by M. Z. Kelly
I planned to ask Chandra about the tattoo, but got distracted when Charlie mentioned the press was setting up down the street. I looked out the window and saw there were a half dozen satellite vans converging.
“You wanna go down there, maybe make a statement, and answer Tristan’s questions?” Charlie asked.
“Funny.” I noticed he had a smile again. “What gives? Why the happy face?”
“Can’t a guy do happy?”
“You don’t do happy. You do grumpy. What’s going on?” Not only was he happy, there was something else I noticed for the first time all day. His hair was a shade darker. “And what did you do to your hair?”
“Just a little touch up,” he said, running his hand along the side of his head. “I was going to buy some of that fertilizer, but this stuff’s cheaper. What do you think?”
“I think you look like an oil slick.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I just changed the subject to his date with Wilma Bibby. “So, by the look on your face you must have had a happy meal last night with Wilma.”
“You might say that.”
His smile grew wider. It looked dopey.
Charlie continued, “I took Wilma to Skooby’s. We had the kraut dog. I think that got her in the mood.”
“Don’t tell me?”
Charlie’s smile widened until he looked like a tubby cartoon character.
“You really had sex on the first date?” The thought of Charlie and Wilma having sex was horrifying.
Charlie shrugged. I decided the smile made him look like a fat Ronald McDonald with dyed black hair. “Sometimes a guy just catches a lucky break.”
Yuck! I felt like Lucy from that classic Christmas cartoon after she’d been kissed by a dog. Get some hot water! Get some disinfectant! I walked away, wishing there was a way to do a mental purge of the images I’d been visualizing.
After spending most of the afternoon at the crime scene and avoiding any further discussion with Smiling Charlie about his date, I called Hudson Mackenzie and asked him if he could attend the meeting with Skully. I wanted the captain to hear, firsthand, what the private investigator had to say because I wasn’t sure that Skully would believe anything I told him.
After stopping at my apartment, I lost the pantsuit and changed into a dark blue Saint Tropez V-neck cardigan and matching pants. Bernie and I then met Mackenzie at his office.
We rode to the meeting together in the PI’s black Range Rover. Olive was still coughing and sputtering, and I didn’t want to take any chance on missing another meeting.
Along the way, I mentioned that we were passing the former location of Schwab’s Drug store, now a shopping and theater complex. “According to legend, Lana Turner was discovered at the soda fountain inside the store.”
“Too bad they tore the place down,” Mackenzie said.
“Yeah, but legend got it wrong. The actress was actually discovered at a café a few blocks away.”
Mackenzie had been generous enough to allow Bernie to ride in the backseat. As we got on the freeway my big dog picked up what was probably the scent of his black labs. He had trouble settling down. “Sorry, I think Bernie knows that Thelma and Louise have been in your car.”
“I think he would like the girls.”
“Yeah, maybe a little too much.” I exhaled, feeling some of the day’s tension ease. “Do you live in this area?” I asked, changing the subject.
“A house up in the hills. My wife and I owned the property before she died in a car accident four years ago. I didn’t take care of things very well after that, so I’m trying to work on it now as time permits. It’s just a little place, but the view is to die for.” He glanced at me and smiled. “And you?”
Let’s see, how do I explain that I live above an appliance store? “I’ve also got a fixer, but no shortage of appliances.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Mackenzie dark brows knitted. I felt compelled to level with him. “I have a friend whose husband owns an appliance store. After my divorce, they let me rent the upstairs apartment.” I smiled. “I guess you could call me the queen of Clyde’s Appliance Universe.”
“I know that place, bought a washer and dryer there a few years back.”
“Let me know if you ever need a fridge. I can probably get you a discount.”
We left the freeway and, as we pulled into a parking lot near First Street, Mackenzie said, “I’m wondering if you’re free for dinner this weekend. You could bring Bernie, let him meet Thelma and Louise.”
I was surprised by the invitation. Hudson Mackenzie was handsome and charming and I was tempted, but then I thought about Jack. I felt conflicted, unsure about my relationship with him, or if we still had a relationship.
I finally said, “Let’s do a rain check. I think I’m going to be busy until things settle out on these homicides.”
He smiled and I felt something stir inside. “Not a problem. But, just so you know, I make a mean chicken veggie stir-fry.”
Ten minutes later, outside the HSS conference room, I introduced Skully to Mackenzie. The captain turned red and then purple and then all color drained from his face. Somehow I knew this wasn’t the coronary I’d prayed for. This was Mount Skully getting ready to erupt.
“Follow me into my office, Detective,” the captain said. Once we were behind closed doors, his eyes drilled into me. “I will not be disrespected. I will not have my orders violated. I will not have detectives working for me who do not attend scheduled meetings. And I will not have a civilian sit in on a meeting regarding a high-profile homicide case. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, you’ve been very clear, direct, and extremely stupid.”
Okay, I didn’t say it. What I did say was, “Mr. Mackenzie has information about the suspects in this case. You ignore that fact and if the press gets ahold of it, no one, including me, will be able to explain it away.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a fact.”
