to the DA behind your back, trying to convince that office to file charges for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

  Chester sat down, mopped his brow. “The choice is yours. Keep your mouth shut and face termination of your employment. Or keep talking and run the risk they will use anything and everything you say to both terminate your employment and work on the DA behind the scenes to prosecute you.”

  I sucked in a breath, released it slowly and turned away. The reality of what was happening now fully settled in. My world caved in at the realization I would lose the job I loved and could end up in prison if I said anything further. I saw myself divorced, unemployed, and facing criminal charges.

  “It was the right thing,” I said weakly, not meeting his eyes.

  “What are you trying to say, Detective?”

  “Whatever happens,” I said, my voice breaking, “I was trying to do the right thing.” I turned and looked across the room at Chester. “For what it’s worth, I want you to know that.”

  “Unfortunately, sometimes doing the right thing is a costly proposition.”

  Ten minutes later, I was back with the IAD detectives, the camera in my face. I told Blaylock and Preston on the record that I was refusing to answer any further questions.

  Preston grinned and said, “You do understand that your failure to answer is grounds for disciplinary action up to and including termination of your employment?”

  I stood and locked eyes with my adversary. “I understand one thing and it’s very clear to me. The department doesn’t want to know the truth. That, Detective Preston, goes against everything this profession should stand for.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After I left IAD, I called Charlie and filled him in on what happened. He mumbled something about maybe I could file an appeal.

  I ended the call, telling him I was taking the rest of the day off and would see him tomorrow. I knew there was no appealing a setup that had been orchestrated to get me fired.

  I stopped by my mother’s house on the way home to pick up Bernie. Mom was still in bandages, but her imaginary dalliance with the former president hadn’t resurfaced. I told Janet Logan I’d stop by again tomorrow.

  After leaving Mom’s, I stopped at a market and purchased a self-pity tool kit. The kit had come in handy over the past year. It consists of a bottle of wine and a bag of Fugs. A Fug is an unhealthy, deep-fried, god-awful, cheese-dusted, carb-bomb that a college roommate named Sally Clapper, yes Clapper, introduced me to. I’ve since become addicted to Fugs, even though Sally and I, in a fit of wine-induced depression one night, had the horrific thought that Fug might stand for Fat Ugly Girl.

  During my Fug-therapy sessions Bernie gets a rawhide chew, I get drunk, and end up with Fug-dust all over my PJ’s. I usually channel surf during these sessions and get more despondent because there’s nothing worth watching, unless I want to buy a device that will squeeze the juice out of a radish or the fat out of my thighs. I usually end up falling asleep on the sofa and sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to some idiotic home improvement show. I then feel sorry for myself because I live in an appliance store and stumble off to bed.

  By late afternoon, I’d drifted off to sleep until the persistent peal of the phone woke me. I let the answering machine pick up, but heard Pearl Kramer’s voice.

  “Kate, I talked to Charlie and heard what happened. There’s been some…”

  I stumbled to the phone, killed the machine.

  “Are you okay?” Pearl asked after I picked up. “I heard your session with IAD didn’t go well.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I mumbled. “What’s going on?”

  “I got off the phone with Peter Jacobs a little while ago. Conrad Harper was found dead at his estate. The story’s been held back from the press, but will probably be in the papers by morning.”

  I nearly fell off the sofa. “What was the cause of death?”

  “The family had Harper’s private physician certify he died of natural causes. Apparently they don’t want anything to interfere with the esteemed producer’s legacy or their large inheritance. But Jacobs thinks there’s more to the story—that the death wasn’t from natural causes.”

  “What makes him think that?”

  “Harper was, according to Jacobs, heavily addicted to drugs, various pain medications as well as illegal substances. He spent the better part of this past year in rehab kicking the habit. When Jacobs found the body, there were several vials of medications nearby. He thinks there were enough drugs in Harper’s system to bring down an elephant.”

  I brushed the hair off my forehead. “Maybe it was an accidental overdose?”

  “Jacobs doesn’t think so. One of their employees was found dead near the staff parking lot a few hours after Harper’s body was discovered. Hi
s clothes had been removed and the man’s electronic card reader was used to enter the estate. Jacobs thinks whoever used the access card had a hand in Harper’s death.”

  “Are the police involved?”

  “Yes, but Jacobs doesn’t think the investigation will go very far. They have no direct evidence there was any foul play and the family has rushed things along; already had the body cremated.”

  After the news sank in for a moment, I said, “I wonder if Nathan Kane is back in town?”

  “Thought maybe you could call Avenal and see if he’s still on his electronic leash.”

  Ten minutes later, I called Pearl back after speaking with Patty Washington at the prison. “Kane cut off his bracelet twenty minutes after being paroled. He’s in the wind.”

  “Or in Hollywood,” Pearl said.

  “I’d bet on it.” I had another call and told Pearl I’d get back to him later.

  When I answered the call, I heard Brian Jankowitz’s voice. “Kate, I need you to meet me in my office first thing tomorrow morning.”

  My pulse raced. “What’s going on?”

  His voice faltered before he said, “I’m sorry, there’s just no easy way to say this. You’re being suspended from duty pending a Board of Rights Hearing.”

  ***

  The next morning I stopped at a home improvement store on my way into the station and picked up some boxes. I saw that Charlie was at this desk, munching away on something that looked like chocolate pretzels. I stood behind him for a moment, not saying anything. My eyes drifted up and over our workspace, probably for the last time.

  On the filing cabinet behind my desk was a photograph of my dad in his dress blues taken upon graduation from the police academy. Next to that was a photograph of me and Bernie on our first day of patrol. On the opposite wall was a framed letter written by some third grade kids, thanking me for a talk about safety.

  I looked down at my beat-up desk. There was a half-dead Boston fern, my empty coffee mug, stains on the blotter, and an in-basket that seemed forever overflowing. Behind me I heard the steady drone of voices, phones ringing, and gardeners trimming hedges somewhere outside the building. The place had its own unique smell—something brought on by sweat, stress, and maybe a little blood. This was my world and it was all going away.

  I put the boxes on my desk and told Charlie about my meeting with Jankowitz and upcoming suspension.

  “Do me a favor,” I said. “While I’m meeting with Jank could you pack up my desk? I’d like to make a quick exit when this is over.”

  Charlie stood and took the boxes from me. I saw that his eyes were red and glassy.

  “Cheer up, Winkler. It’s not like I’m facing a firing squad. I’ll still let you buy me a beer now and then.”

  “I’m counting on it.” My overweight partner moved forward, gave me a quick hug that felt more like a reverse Heimlich Maneuver, and then turned away. I think I saw a tear rolling down his cheek.

  As Bernie and I walked down the corridor to the captain’s office I decided I was wrong. This did feel like I was facing a firing squad. Everything I had worked for over the past nine years would be gone.

  I remembered feeling on top of the world when I made detective four years ago. Now, I had no idea how I was going to even pay my rent. I saw myself broke and living with my mother as I knocked on the Jank’s door.

  Brian Jankowitz had been an ice hockey player in college and still bore a couple of scars from the sport. He was a tough but fair cop, an exception that I appreciated given my situation. Bernie settled at my feet as I took a seat in front of the captain’s desk.

  “I’m not going to drag this out with small talk,” he said. “I have a letter given to me by administration. Take a few minutes and read it, then I’ll need your signature at the bottom, acknowledging receipt.”

  Bernie let out a soft whine, but I ignored it as I scanned the letter. My eyes held on some of the key phrases.

  Insubordination...failure to cooperate...willful disobedience of a direct order...conduct unbecoming an officer...suspended from duty...

  The letter said my termination would be final within seven days unless I filed for a Board of Rights Hearing.

  I signed the letter and slid it across the captain’s desk. “Just so you know, I am going to file for a hearing. I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Kate.” Jankowitz met my eyes. “Off the record, I want you to know I wish this wasn’t happening. You’ve been one of my best officers.”

  “That means a lot to me.” I pushed down my emotions. “I’ll have my attorney, Jimmy Chester, call you about the hearing. I’d like it to be held as soon as possible. I’ll waive any time issues. There are some things I want to say about what’s been happening as soon as possible.” I removed my gun and badge and pushed them across the desk.

  The captain nodded. “I’ll let administration know and see what I can do to move the hearing along.”