Chapter Twenty
Skully gave Hudson Mackenzie five minutes to speak to the newly assembled taskforce, but not until after he spent another five minutes haranguing me in his office. He accused me of threatening to leak Mackenzie’s information to the press if the PI wasn’t allowed to talk.
We then had another blackout conversation, during which he berated my dog, my mother, and the earth’s entire female population. I responded by asking him if he hated women because he was the world’s oldest mama’s boy. We finally gave up, probably because we were both armed and dangerous to one another.
Once we all assembled in the conference room and Bernie settled into a corner, the day’s events went from bad to worse. We were informed that two detectives from HSS would be joining what Skully now referred to as the, OK Task Force, apparently deciding that he liked the Occult Killer handle the press had invented.
“I’ve asked Alex Kennedy and Stan Baker to join the taskforce,” Skully said, introducing the two men. “As you know, these veteran detectives have years of experience working numerous assignments, including homicide.” Skully’s eyes swung in my direction and he smiled. “They will now be the lead investigators on this case.”
I wanted to throw up. I’d had a run-in with both cops on my last case.
Kennedy was a porky middle-aged, no nonsense type, with a mean streak, who pushed all the wrong buttons. Baker was his opposite, a short, arrogant, ladies’ man—someone who wanted to climb his way to the top while stepping on anyone who got in his way. Skully continued to sing their praises until he paused to take a call.
While he was on the phone, Baker leaned over to me, displaying his perfect white teeth, and whispered, “It will be a pleasure working with you, Sexton. Can’t wait to clean up your shit.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said. “Come by my place every morning. I’ll get you a shovel and you can poop scoop after Bernie.”
“Funny,” Kennedy said, his bushy moustache partially hiding a smirk. “Just mind your own business or you’ll regret it
.”
“Is that a threat? I whispered. “Because if it is, here’s one for you. Keep your fat ass out of my way or I’ll have my big dog bite off your little dick, if he can find it.”
Kennedy’s fleshy face turned red and his eyes narrowed into slits as Skully ended his call and continued. He said something that made my heart sink even further.
“Beginning tomorrow, the chief has asked the feds to become involved in this investigation, creating a joint taskforce.” Skully’s gray eyes swiveled to Mackenzie for a moment. “Nothing I’ve mentioned today is confidential, as the chief of police will make an announcement about this to the press shortly.”
My last run-in with the feds had been a nightmare. Turning the investigation over to an arrogant federal bureaucracy would only further complicate things. I had the feeling this was another of several changes that would ultimately result in my involvement in the case getting pushed farther to the fringes.
“Okay everyone,” Skully continued, “I’ve asked a private investigator, Mr. Hudley Mackenzie, to provide us with some information that might be of use. You have exactly five minutes, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Thank you, Captain Skully,” the private investigator began. “And just for the record it’s Hudson, not Hudley.”
He turned to me for an instant and smiled. As Mackenzie began addressing the group, he was confident and at ease. There was something in his demeanor that made the boys in the room seem like just that, boys. Maybe I’d done the wrong thing by turning down his dinner offer.
“Credit for what I’m about to tell you belongs to Detective Sexton,” Mackenzie continued. “She took the initiative to see me this morning. It was clear from our discussion that I needed to break a confidential agreement and provide some information to the police.”
Mackenzie went on to explain how he’d been informally hired by the Bryant’s to look into the disappearance of their daughter. He told us what he’d learned on the streets about Chloe having been taken in by a cult, and how that cult was involved in drugs and sex, and possibly something darker.
“That all fits with what we’ve learned, so far,” Skully said, his voice kicking up a notch. “Can you tell us anything specific about Chloe Bryant’s involvement with this group?”
“No, but I can tell you that she’ll be on the Santa Monica pier at noon tomorrow. She called her mother and wants to come home, apparently because the other women involved have threatened her. Marilyn Bryant wanted me to meet Chloe tomorrow and bring her in. I have no doubt that’s why she was murdered and that she probably gave up Chloe’s plan before she died.”
What followed was a discussion, also known as a free-for-all, during which the newly formed taskforce debated and argued about how to handle the Chloe Bryant situation.
“We sweep in and take the girl off the streets before she walks onto that pier,” Kennedy said.
“We do that,” I said, “and we miss the best chance we have to find Myra. She’ll be there, trying to get to Chloe. We can’t miss this opportunity to take her down.”
“We have no way of knowing that,” Baker said, his threaded eyebrows knitting together. “What you’re proposing could put the girl in danger.”
I was surprised when Charlie spoke up, supporting me. Maybe it was the added confidence his darker hair gave him or the sex, yuck, but he left no doubt about where he stood.
“Kate’s right. This is our chance to stop whoever’s involved in this cult. We miss the opportunity to take Myra down and who knows how many other killings we’ll have on our hands.”
My partner took a little of the edge off his argument by reaching under the table and snaking a chocolate donut from his briefcase.
“That’s just speculation,” Kennedy said. “You guys have been watching too many cop shows on TV. We need to be proactive, but cautious, do some basic police work. We take the girl in, question her, and follow up on the information.”
Skully must have realized that the private investigator was still in the room and interrupted. “Mr. Mackenzie, I want to thank you for the information you’ve brought forth today. You are dismissed. Please keep our discussion confidential.”
Mackenzie stood and nodded. “I can’t leave without giving you my take on this. Protect the girl and take down the bad people. You can do both. Go undercover, fill the streets and the pier with your people. Take Chloe in and, if Myra and the others are there, don’t miss the chance to take them out. You can protect both the community and the girl.”
Mackenzie leaned over to me. “I’ll be in touch.” I felt a fluttering in my chest as he left the room.
The free-for-all continued for another half hour, before Pearl’s gentle wisdom prevailed. “We all want the same thing,” Pearl said. “We want to take the girl into custody and stop the killings. But we need to keep in mind this thing is big: multiple murders, strange messages, a deadly cult. We haven’t seen anything this big since a guy name Charlie Manson was loose on the streets. That means that we go big or we risk going home with only half of what we came for. We take the girl into custody and put an end to these killings by taking out the source.”
After a few more rumblings out of Kennedy and Baker, what Pearl had said seemed to seal the deal for Skully.
“We work both angles,” the captain said. “We go undercover with lots of men and play a waiting game before we take the girl into custody. We take the cult down tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Early the next morning, Bernie and I stopped by my mother’s house to check on her and Robin. I found my brother in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked a little more dazed and run-down than the last time I’d seen him. Dealing with our mother was obviously taking its toll. Still, I was upset that Robin had gone behind my back and contacted Natalie about seeing Karma.
“Did Miss Daisy come out of her trance, yet?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee while Bernie sniffed the floor for crumbs.
“Miss Daisy is driving me crazy. I don’t think I can do this more than another day or two.”
I felt sorry for him, forgetting my earlier anger. “Lolly still talking about the devil?”
“Something like that. She slips in and out of these weird states. One minute I’m talking to her like she’s Mom, and the next I get all this bizarre stuff.”
“Where is she?”
He motioned to the psychic parlor. “Sitting in there, staring off into space.”
I excused myself and went into the parlor.
“How’s it going, Mother?” I asked.
Her gaze swung over to me. “Kate, it seems like I haven’t seen you in weeks. Where have you been?”
Maybe she’d forgotten the events of the past few days. Trauma can sometimes have that effect.
“I’ve just been a little busy with work. How are you feeling?”
“I’m thinking about heading to New York for that peace demonstration.”
I felt my lips tighten into a grimace. She had been planning the protest in Central Park for weeks, something that wouldn’t be a concern, except my mother planned to demonstrate in the nude.
“I think you need to stay home and rest for a few more days. You’ve been under a lot of stress.”
“You worry too much…” Her words drifted away, her eyes losing focus.
“Mom, what is it?”
“The message has been sent.”
The voice I heard was changed, deeper than before. Mom’s unfocused eyes fluttered and rolled back in her head for a moment. I realized this was now Lolly, and she was speaking to me.
“What? I don’t understand what you mean.”
“The one who rides the white horse is coming.”
Was she talking about the tarot card? “You mean the death card, Mom…I mean, Lolly?”
“Yes. The rider who visited this room brings death into the world. It is all around us.” Her eyes focused on me. “It will come again, today.”
Despite everything I knew about my mothe
r being a bit of a nut, I couldn’t help but feel my skin prickle with concern. “What do you mean? Where will I find the rider?”
She shook her head slowly. “The rider will find you.”
I tried a few more times to make sense of what she’d said, but after more talk about doom and gloom I gave up and joined Robin again.
“I’m worried about her,” I said. “She has no business going to New York.”
“Not sure we can stop her. She’s mentioned it several times.”
I changed the subject. “Can you do me a favor and watch Bernie today? I’m doing a little undercover work and can’t have him with me.”
“The Occult Killer?”
“You know I’m sworn to secrecy.”
He reached down, nuzzling my big dog. “You know that Bernie’s always welcome.”
I thanked him and was about to leave when I remembered what Natalie had told me. “I understand that you met with Karma yesterday.”
“Sorry, I went around you, Sis, but I knew Natalie worked for her and just couldn’t pass up the chance to meet her.”
“How did it go?”
His eyes brightened. “She may be going on tour in the next few weeks and thinks she can use me. She wants me to come by, try out a couple of hair extensions on her.”
As he spoke, his eyes had drifted up to my hair. “What?” I insisted.
“I think you could use…another tune up. We need to try a different product.”
I sighed, remembering my morning battle with the frizzies. “Just as soon as I get into my Clowndog outfit and catch a killer.”
***
Yes, I said Clowndog outfit. I was on the Santa Monica Pier with Charlie at ten that morning working a booth called, The Clowndog Pound. Our assignment was orchestrated by Skully, probably with the aid of Kennedy and Baker.
“It’s either the Clowndog booth or you do parking lot patrol,” Skully had told us.
We settled for the humiliation, only so that we could be on the pier near the action. Our job duties consisted of serving up various doggie style hotdogs. We soon learned how to dish up, Barkers, Mutt Muffins, Poodle-Doodles, Screaming Weenies, and my personal favorite, the Johnny Long Dog.