  I thanked him. Despite my best efforts, I realized a tear was on my cheek. I brushed it away, gathered up Bernie, and moved toward the door.

  “There’s one other thing,” Jankowitz said.

  I turned back and faced him. I saw the distress in his face.

  The captain cleared his throat. “It’s about your partner, Kate.”

  “Charlie?”

  Jankowitz shook his head. “Bernie. I’ve been told that when…if the termination is upheld, he will be reassigned. Until then he can remain with you, but I need to ask for his badge as well.”

  I was overwhelmed by what he’d said. I’d been so caught up in my own problems I hadn’t even thought about how any of this would affect Bernie. “I don’t understand.” I moved back to the captain’s desk. “The department has a policy that when an officer retires, their dogs are usually allowed to end their service at the same time.”

  Jankowitz exhaled. “This isn’t a retirement, Kate.” He ran a hand over his damp forehead. “If I were you, if things don’t go well at your hearing, I’d write a letter to the chief. You never know, he just might let Bernie go out with you.”

  I looked down at my big dog. He pushed his nose against my hand, whining softly.

  I cut my eyes back to Jankowitz. “Not if Marvin Drake and his buddies have anything to do with it.”

  I removed the badge from Bernie’s collar, pushed it across the captain’s desk, and walked away.

  Charlie helped me carry my belongings to the car. As I loaded the boxes into the trunk I realized I was about to lose everything I cared about, even Charlie. I turned to my partner and saw tears streaming down his face. He was sobbing like a child.

  I kissed my now ex-partner on the cheek, and said goodbye for the last time. I was headed down the street when the dam burst. I cried so hard I couldn’t see the road in front of me.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wilcox Avenue is a busy tree-lined street in a working class neighborhood just off Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. The avenue has apartment buildings and several bail bond establishments. It’s also the headquarters for Hollywood Division. It is the kind of neighborhood where no one is likely to notice a man in a car parked a block up from the police station.

  While Nathan Kane waits, he gets some news he’s been hoping to hear. “We’ve found Bautista,” the man on the phone says. “He’s been staying in a motel in Tucson for the past couple of days.”

  “Did he locate the whore’s mother?”

  “No. We’re almost positive about that. We think she’s living on the streets. He’s been making the rounds of the homeless shelters, asking about her.”

  “Let’s not waste any more time, then. I want him dead.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Kane closes the phone, thinking about the woman Bautista is tracking. He doubts Cassie Reynolds’s mother knows anything, but after he takes care of other business she will also die. The loop has to be closed.

  There’s also the matter of Bautista ta
lking to Detective Sexton. Even though Sexton went to see Harper, he doubts that she got anywhere. If she’d found out anything worthwhile she would have said something by now.

  Kane smiles, remembering how he forced the hairless little billionaire to choke down his medication until he lost consciousness.

  Harper’s death had been too easy, but it had to look like an accident. Any questions about the cause of death might eventually lead back to him. In the end, the bastard got what he deserved. After all, he was the one who’d tipped Diamond and Reynolds off about everything. It was the stupid little producer’s actions that had set the killings in motion.

  Sexton! He sees the detective walking out of the police station, her hands full of boxes. She loads the containers into her car and then falls into her fat partner’s arms, crying like a baby. Perfect.

  He knows the detective has been suspended from duty. In a few days she’ll be out of a job—permanently. She’s not much of a threat now. Her death will be more of a pleasure than anything else. The exhilaration of watching her stirs his excitement to a fever pitch. The memory of each of his victims surges through him like an orgasm.

  How many women has he killed? The number is somewhere around two dozen, but there were some nights when the drugs and his vengeance blurred his memories. There was a time when his bloodlust was so overwhelming that he’d been given the nickname, The Assassin.

  Kane remembers a prostitute that he’d tortured all night before tying her to a tree and leaving her. He was sure the wild things of the night had finished the job he had started.

  Wild things. The Assassin likes the sound of that.

  He sees the suspended cop drive out of the parking lot and slumps down in his seat as she passes by.

  Soon, Kate Sexton will know what a wild thing can do when it’s on the hunt for blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The afternoon after my suspension I went home and prepared my standard self-pity tool kit: a bottle of Chardonnay and a bag of Fugs. But as I got a corkscrew out of the drawer, something in me shifted.